The Hypochondriver: The Old Man

The Old Man

It was my first week on the job.

My cousin always thought I would be a secretary. My best friend imagined I would follow him into the wonderful world of politics.

I am now a taxi cab driver.

It wasn't as bad as it sounded, I enjoyed seeing the sights and memorizing all the streets and roads I was allowed on. I was even getting occassional flirt from passing pedestrians.

Not that I would ever let any of those freaky faces into my cab.

It was a rainy day on the streets of uptown Chicago, but that wasn't going to bring me down. I was going to get a customer today! If not two, but two was on a good day. Darn you, failing economy!

I nearly ran over a pigeon nibbling on a sourdough bowl while passing Guido's. I knew the place, it was inhabited by raving New Jersey kids. That poor bird had probably ingested some Jersey-Italian cooties and was wiping it all over the hood of my car. Great, now I'll have to get ANOTHER bag of anti-bacterial wipes to scrub this thing down. Thanks a lot, pige, you owe me a buck-forty.

Turning another corner to finish my 18th round of the afternoon, an older gentlemen stepped up toward the edge of the block and flagged me down. I was getting the hang of this, figuring out that people weren't just waving to be friendly.

He inched forward with his cane in one hand and a newspaper over his balding head with the other. He inched away from under his dry awning and opened the side car. $2.80..

"I have a bag here if you could help me put it in the trunk.." He sounded nearly out of breath and very feeble.

"Of course, right away, sir!" I was told to sound professional at all times, no matter how many customers were crappy towards you. Say, like smearing a bean burrito all over the back seat. You don't even want to KNOW how many wipes I had to use to get that taken care of.

I popped the trunk and hopped out of the car in the rain. You know, if you think about it, in the process of evaporation, doesn't the sun kind of soak up all the moisture from the ground? Like for example, an old mud puddle from the street? So in concept, that puddle is now sprinkling on my head. $8.40..

I helped the poor wrinkled thing inside the cab and lugged the extremely heavy suitcase into the back of the trunk. Was there a piano in this thing or what??

Now, nearly soaked through my clothes, I peeked into my rear view mirror and saw Gramps whad caught his breath now that he had seated himself and his wet trenchcoat in my dry car. $11.20..

"Where are we heading today, sir?" I was still tallying up in my mind how many wipes it would take to clean the endless amount of mud puddle yeeuch off the leather seats.

"180 on 7th Street, please. And could you get there in as little time possible?" he replied in a deeper-than-deep-dish Chicago accent. Had this guy not left the city in all his life? That'd have to be at least 114 years judging by his crow's feet. Note to self: moisturize later.