Our cabbie jumped in and then jumped out to join a group of other cabbies gathered around a woman, arguing with her. When he finally came back I asked what was going on and he said, “Oh, it is just that day of the month.”
“Hmph,” I giggled, thinking this a little profound— realizing I liked the idea of everyone deciding there was just one crazy day a month and we all experienced it together and, OH YEAH, HE MEANT HER PERIOD. Great.
Cut to 20 minutes of chuckles, “Oh, LA? Why did you go there? Did you see Michael Jackson?” TOO SOON, SIR. “We saw his…, star?” I offered. I almost told him how someone had left him a glass cup filled with pretzels. Nay, pretzel rods. Not the sticks, the rods! Which gave me pause enough that I googled, “michael jackson pretzel rods” HA okay I just googled “michael jackson pretzels” but alas, I found nothing (if anyone has any info pertaining to mj + pr’s, by all means, visit the comments section).
What else did this old man do? He offered to reverse on the BQE when we missed our exit. It was very confusing and hilarious. He purported that we were asking him to drive to the end of the earth. “That’s where we live,” I sighed and he laughed, satisfied. He got mad that we seemingly went a roundabout way and I mumbled, “Well, more money for you,” and he said what and I repeated myself and then he very adamantly explained that no, he doesn’t make money driving extra city blocks but by making more and more trips. Huh!” I said, “that does make sense. Sorry!” He said it was okay, he just wanted to be acknowledged for his suffering, like any of us (he didn’t say that, i am just ascribing it to him, OBVI). He chastised me for admitting I ever walked around the neighborhood alone, then he dropped me off, insisting I tell him exactly where my front door is (great), so I don’t “go telling everyone he made me walk.” Ha! Joke’s on him! Slash me when he crawls in through my window and asks if he can reverse on my BQE ifyouknowwhatimean.
Then I realized my keys were in my big suitcase, so i put it on my front stoop, unzipped it, and began to dig. I obviously have a duffle bag with everything just fucking thrown in, so it is by that accord that I found myself squatting in front of my door with everything I owned strewn about in front of my apartment, explaining to the neighbor, that, no, I did not need him to call the landlord as I pulled out what could only have been 20+ pairs of underwear onto the wet sidewalk.
Stay dry! everyone keeps yelling. I’ll try! I say back. What the fuck else can you say? OKAY, IF YOU SAY SO, BUDDY!
Whew, but I am home.
