Taxi-Cab Confessions of Idiocy
"Oh boy, have I got a pretty good one to tell here," I said out loud as I approached the muffin counter to keep track of the lemon poppy numbers. The morning was bright, and the dew laden grass brushed my naked toes lightly as if to say, "I hope your day goes well." Okay, I'll stop with self-narration. That has nothing to do with the task at hand.
So, last night I went to a friends birthday party in the downtown area. I decided to take a cab home since I had not driven there and the weather was not congenial. Badger Cab was my choice of service, since I like their use of propane cars and fast driving foreigners. They also have "ride-share," which on this night proved to suck at first, then be fun after that. You see, between my friend's house and my house lies the Madison area "college trend setter" area, complete with dance club type venues, dipshits yelling stuff in the street, white people, white people, and more dipshits. Tonight the destination was "Madison Avenue" bar and good times. We picked up one college type dude (not the hippy pot smokin' type, but the clean cut A&F type) and a stupid girl to go along with him. Actually, she wasn't "with" him, and this is not a "ejaculate smeared on the passenger side window" story. We all know that Travis Bickel hated cleaning that shit up every night. He'll kill you. Anyway, they were talking back there about this guys relationship trouble, and how on this particular night some other girl was "moving in" on he and his girlfriend's relationship. "She's the only one, you know that Jennyfer (or whatever this girl's name was)." She claimed that so-and-so was indeed moving in, and that's just how she is and blah blah fuckin' blah. Of course, he then had a brief conversation with his stupid girlfriend and was clearly distressed, as was she as I heard her cold voice through the cell phone that apparently couldn't be turned down. You see, old Kurt's girlfriend had walked right the fuck out of this bar the moment that girl B had bought a drink for Kurt. And yes, it was a show of affection. Attempting to help, girl in back seat gave shallow and ridiculous encouragement/tips. As you can imagine, I was very close to just telling them both to just shut the fuck up, but I didn't think I had the support of my French cabbie (the French are suckers for Romance, which is, of course, why they did so poorly in both world wars). Anyway, I didn't because their ride was very short. The guy got dropped off first, after which I proclaimed, "Boy, I'm glad that douche-bag is gone." It received no response, and I don't know why I thought it would now that I think of it. The silence was slightly awkward, made only slightly less so by the fact that the Nicki back there was apparently too oblivious to realize what I had just said. Such as things progress, I naturally decided to then tell her that she had done a great job. In fact, she did so good that I shook her hand and congratulated her... on her upcoming appearance on Taxi-Cab Confessions! (A new radio show, I assured her, soon to appear on the new public radio programming schedule). She then became surprised, shocked, and content. "What?! Oh... heehe! Really?! Okay, I guess. I was just trying to be his friend. I didn't know what else to say." "Well my dear, I've been in this cab for ten hours, and you're the first to throw out anything of great enough quality to publish in any form." She was slightly delighted at this point. I thanked her once more and urged her to notify her fun little friend of his accomplishments. She then left. The Frenchie and I had a good laugh, and I told him that I might just ride around all night sometime to do such things for my own pleasure. I did tell her it would be "on" later (her "confession" that is), and I guess this will suffice. At least I can't get sued now. Taste the Chrome!
So, last night I went to a friends birthday party in the downtown area. I decided to take a cab home since I had not driven there and the weather was not congenial. Badger Cab was my choice of service, since I like their use of propane cars and fast driving foreigners. They also have "ride-share," which on this night proved to suck at first, then be fun after that. You see, between my friend's house and my house lies the Madison area "college trend setter" area, complete with dance club type venues, dipshits yelling stuff in the street, white people, white people, and more dipshits. Tonight the destination was "Madison Avenue" bar and good times. We picked up one college type dude (not the hippy pot smokin' type, but the clean cut A&F type) and a stupid girl to go along with him. Actually, she wasn't "with" him, and this is not a "ejaculate smeared on the passenger side window" story. We all know that Travis Bickel hated cleaning that shit up every night. He'll kill you. Anyway, they were talking back there about this guys relationship trouble, and how on this particular night some other girl was "moving in" on he and his girlfriend's relationship. "She's the only one, you know that Jennyfer (or whatever this girl's name was)." She claimed that so-and-so was indeed moving in, and that's just how she is and blah blah fuckin' blah. Of course, he then had a brief conversation with his stupid girlfriend and was clearly distressed, as was she as I heard her cold voice through the cell phone that apparently couldn't be turned down. You see, old Kurt's girlfriend had walked right the fuck out of this bar the moment that girl B had bought a drink for Kurt. And yes, it was a show of affection. Attempting to help, girl in back seat gave shallow and ridiculous encouragement/tips. As you can imagine, I was very close to just telling them both to just shut the fuck up, but I didn't think I had the support of my French cabbie (the French are suckers for Romance, which is, of course, why they did so poorly in both world wars). Anyway, I didn't because their ride was very short. The guy got dropped off first, after which I proclaimed, "Boy, I'm glad that douche-bag is gone." It received no response, and I don't know why I thought it would now that I think of it. The silence was slightly awkward, made only slightly less so by the fact that the Nicki back there was apparently too oblivious to realize what I had just said. Such as things progress, I naturally decided to then tell her that she had done a great job. In fact, she did so good that I shook her hand and congratulated her... on her upcoming appearance on Taxi-Cab Confessions! (A new radio show, I assured her, soon to appear on the new public radio programming schedule). She then became surprised, shocked, and content. "What?! Oh... heehe! Really?! Okay, I guess. I was just trying to be his friend. I didn't know what else to say." "Well my dear, I've been in this cab for ten hours, and you're the first to throw out anything of great enough quality to publish in any form." She was slightly delighted at this point. I thanked her once more and urged her to notify her fun little friend of his accomplishments. She then left. The Frenchie and I had a good laugh, and I told him that I might just ride around all night sometime to do such things for my own pleasure. I did tell her it would be "on" later (her "confession" that is), and I guess this will suffice. At least I can't get sued now. Taste the Chrome!
posted by fiestawizard at 10:39 PM
1 Comments:
That was a real tour-de-force, fiestawizard. Say hi to the Frenchman for me next time; again, you've found yourself enmeshed in a Texas-Quebec scenario. You're right about Travis Bickel; this is the type of scenario that pushed him right over the edge into the "who the fuck are YOU talkin' to?!" category of anti-sociability.
The thing about Kurt (whose Dad lives in Texas) is that he really wanted a threesome, and that shit NEVER works out for anyone, except for me. But for other poor saps like him, they end up riding home in a rideshare, begging for mercy, with some superficial sorority chick, who is also a cock-tease, which only hurts him more. It leads guys like this to seek out rest stops down in Tennessee when they're on a business trip, where they meet anonymous truckers with handlebar 'staches, and something about "glory holes" and also gold chains. Next thing you know, they have gonorrhea of the throat. Pus-cough.
Years go by, he becomes middle manager type, golfs every weekend, bitter towards his daughters (who are evolving into, yes, cock-teases, apparently). Then, like what-the-hell-happened-to-me, he's got a 9mm handgun in church, hands covered in blood... "What have I done?!" Gun turns on himself, only to lose the courage he had at the outset of the disaster. He lives, only to use his remaining days dreaming of that 3some that he, like, totally fucked up, dude. Fuckin' bitches.
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