3-Day: a cab ride

On the 3rd day, we awoke early from our comfy surroundings to the sound of L moaning and sighing and making little grunting noises and rustling the sheets. We weren't sure what to make of this.

She told us she'd been stretching.

Ah, yes. Stretching. I think we've all used THAT euphemism before.

Anyway, we got dressed, armed ourselves with coffee, and went outside to hail a cab. We get one, we pile in. The guy can't figure out how to work the meter. We wondered if perhaps he'd stolen the cab.

Now, I understand people--immigrants--have to make a living here. I don't get out much, but I understand that many make their living as cabbies. It seems rather elementary that to survive as a cabbie one ought to know where it is one is being asked to drive.

"Uh, shore. Ya, I know that. Ya."

So our cabbie heads off, slowly for a city cabbie. A little unsure at first, but then he picks up steam as we head toward Kelly Drive...but then slows down. His undercarriage keeps scraping the road, like he's got a body in the trunk.

We have an idea where we're supposed to go, but cannot give him exact directions. We were kind of counting on the cabbie to know where he's going. He knows not.

We see 2 joggers on the left corner of the road, as I recall, a 4-lane road. "Maybe they know," we say brightly yet urgently to the cabbie. The cabbie pulls over across the road and lodges his cab diagonally on the corner of the intersection, effectively cutting off traffic in 2 different lanes.

"Ah, where to find ah...ahhhh, where..." asks the cabbie.

We quickly roll down the back windows. "BELMONT PLATEAU! PLEASE tell us how to get there!" The joggers sense our urgency and fear that the cab will be crushed in two directions. They give us directions, which we keep repeating to the cabbie, just to make sure he's got it.

Imagine you're a little immigrant guy driving a car, and your wife is impatiently telling you how to drive. Now imagine 4 wives impatiently telling you how to drive. It's a wonder he didn't just fly the cab off a bridge into the Schulkyll just to shut us up.

But he didn't and since he took us several miles and dollars out of our way, he agreed to take a lesser fare. Which was still more than we should've given him, but we were running late. And, hey, a guy has to make a living.