Taxi Cab Driver: The Sequel

For the record: I hate the snow. It's all pretty and nice and everything at first, but after around 50 inches or so, it becomes to be a big pain in my ass, not to mention the wear and tear on my mental stability. Four straight days of work cancelled, so by Friday, I was ready for an adventure, an outing. Hell, I was just ready to wake up before noon, get dressed, shove some people around on the metro, and face even the most annoying clients at work. BRING IT ON! Not even a derailed metro car on the line I use everyday could stop me from walking two miles home, hopping in the shower with 30 minutes to look fabulous, and back out again.

The snow has stopped and the sun has shone, so I'm thinking it won't be that bad. I'll be able to get a cab and meet my fabulous new friends at this fabulous trendy bar to eat some berries and fruit trip way into the night. After looking for a cab with no luck, I decided to just walk up to one and hop in regardless if they asked me where I was going. Yeah, that's the thing about D.C. cabs after our third blizzard this year: they may leave the light on for you, but they sure are picky about where they will take you in these icy conditions. Icy conditions is what I was wishing for after spending the next 45 minutes with this driver who I practically forced to agree to take me anywhere I needed to go. I'm beginning to learn the signs. As soon as they say, "Hi, how has your day been?" you might as well kiss your private quiet backseat ride away. I guess it is my Southern upbringing that will not allow me to mumble some one word answer so that they will get the hint that although I don't mind telling them about my day, I would rather sit in the back taking deep breaths while trying to focus on my texting. Not going to happen with this guy. By the end of the $15.00 ride, he had attacked me about not knowing what I thought about god at my age and for not knowing where my name came from. "Erin. Is that Jewish?" "No. It's Irish." "You're family from Ireland?" "I don't know. I asked my grandma once and she told me, 'Baby, I can't remember.'" "You don't know anything! You don't know 'bout god. You don't know 'bout family...oh, wait....this is my wife calling. Hello sweetie." He went on to give me a lesson on helping people until I asked him to take me straight to the bar instead of my friend's house because we took so long helping that frat guy and his girlfriend dig out of their parking space that I missed the pre-party. "You women. You always changing your mind! No! 12 and P. That is far as I take you. From there, you on your own." What about helping the girl that is paying you? Thankfully, he got a call from his wife whom he was probably telling in their native tongue about this selfish white girl that actually wanted to pay him to take her where she needed to go, but at least he was distracted and drove me right to 1301 9th street.

I'm a reflective person, so I decided to share this story with my friend to see if he thought it was just me or that this happens to all D.C. metro residents. Nope. Just me. As my previous boss said at one of my many jobs last year, "Erin. You always get the crazies."