Friday, October 7, 2011

Me vs. Cabbie

There is a lot of talk about Chicago cab drivers.   I have always had fine cab drivers, if you don't count  the occasional cab odor, so I really did not understand the issues -- UNTIL ONE SLASHED MY TIRE!

Here's what happened and, of course, the actual slashing of the tires is alleged, but I am going with my theory.

I was pulling into a parking spot when a purple cab squished his way in.  Now normally I just chalk these sorts of things up to poo that happens.  They are minor problems in the scheme of things -- middle class people problems.

On this day, however, I had found the closest parking spot to physical therapy, though a block away.  I was wearing my big, brutal, 300 lb. boot, and was very sore.  I also had my kids with me and was losing chunks of my skin to leprosy.  I might be exaggerating.

So I yelled out the window, ever so sweetly -- Disney-princess-like even -- I was practically singing, "Oh dear kind townsperson, I was hoping to park there and you must not have seen me sweet gentle sir.  La aah aah aah aah aah aaaaaaaaaaaah."  A bird landed on my hand.

He proceeded to yell at me, all kinds of things. I can neither confirm nor deny that 75% of his words were profanities, but they sounded like them to the untrained ear.

He then went into the convenience store nearby.  I got out of my car and was getting ready to take a picture of his license plate -- mostly because I thought taking a picture of his license plate would make me feel like I could rat him out -- even though I knew deep down how ridiculously minor an infraction this was in the world of cab drivers.  Rats!  He returned from the store too quickly and glared at me like an airport backscatter.  I hobbled towards my appointment.  He continued to glare.  I am pretty sure he knows what I had for breakfast that morning.

The very next day -- BAM -- flat tire.  The guy at the tire repair place said the tire was slashed on the inside and that it is nearly impossible to get such a slash organically.

See what I mean?  Purple cab guy.  It had to have been him.  That's the last time I argue, er -- sing with a cabbie.

1 comment:

Leigh said...

Hysterical! Wait--is that insensitive? I'm sure it wasn't hysterical to you. I so enjoy reading your blog. It's comic relief. You're an amazing story teller. Wicked funny (yes, I said wicked. I'm allowed. I'm from Boston).

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