I often take taxi services to run my errands. They are better kept, more reliable than, and typically the same price as a regular taxi. So today I had an errand to run, and I took all the usual steps to get a car. When I got the message that it had arrived, I immediately left my apartment and made my way to the entrance of my building.
I step out onto the sidewalk and look right and left, reading all the license plates. When I can’t find the appropriate one, I dial the driver’s number. Just then I see the plate I’m looking for. I hang up and go to the passenger’s side of the car and pull at the handle. Nothing. I try again. Again, nothing.
I’m thinking to myself, “Why does this guy have the doors locked?”
Just then I hear him say something to me through the window that’s open just a crack.
“It’s open??” I repeat.
So I try again. And again, nothing happens.
Then he says something else.
He rolls down the window just a bit more and says, “I’m not a taxi service.”
At first I didn’t understand what he was saying. So I repeated it.
“You’re not a taxi service?”
“No,” he says.
And it finally dawns on me: I was totally trying to bust into a strange man’s car!
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
I apologized and walked back to the sidewalk.
Yeah, I almost got into a stranger’s car and demanded that he drive me to my destination!
When the words “I’m not a taxi service” finally registered in my mind, two distinct scenarios flashed before me. The first was that the car door had opened when I first yanked it, I got in and told the guy to hurry up because I didn’t want to be late. And for him to be like, “Lady, what the hell is wrong with you?! Get the F out of my car!” And me being like, “What the hell is wrong with me! What the hell is wrong with you?! Why be a driver for a taxi service if you’re going to tell your customers to get out of your car?” And he’d be like, “I’m not a driver you crazy woman! Get out!!”
Which would have been pretty unfortunate. Nonetheless, it would have been better than the second scenario: me getting into the car, him driving off, and me disappearing forever. Yeah…not good.
So the moral of the story folks: sometimes that crazy lady trying to bust into your car isn’t a killer or a maniac. Sometimes she’s just a frazzled mom (and probably an artist of sorts…most likely a writer) and she just messed up the license plate number. Do the decent thing: drive her where she needs to go!