Sooey Says

Whenever anybody tells a taxi driver story, I am reminded of the time my boyfriend and I took a taxi in Belleville. We were hot and tired, having been on the train - VIA - with the air conditioning not working, and we needed to get from the train station to the mall to be picked up by his parents. All the taxis were snapped up by the time we'd de-trained - my boyfriend always stored stuff instead of just keeping it under his feet - so we phoned for one and sat down to wait. About fifteen minutes later a cab pulls up, the driver is wearing a baseball cap - a big beefy ruddy-faced guy - and he honks his horn. We kind of looked at each other "Okay, pal. We're the only two people here - you're the only cab here..." Anyway, he doesn't get out of the cab or anything to open the trunk, which I thought was pretty rude, but cab-taking novices that we were we piled into the back seat with our knapsacks and bags. After we were in he checks his rearview mirror and says to me, "You can ride up front if you want." So my boyfriend, one of those delicate featured, yet possessive macho types, says, "That's okay. We'll BOTH sit back here." "Suit yourself. I thought maybe your girlfriend would rather sit up here with me." We look at each other. I'm feeling mildly sick. My boyfriend is looking uncomfortable. Still, we didn't quite have the nerve to exit the cab and in the time i was feeling mildly sick and my boyfriend looking uncomfortable, he'd pulled out of the parking lot and was headed down the street. So, we're driving along, the cab driver making periodic checks in his rearview mirror, and I'm pretty sure I see him wink at me. I nudge my boyfriend and the driver snaps, "Hey! What are you doing back there?" We both freeze. "Nothing", I volunteer. "We're not doing anything." At which point my boyfriend adds his two cents, "Just drive the cab." My heart leaps into my throat at his tone. "Damn right I'll drive the cab. It's my cab." By this point we're both feeling pretty freaked out and really regretting having taken so long to get off the train. THEN a black guy - probably the only black guy in Belleville, I realize later, when I'm actually living there, married, with three little kids - drives by. "Hey! What do you call a nigger in a cadillac?" My blood runs cold. My boyfriend is staring out the window with a determination I just know is in hopes that the road will open up ahead and swallow us whole. Or, at least, swallow the cab driver whole. We sit there. Silent. Hoping against hope to see the mall suddenly looming ahead of us so we can leap out of this cab and run for the safety of his parents' car. "What. Do. You. Call. A. N.i.g.g.e.r. In. A. Cadillac?" "Okay, look", I venture forth, "We just want you to drive us to the mall." My boyfriend is looking at me with that, "Shut up! Can't you see this guy's a nut?" look on his face. "Oh. So you don't like my jokes - is that it?" "No", I snap. "I don't like your jokes." "A thief. That's what you call a nigger in a cadillac." My boyfriend smirks. I stare at him. Shocked and appalled by this little display of well, cowardice at best. "See? Your boyfriend likes my jokes." "No, I don't", my boyfriend begs to differ. I shift my attention to the cabbie checking his rearview mirror. "And you're not supposed to use that word. It's racist." "I'll use whatever words I want. This is my cab. You're lucky I don't drive you out into the middle of nowhere and drop you off. Both of you." Just then the mall looms into view. "Let us out here." I insist. "Gladly." He pulls over to the side of the road, tallies his meter and says, "$10.00. You don't have to tip. I'm charging you extra already." That was when my boyfriend noticed he didn't have his wallet. And I only had change left over from the beer I'd bought us on the train. "Oh. So now you don't have the money to pay for your cab ride. Maybe I should call the cops." My boyfriend, meanwhile, is starting to get that jumpy look - like he might hit the guy - and I'm thinking, "No way. That guy's twice your strength." Suddenly I remember tucking exactly one $10 bill into the pocket of my knapsack. "Here!" I unfold it and hand it to him, "Here's your money!" "Okay. Good. I thought you were going to try and stiff me and I'd have to figure out how you could pay me some other way." Which was when my boyfriend charged around from the other side of the car and shoved the guy. Really hard. Knocks him down so he's laying there on the ground for a second before he springs back to his feet and pulls out a hunting knife. "Run! Don't fight him!" I yell and I grab my boyfriend's arm and we run like crazy towards the mall not looking back until we get to the main entrance. Doubled over, panting, I look up. "Is he gone?" (I needed glasses but wouldn't wear them.) "Yeah", my boyfriend says, "He's gone. What an asshole, eh?" "Yeah. That joke was disgusting. Who uses that word at all anymore?" I'm arranging our gear in a pile and keeping an eye out for my boyfriend's parents. "Well... I guess... but it's an old joke, so..."