Pussy Control

So this weekend was pretty busy.  The college kids are back in town and there’s a large convention happening for Epic Systems so the town is flooded.  There was a college football away game (which the UW lost due to a terrible ref…  no really!), and it rained at bar time Saturday night, which compounds things for us.

One beautiful highlight was when I picked up 4 self-proclaimed “young retirees” from a hotel on the West side of town and brought them downtown for drinks on Saturday night.  They were on a bus tour originating from Minnesota, destination Nashville.  They already had a glass of wine in them and they wanted to party.  Woooo!

I usually listen to my iPhone’s iTunes in the car and Saturday was no exception.  Unfortunately, some of my music isn’t for general consumption and I should really fix up a decent “family friendly” playlist.  I do have easy control for skipping tracks, though, so it doesn’t pose too much of an issue.  The music was low, however, because the four ladies were chatty and enjoying each other’s company.  As conversation lulled a little, I realised “Pussy Control” was playing.

“Oh, I recognise this song!”  Says the woman behind me.  Everyone perks up as the lyrics sing on, “And the moral of this motherfucker is / Ladies, make’em act like they know / U are, was, and always will be Pussy Control.”

“How old are YOU?”  Asks the woman in my front seat to the woman behind me, “I don’t know this song!”

“I think it’s from the 80s,” I pipe in.

“I think we’re the same age, but tonight I feel forty!” Says the woman behind me.

“Oh, what is age?  It’s only a number!  I don’t feel like a number, I feel great!”  Says another voice from the back seat.  “…except my knees hurt.”

There’s a lot of laughter with this, but the car explodes when the lady goes on and gives me this piece of advice: “Stay off your knees.”  There were old ladies literally crying from laughter in my cab as I dropped them off at a nice bar and it really put me in a great mood.  I would like my friends and I to be in their shoes in 35-40 more years.

On Sunday afternoon I got the thrill of the perfect comeback.  You know, those one-liners that really bring it home to the other person that whatever they just said or did was utter bullshit?  I did that and it felt amazing.  Here’s the set-up:

I have a pick-up at a hotel on the far East side of town going straight downtown to a very fancy restaurant.  He gets in and says right off the bat, in a thick North-Eastern accent (I couldn’t place it exactly, but it sounded dramatic movie-mafioso), “Are ALL the cab drivers WOMEN in this town?”

I reply, “Is that a problem?”  BOOM, mic drop.  So what if they are?  If I got in a cab and asked “Are ALL the cab drivers DUDES in this town?” Would it sound out-of-place?  Would the answer be obvious?  Why is my gender out-of-place in this or any profession?  Fuck you and your preconceptions, too, Mister.  It was all there in my confident four word reply and it let us move on to different conversation with a more even keel.  It made me feel good that I was on top of my game enough to use the timing perfectly.

So I thought I had a pretty damn good weekend, until this afternoon when I saw this article:

http://www.channel3000.com/news/woman-stabbed-multiple-times-on-east-side-officials-say/-/1648/21946764/-/iro876/-/index.html

It turns out that I am the cab driver that took this guy home Saturday night from the bar to the address in the article, 3 hours before he stabbed his girlfriend.  I remember the ride clearly because he was waiting outside the bar for me, like a responsible passenger, he was pretty quiet on the ride home, but polite when I asked for directions.  He tipped well, said his pleases and thank-yous, smiled big and friendly, and seemed like he was in a calm, good mood.  I would have NEVER GUESSED he was a nutbag.  I need to re-up my paranoia, I guess.  This guy did not set off any of my bells or whistles and that really bothers me.

About yellowandblackmail

I pick people up and take them where they want to go.
This entry was posted in Taxi Stories and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s