Get Out of My Dreams, Get into My Car

A little known DC fact: DC cabdrivers generally go for curly-haired, thick, black-chicks getting over a chest cold.

In the last month I've taken a few cabs . And when my drivers aren't trying to hustle me, they are coming on to me. Imagine the following being said with a thick Ghanaian or Arabic accent:

"So, is there a man waiting for you at home?"

"Why isn't your husband picking you up?"

"Are you leaving work? A good man would not make you work."

"You are so beautiful. Are you from the islands?"

"Why are you out so late? Your husband sit at home and cry why you gone."

These comments result in me talking (at length) about my imaginary boyfriend/husband/lover. I do this for two main reasons: First of all, while I might come off as a tough girl, I still can get creeped out fairly easily. So, if I get unsolicited comments like this I start to think that the cabby wants to drive me someplace that's NOT my apartment. Next thing you know, Milk Carton City. Secondly, by making up a fake man, I also get to make up a fake life which is just downright hilarious.

Here's few of my favorite Fairytale responses:

"Yes, my husband is waiting at home. He just got in from Paris. He's french. I married him so he could have his green card and we fell in love."

"My boyfriend isn't picking me up because he's sleeping. He just got back from shooting a film in NY. I can't tell you his name, but I certainly "Got my groove back." ... Diggs, I'm dating Taye Digs."

"No, I'm not leaving work. I just left the doctors. (crying) I'm pregnant and I don't know how to tell my boyfriend."

"Yes, actually. I'm from the islands but my marriage was arranged when I was very young so I grew up mostly in the states."

"I'm only allowed one night out each month. He's not crying. I made him dinner before I left and his girlfriend is there to keep him company."

Outside Voice

I tend to not hate things. Not because there aren't things worth hating, but because in every instance where I feel like hating someone or something, I try to choose love (because love is a choice). Right? Right.

I effing hate cabby's. Well, not all cabby's, but particularly ones that try to hustle me.

I've been a Washingtonian long enough to call myself one. And tonight, the cab I took home tried to hustle me. ME. A non-tourist, honest to goodness, flesh and blood, chocolate drop in the chocolate city. I don't think I have ever been so (semi-irrationally) angry before in my life.

At one point I notice the driver is about to miss one of the turns to get me home. I tell him, "You need to take a right, here at the light." He said, "I prefer to take 1st." I say, "OK." I realize then, that he's trying to take 1st street in order to cross zones to charge me more. (In DC cabs aren't metered, but the city's divided into zones. Cabby's get more money the more zones they cross). What the cabby doesn't realize is that that he'll have to stay within one zone because of construction (foiling his plan). I know this, so I don't protest.

We get to the "construction intersection of truth," and I notice that the cabby has turned on his left blinker. We both know he should have on his right blinker. You see, Mr. Cabby sees the construction, blocking his attempt to hustle me. And rather take the shortest route possible, he wants to drive around the construction 5 blocks to get a measly two extra dollars out of me.

I become livid. So much so, that in my outside voice I said, "TAKE THE RIGHT!!!" I say this while hitting the seat in front of me so hard my hand was stinging. He listens and makes the right. I pay him, even tipping him (albeit not much). And I slam the door.

As the cab driver pulls away, I realize I'm grinding my teeth. I couldn't understand why someone would think, for one second, that it is OK to take advantage of another human being. Not only that, but to be so obvious and simultaneously stupid about it.

What a douche monkey.