Saturday, June 14, 2008
Your Mama
My gaggle of drunk friends was quacking things that made me raging pissed last night. I've become a bit crotchety in my late twenties. I can't take the bizarre bar scene like water off a duck's back anymore. So while my friends were swaying stupid in the street, I hopped into a cab lamenting that I'd spent 12 dollars on 4 cans of PBR, the contents of which were now swirling and angry in my stomach. What a horrible waste.
I didn't want to chat with the driver. Usually, it's the other way around. Tonight the cab driver had something to say to me, though:
¶ 1:50 PM @ Mission and 26th
me: Stanyan and Parnassus, please.
driver: Ok.
@Mission and 24th
driver: Did you have a fun time tonight?
me: Yeah. Sure.
@ Missions and 20th
driver: It's busy tonight. Lots of work.
me: Good.
@ Mission and 18th
driver: You look like an Indian actress.
me: (thinking) Buddy, I'll give you a good tip, I promise. Just get me home.
@ Mission and 16th
driver: Do not waste your beauty.
me (thinking): wtf? home. home. i just want to go home.
@ Market and 17th, driver: You're worried about money, houses, men, things, all these things.
me (thinking): what the.....
me (thinking): what the.....
@ 17th and Castro
driver: Don't worry about these things. Don't worry.
me (wondering): I am so tired of people telling me that, and now this cab driver?!
@ 17th and Masonic
driver: There are plenty of these things.
me: (thinking.)
@ 17th and Stanyan
driver: Just worry about your Mama. There is only one Mama.
me (thinking. thinking. thinking.....)
@ Stanyan and Parnassus
driver (as I'm digging for money and stepping out of this weird cab all at the same time): Take care of yourself so that you can take care of her. She is your Mama.
me(thrusting money this guy's way): Thanks. I will. I know.
And so this shaman showed me to my door. I had some frozen pizzas in the house, which I ate while trying to figure out if this cab scene was something worth saving. Maybe. Then I stayed up until three, finally and calmly ending the "how messy can you let your room get before you admit that you're depressed" game by separating my dirty laundry from half opened telephone and car insurance bills.
The evening was not a waste after all.
