 When Crackheads Tip... the Baby Jebus smiles??... It's a funny thing about driving around with new and different people all day, or at least several times a day... You often find yourself reaching for conversational tidbits to pass the time. The weather is always a popular topic, and a close second, especially with old people, is how crazy the world is getting. I've always suspected though, that it isn't really any crazier than it ever was, it's just looking for new and interesting ways to be crazy. Up until today though, it's only been a theory. Other than pointing out how terrified everyone was of the juvenile delinquents in the 50s, the Golden Age of America, I've had an astounding lack of empirical data to support my theory. Today though, I got another nugget. It warmed the cockles of my heart. I was cruising downtown, when a couple flagged me down. From half a block away, on the opposite side of the street, they looked nice enough. As they got closer though, I could see the shifty look in Dude's eyes... the look of a blue collar man with the day off, maybe on disability, who's just picked up a Crack Ho. The Crack Ho wasn't scabby or anything though. In fact she looked passable, just so long as she didn't stand in too good of lighting... and her thighs were still bigger around than her knees, which is always a good sign. I wasn't surprised to hear they wanted to go to West Oakland, and then to a motel. I wasn't about to turn them away, I needed any and all business that I could get. So I drove them out to West Oakland, and we tooled around the neighborhood a bit, turn here, try a right there, no wait turnaround... no go on... They were looking for someone. After 5 or 10 minutes of semi-aimless wandering we passed a guy on a corner, and the lady asked me to pull over and wait a minute or 2. No sweat. In another minute Dude was hopping into the car, joining my nice couple... and we were off. "Yeah, make a right here driver..." says Dude, and I answer "No sweat." Hell, everybody was being pleasant, polite... we were just a happy family, and driver. So we round the corner, and about half way down the block Dude asks me to pull up, hops out, and goes rooting in the bushes for a little parcel. The nice lady hops out too, and the two proceed to confer for a minute on the sidewalk. Of course, if this was a 'drug deal', then the cops would be able to impound my taxi... so I just began my little mantra "She just owes him some money, he's holding her keys... or maybe he found a crystal that she lost... she looks like the spiritual type...". I just repeat it over and over to myself, just in case I have to give my story to an arresting officer. I don't know a thing. I'm just concentrating on making sure I get paid... One Must always maintain a Facade Of Respectability, just in case. After a minute, the conference comes to a close, both sides happy. It's a beautiful day. The birds are singing. The meter is running. "Ok, now to the Broadway Motel..." says the nice lady, with a satisfied sigh of relief. "You got it..." I say, and I drive. By the time we make it to the motel, the meter's running at $15, Dude hands me a $20, and the nice lady waves away the change. The economy rolls on, smooth as silk. Just like the good old days, a decade ago, when I used to buy just as casually up in Berkeley. Ahh, the good old days... it's nice to see that it's not all dodgy goons sprinkling "Nigga" liberally throughout every sentence. Maybe the world's not going to hell after all...
there's No Place Like Home... You gotta be shitting me Alex |