Blogs by Ron Dondiego
Taxi Cab Confessions: New York, New York
12/31/2005 12:33:29 PM
A FANTASY SEQUENCE
Actually, I'm not sure if this story is true or not, but I do remember that it happened... Or very nearly happened.
It was a dull night. Not much action in the way of business or otherwise. I drove down the empty avenues of Manhattan. I looked up at tall buildings and felt particularly dwarfed in comparison. I contemplated the meaning of my paltry life and decided it was vacuous at best. I did not blame the world, but remembered that I was a member of a somewhat dysfunctional society. I reminded myself that I had watched Jerry Springer and that perhaps right now in my despair I should not come to any rash decisions, as my view might have been slightly discolored by the day's events. In short, I knew that it was going to be a dead, unprofitable night and I just wanted to gas the cab up and go home. But I couldn't because I still had not made enough money for gas or the lease. Doomed to a night of hell, I thought to myself... Simply doomed.
At about 8:30 p.m. I pulled over beside a club in the Maritime Hotel on 16th street and 9th Avenue. There seemed to be a wild party going on in the interior of the club. The doors were partially opened and I could see inside. And what I saw was unusually interesting. There was a woman in a sexy blue dress dancing wildly by the door. I couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. She was tall and blonde and lithe and her arms were bare and her movements were snakish as she swirled like a magic lantern to the beat of an unseen drum. I was mesmerized and staring when suddenly she burst through the doors and danced past the doormen and right up to my taxi.
She opened and slammed the rear door. She was about 6 feet tall and I was dazzled at her energy. I started to applaud. I really didn't know what else to do. Because of her size I looked at her neck searching for an Adam's apple and hoping I would not see one. After all, this was Chelsea and close to the Village. So I thought that she might be a he (transexual or transvestite) and I was hoping that she was just a big, gorgeous blonde so that my fantasy might continue unabated even after I drove away.
She danced back into the club, then danced out into the street again. This time she opened the door and got in. "Drive driver. I've got to get out of here."
Needless to say I obliged the breathless lady. "Where to?" I asked.
"Anywhere, just so long as it's away from here!"
Now I felt I was in a cheap kind of film noir, and she of course was my femme fatal.
"That creep my dance partner only gave me $100 bucks for the gig."
"Your a professional dancer?" I asked in a subdued tone of voice.
"How come a nice guy like you is driving a taxi?" she asked as I smiled at her whimsically and turned down Seventh Avenue.
"I got side tracked... If you know what I mean."
"I needed to meet a beautiful, voluptuous woman like yourself but failed to do so."
"Oh, you're so sweet," she said. "I'm very flattered."
"You should be," I replied. "Because the last woman I hit on was Jennifer Aniston, and that was three years ago."
"Before she split with Brad?"
"Yeah, I didn't know who she was until she got out of the cab. I'm such a screw up?"
"Oh, no. I think you're cool."
"Thanks," I answered as coolly as possible.
"Could you take me back to the club? This was just an experiment. I have two more hours to work."
I laughed. I knew it was too good to be true. Women like her are always too good to be true. And I'm sure a richer, better looking guy than me gets them in the end. I drove her back and she kissed me on the cheek. She didn't have any money on her and I didn't care about collecting. I watched her hips sway under the gaudy light that streamed out of the club as she left my taxi and re-entered the club to the sound of boisterous applause. Then I drove off with my thoughts and another slow night ahead of me...
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