Shamelessly Single in Bed Hopping City: Taxi Driver
It’s Monday morning and I start my week because of the rotational shift routine. But, first of all, I have to attend this job interview, so I dress the part and wear some makeup to impress my potential new employers. I finish the interview swiftly, hurry up to my workplace, and I stop the first cab I spot on what seems to be a deserted road on a very hot day. Soon after I get in, the cab driver gives me what he tries to cover up with a brotherly smile, but what he does not know is that I’m too good with reading people, especially men.
The same old scenario goes on as you might have already expected. He starts talking about traffic, how people never respect rules or values, and then he pops us both into his brother’s marital life; how money hardened his heart and made him beat up his wife who is now filing for divorce. Of course, I keep my own comments to a minimal level and try to show empathy as much as possible to what I’ve become accustomed to from sappy fiction recounted for unknown reasons by the city’s relentless chauffeurs.
My act of showing interest does not seem to be convincing as much for the chatty driver whose pure Alexandrian slang is gradually getting on my nerves, so he decides to take his trash talk about his virtual brother to another level by granting me a peep-hole into his own dating life; how he met his wife for the first time when he was devouring the Falafel Shandawitch, how he blessed he is for having three welad kalb as he eloquently puts it and how chivalrous he acts on a daily basis with his wife by doing some chores just because she is a human being as well despite having to put her in her place at the beginning of their sweet life together by slapping her a little bit.
“Now, I finished my part. I wanna hear your story,” the driver suddenly plays the role of Charlie Rose and I subsequently realize that I have to play along. He asks about whether I’m married or engaged, I think of why it is taking forever to reach the workplace and how I’m all of a sudden excited about getting yelled at by angry clients and monitored by my manager. I quickly remember that I’m yet due to give an answer. “Neither!” I say firmly with a very casual smile. So, he starts giving me the pep talk, asks about my age, of course I give him a very untrue answer as I know he will soon label me as a spinster if he knows I’m 27, then gives me a very long lecture about the fact that I look well-off and money should not be an obstacle if someone knocks my door, and finally I reach my destination. I thank him for the advice, tuck the sad much non-deserved 30 pounds into his fat sweaty palms and hop out of the car.