I once worked for this little spitfire of a woman. A former MTSU cheerleader, she was a great business woman, but she was also insane, popping her kid’s Ritalin (amongst other things), while obsessively trying to keep her petite frame a size 2. She taught me two important things: 1. I’d rather be kind than successful, and 2. how to catch a cab anywhere, anytime. In the middle of New York, late for a meeting, she said, “This is what you do. Leg slightly out, hand at 4:00 instead of up, two fingers out, with an aloof, confident look like you could care less about getting a taxi.” And I was an apt pupil. I can catch a cab better than anybody. If it were an Olympic sport, I could be featured on a box of Wheaties. Momma, my friend, Tom, & I were in San Fran years ago. We had gone to this great Italian restaurant for dinner in a seedy part of town. We finished eating just in time for the sky to open into a downpour. Tom, always the gentleman, told us to stay in the dry while he hailed a cab. 15-minutes later, I told Momma, “Enough. I’m getting us a cab.” Tom protested, but Momma said, “Just let her be, Tom. Watch and learn.” I had a taxi within seconds.
I’ve been running for the last several years, and I just had my first “destination” run in Charleston, SC. I plan on running in Vegas, Savannah, and Philly over the next few years. I’ll get to visit with my old friends, Dave & Sandy, while in Vegas. I’d like to see my friend, Angie, meet her hubby & cutie-pa-tootie, Jakey, while I’m in Philly. Taxis always make me think of a fun trip to Philly with my friend, Brandi. Young, wide-eyed, and gregarious, Brandi had never been out of the Southeast. We hopped off the plane, and I caught a cab. The cab driver immediately took a fancy to Brandi, he gave us his card, and he offered us free cab rides during our stay. Sure, I can CATCH a cab anywhere, but let me tell you, friends, free cab rides are a horse of a different color. Brandi was a prodigy.
We had a wonderful trip. Brandi and I ran up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Rocky-style, like the couple of dorks we are. We saw the Liberty Bell. We toured Betsy Ross’ catty-wampus house. We ate Philly cheese steaks. We laughed about the cars parking in the middle of the road. And we ate water ice. Our love stricken cab driver took us to get water ice at a roadside stand. The man who handed me my cup had his wedding ring around his neck on a chain. It was a lovely sentiment. I looked down to see 3 missing fingers on his left hand, one of which being his ring finger. I wonder what happened to those fingers? I know all the great dismemberment stories in my own small town. One of our elementary school principals was missing an arm from a car accident when he was a teenager (he would often play Captain Hook in our local production of “Peter Pan.”) Aunts, uncles, neighbors, & friends would randomly lose spare “parts” ranging from woodworking & hunting accidents to the more exotic and bizarre; an ostrich almost took an arm off a fella in the Short Mountain area (those are some mean birds). But, all these years later, I still wonder what happened to that fella’s three fingers. I should have asked.
Brandi’s love-sick cabbie actually offered to drive us from PA to TN at the end of our stay. Enough was enough. I told Brandi we were getting on that plane. Momma didn’t raise no country fool. I can hail a cab, but there’s no way this southern girl is gonna end up chopped-up in the trunk of one.
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