I take a lot of taxis and overall I think the myth of the inept and rude taxi driver is quite unfounded.
However there is an exception to every rule.
The other day I was in a cab with Hugh Jass-Hat (not his real name).
I had met Hugh before but on those occasions he had picked me up from Mum and Dad’s. I can only assume that this is why he went there (despite being given my new address) to pick me up. But why he practically accused Dad of holding me hostage is a mystery. Perhaps he was just having a bad day.
Possibly deciding that the hostage situation was beyond his control, he tried my new address and SURPRISE, there I was. Phew!
And then the fun really began…
“Are you still with that boyfriend I dropped you off to last time?” He asked.
Now, I am no Elizabeth Taylor. My romantic history is not that extensive, but I couldn’t even remember when “last time” was.
Not that it mattered though, because, before I had a chance to answer he followed the question with, “You didn’t have sex with him did you? Coz disabled people having sex is disgusting.”
I sat there in silence. When had I moved to the planet of the apes?
Then for some reason he began telling me about a documentary he had recently seen. It was about this chapel in the Vatican that had these really old paintings but he couldn’t remember the name of it.
“The Sistine Chapel” I said. He ignored me and went on. But still the name eluded him.
“The Sistine Chapel” I said again and was again ignored.
After the third time Hugh started to get frustrated. He turned to me and said “You’re saying it wrong, it’s Sixteen Chapel. Working for a Catholic organisation you should know that.” I had to stop myself from laughing.
“Sorry Hugh” I thought to myself. “It must be all that disabled sex I keep having, it’s scrambled my brain!”
***Disclaimer*** The names of the participants in this story may have been changed to protect the ignorant.