Cab ride
I caught a cab this morning on 3rd and Geary.
I thought he might be Jamaican, but he's from Nigeria. Twelve years in SF. By way of Boston and New Jersey, it turns out. No wonder I can barely understand him.
He guesses I'm Chinese, or Korean. Pretty good eye.
The stereo is on loud, and he turns it down. He asks me what kind of music I like. "This is fine," I say. Pause. "What is it?"
Jazz. KKSF. "Listen to the words, they're funny." he says. And they are. Some song about shoppers, Natalie Cole asking if love is more fun than shopping.
It's 9 am, and he rolls the dial over. Some Beethoven Symphony now, Eroica, I think. At the right volume to be peppy and energetic. Classical music needs volume, too, so when they hit the forte, you pay attention.
Construction on O'Farrell. I comment "Wow, they really are paving this road!" Yeah, the cabbie says, the mayor's doing a good job. I like him, he's a nice guy. He rode in my cab once, was really friendly.
"Are you married?" he asks. "No, I'm blissfully single." He rants a bit about women, which is my all time favorite taxi driver rant.
He shakes his head. "Women are trouble. All they are good for is sex. And you give and you give..."
I start: "And what they want"
"But they don't even know what they want. They don't even know. Better off without them. Now where should I drop you? Left corner?"