You all know how I love buses but there can always be too much of a good thing.
Last night Julie and I were invited to dinner at our good friend Brenda’s house. Out of consideration for me Julie found a bus route that would take us almost to Brenda’s door.
Unfortunately the ride took one and a half hours.
Since I had had a cocktail with David before I left I didn’t think it was that bad and I chatted amiably throughout the trip. Julie, unfortunately, wasn’t as lucky. She had come right from a hair appointment and hadn’t had anything to eat since seven that morning.
This made her less than an ideal companion on a long ride. About 55 minutes in she suggested that we keep the chatter to a minimum. Since I was the only one speaking I got the message and except when I forgot I mostly kept my own council for much of the rest of the trip.
Brenda lives in a beautiful apartment with views of the George Washington Bridge or the Empire State Building from every window.
The evening was wonderful. Fabulous wine and food and laughs and laughs.
When it was time to go home I decided that a car service was the only way to go since the ride up was so long and it had snowed while we were there. Brenda called one for us and said the car would be there in three minutes. Since our other friend, Claudia lived on the way we all left together.
Once outside the building what looked like an ordinary car drove up and Julie asked if he were the car service. He was talking on the phone so he only nodded. We piled in.
Only after he pulled away did I suggest that maybe he wasn’t a car service at all. I did ask him if he was in fact a killer or a cab driver but since english wasn’t his first language he either didn’t understand the question or he chose not to answer.
Either way I decided that since we didn’t do due diligence before entering the cab/car, in our defense it was very cold, I was going to leave some clues so if he threw our bodies down some ravine he’d get his just dessert.
I took 2 or 3 photos of the back of his head and emailed them to my sister. Julie told me this morning that I might have done better if I had photographed his hack license that was on the back of the seat but I’m not Sherlock Holmes.
We were hysterically laughing during all of this. Did I tell you the wine was delicious?
I have been told that the reason a memoir written by me wouldn’t be successful is because there is no finale. I haven’t found the man of my dreams or won the lottery, I just go on.
Pretty much like this cab story. The guy took us all home safely, didn’t over charge us and the night pretty much just ended.
No murder or even a little choking just a regular cab ride with three hysterically laughing drunks.
Son of a bitch. I can’t catch a break.