In theatrical script writing, sketch stories, and poetry, a vignette is a short impressionistic scene that focuses on one moment or gives a trenchant impression about a character, an idea, or a setting, and sometimes an object. -Wikipedia
Sometimes you don’t really have an opportunity to strike up a conversation with people, and sometimes it’s just as well that you didn’t. Back before I joined my new taxi company, I picked up two girls in their early twenties about an hour before bar close. They were both blonde and dressed almost identically, in tiny black skin-tight micro mini dresses and slutty high heels, and both fairly drunk. This episode happened in the span of about a ten or twelve block drive, perhaps two or three minutes.
“Evening, girls… Where are we going…?”
Girl #1 says, “We need to go to the corner of Elm Street and 10th Avenue to get my car.”
I take off, and Girl #2 says, “Let’s stay a little longer… We don’t have to go yet…”
Girl #1 says, “No! I have to go! I have to go to work in the morning!”
Girl #2 whines, “I know… I was just having a good time…”
Girl #1 says, “I have to open tomorrow! I can’t be late because you want to hang and make out with random guys and get fingerbanged at the ATM…”
Girl #2 says, “He wasn’t some random guy… I talked to him last weekend at Club Passion… He’s nice…”
Girl #1 says, “Oh my gawd, he is so douchey, and he didn’t even buy you a single drink! You bought at least three drinks for him.”
Girl #2 says, “He’s really chill… I like him…”
Girl #1 says, “Does he even have a job?”
Girl #2 says, “I don’t know… I didn’t ask…”
Girl #1 says, “He looked…” (long pause)… “Mexican,” with a measure of distaste in her voice.
Girl #2 says with a little smile in her voice, “He’s good with his hands…”
Then her phone makes the “new message” chime, and Girl #1 says, “Oh, gawd, you gave him your number?”
Girl #2 says, “He wants me to come back…”
Girl #1 says, “No! We have to go!”
I pulled up to the girls’ car and cautioned them to not drive after drinking, and told them I would be happy to see them home safely. But Girl #1 says she will be fine, she pays the fare, and gets out. Girl #2, seated behind me, throws her feet toward the passenger side door and scoots her butt across the seat to get out the same door, and as she does, her tight little microdress rolls up her body like a condom, just over her hip bones. As she puts her feet in the street, she dumps her purse into the gutter, and I hear her keys and phone and other items clattering on the asphalt. She bends over at the waist to pick up her crap, raising her pantyless ass off the seat and giving me a view of her shaved crotch and rectum, in a pose that men my age nostalgically associate with the slick, glossy pages of Swank magazine, circa 1979. She spends five or ten seconds collecting her items from the street with her asshole winking at me before standing up straight and closing the door.
I watched these two girls walk toward their car, and Girl #2 is completely unaware that her little black micro dress is rolled up around her hips. I sat there and watched her firm, muscular, rippling buttcheeks walk saucily up the street in my highbeams a solid twenty yards. Only when she gets to the car does she feel a draft in her nether regions and rolls her dress back down.
Some men might think this was a very sexy moment… How often does a man my age get to see the naked charms of a twenty-something blonde without paying a ten dollar cover?
But I swear, I said to myself out loud, “Ewww… Did you really just smear your dewey little pudenda across my back seat?”
This is why I carry Lysol spray in my car.