Taxicab Depressions

I got a call a couple weeks ago at bar close to pick up “Jerry” at a niteclub that is basically a pick-up singles bar for the over-fifty set. This guy comes out that is at least sixty-five or seventy and he looks like a retired executive. He has a shock of white hair, wearing a nice watch, crisp slacks, a long sleeve dress shirt, and carrying two unopened Miller Lites. He’s really trashed and mildly belligerant, but he is able to give me his address, and we are on the way.

He yells, “Hey, cabbie… you got any fuckin’ music in here?” I usually listen to AM talk radio and don’t really know more than a dozen stations, so I went to FM and just start punching buttons on the radio to see what is on the presets. None of the preset stations seem to meet his approval, so I ask what he would like to hear. He snarls, “All those stations fucking suck… put it on AM 1410…” or some such station, I don’t remember the exact dial setting. I wasn’t familiar with that station and was expecting to maybe hear some 50’s Rock and Roll, or maybe some Big Band swing, or perhaps some Golden Oldies classics from the 40’s. But instead, the speakers start buzzing and thumping with some truly horrible gangsta rap, and I’m thinkin’ that this guy gave me the wrong dial setting, but he’s back there with his eyes closed, bopping his head to the beat of the bass and drumming his hands on his thighs.

This scene didn’t feel right… here’s a stiff-looking white guy 20 or 30 years older than me in wool slacks and cuff links, thrashing about to some really terrible rap crap that I wouldn’t even classify as “music”… bitches, blunts, niggaz, butts, all kinds of dreadful lyrics, and the old guy is into it. I turn it down slightly and say, “Is that the right station?”

He yells, “Turn it up, dammit… you want a good tip, don’t ya? Turn it up!”

Whatever… I turn it up to the maximum volume I can tolerate, and get this guy home. He lives in a really nice house, upward of $300k, if I had to guess. I pull up in front and turn down the radio while he digs out his wallet. His fare is about fifteen bucks, and he gives me a twenty. He just sits there for a moment staring at me, and I said, “Is there anything else?”

He squints at me and says, “Can I make an observation?”

“Sure” I say.

He says, “You aren’t very fucking personable for a taxi driver.”

I said, “Well, I’m sorry… most people think I am a great conversationalist, but we couldn’t really talk over that blaring rap shit you were listening to.” He just scowls at me, and doesn’t move. “Is there anything else, Sir? I really need to go.”

He opens one of his beers and chugs about a third of it and says, “Fuck you…” He gets out and flips me off as he walks up the driveway. I just pulled ahead two or three houses to do my paperwork, and immediately got dispatched a new call. I turned around to head out, and as I pass his house, the executive guy is standing in his driveway drinking beer, sans slacks. He has taken off his shoes and pants and is standing there in shirttails, dress socks, and Fruit of the Loom tidy whiteys. He flips me off again and yells, “Fuck you!” as I idle by, and chugs more of his beer…

Now I ask you… what the fuck was that…?