TAXICAB CONFESSIONS

July 23, 2010

I pretty much have a love hate relationships with cab drivers. When I’m drunk I love them (most of the time) and manage to get answers to all the relevant questions in life. “What is your favorite cereal?” “If you were a porn star, what would your stage name be?”

On the other hand, I have gotten kicked out of my fair share of cabs for being “unruly.” I’m sorry, but I don’t see a sign that says scissor holds, half Nelsons or any other sweet wrestling move is not allowed.

Or vomiting, for that matter.

So it’s a Thursday night and I had gone to see a concert at the Double Door with some friends. I had the next day off work, so proceeded to polish off my fair share of beer, capping the night off with a few shots of Jameson.

As an FYI, I don’t do shots of Jameson. Or any other sort of whiskey. We are not friends.

The concert ends, I flag down a cab and am off on the way to home sweet home. As we begin our journey I have the irresistible urge for a cigarette. In my opinion, the best addition to any drunken night is a cigarette.

Or a burrito.

Or 80s music.

Or a donkey.

Or a midget.

(Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.)

I decided to ask Mr. Cab Driver if he has any cigarettes for me. He replies that is no problem at all, but would prefer if I sat in the front seat while I smoke. I’m drunk and don’t really think anything of this request. I was just excited that I was getting two steps closer to lung cancer. It will be a great addition to my impending cirrhosis! He pulls over and I climb into the front seat. The fast movements did require some lung capacity, so I was breathing pretty heavily at this point…and sweating.

I happily lit my mooched cigarette and we continued on our way. Strangely, this is the point of the night that gets a little hazy. I blame the Jameson. I’m going to assume there was some leering on his part. But what I do recall is his attempt to get my phone number. I should also tell you Mr. Cab Driver is probably in his late 50s and from another country (although I was too drunk to remember which one).

Fast forward to the next day. I was going to a Cubs game with my brother. He arrived while I was getting ready and I heard him shout to me, “Who is Ed Ferrrrrrdvis?”

I, of course, have no idea and ask him why. He responded, “Cause his phone number is sitting on your table.” I quickly rewind the details of the night and remember the creepy cab ride, and I tell him it must be the cab driver’s number. My brother found it hilarious that I got my cab driver’s phone number and teased me relentlessly for the rest of the day. Knowing how non-confrontational I can be, I’m not surprised that instead of telling my 50+ foreign cab driver I wasn’t interested, I just took his number. Sigh of relief I was not stupid enough to give him mine!

Fast forward to Sunday. I get a call from a strange number. Normally I screen but I had recently broken my cell phone and had lost a lot of numbers. So I answer assuming it is someone I know. “Hello, this is Ed Ferdvis. Do you remember me from Thursday night?”

I am in a state of shock and quickly stammered, “My cab driver???”

“Yes!” he happily responded. “I was calling because I wanted to see if you were available to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

I quickly told him that was not going to happen and hung up the phone. I proceeded to call my brother right away to see if this was a joke of some sort? He was pretty upset he hadn’t thought about pulling this prank on me in the first place.

I was drunk and gave my number to a cab driver I had no interest in AND he knows where I live.

Smart Leigh, real smart.

Moral of the Story:

Do not give your phone number to 50+ year old foreign cab drivers unless you are, in fact, interested in going on a date with them. The morals of these stories will seem pretty simple, but you have to remember you are dealing with a drunken degenerate here. A drunken degenerate with a flair for prose, I should add!

The worst part of the story is that I don’t remember the last time a guy CALLED first to ask me out versus texting me. And it had to be Mr. Ferrrrrrdvis.

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5 Responses to “TAXICAB CONFESSIONS”

  1. Bridget Says:

    Gee… I wonder who you were out with that was making you do shots of Jameson? Sounds like a pretty awesome person I must say…

  2. Melvin Says:

    Hot mess….


    • The sad part is that I gave my number to ANOTHER cab driver a few weeks ago. He at least was young. Just what my life is lacking…an Alberian cab driver who apparently sells facial creams on the side? Don’t worry I didn’t respond 🙂

  3. mandy Says:

    i can’t believe i’ve never heard this story…you’re getting quite the list of strange dudes who know your address!!! and btw…thank god for this blog,…is getting me through my sat. night in rapid city FOR THE SECOND WEEK IN A ROW!!! KEEP ME ON THE EMAIL LIST PLEASE!!!


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