Clearly, he just asked me if I was a prostitute. There was only one way to respond to such a question.
“I’m not sure what you were thinking, but this is not an “I ride you, you ride me” situation. I have enough money to pay in cash. The guy I was just with me gave me ten dollars to get home and I have a bar five to go with it” Oh, I wasn’t an unpaid hooker after all. I was just an extremely cheap one.
“I am not sure what you are getting at miss, but I was simply trying to make conversation. I find people feel more comfortable when I ask them a bit about themselves” The cabby said relatively apologetic.
I wanted to reciprocate the level of personalism by calling him by his first name. I looked at his details hanging from the passenger seat and opened my eyes wide, blinking furiously.
Pointing at his name tag, I inquisitively asked “Did your parents name you that because it contains every letter of the alphabet?” Yep. Drunk Adelaide was in charge.
To my dismay, the cab driver let out a loud chuckle.
“Oh miss, if it helps, you can call me Steve.”
“Well Steve” I slurred. “Where were you on the day of September 11th, 2001?” It’s not racism if you are drunk, or so I told myself.
Again, Steve chuckled.
“Oh child, I was flying planes back then”
This guy was good. He was a step ahead of my every drunken thought.