Thursday, March 30

Delores and Sense (99% true)

So you're at the midpoint of a $4 cab ride, and the cabbie is a pretty interesting weirdo. You've exchanged names. Your name is whatever your name is, and his name is Soupma. Or maybe SooJa. Possibly Soochrah. It's hard to pronounce, the cabbie's name is. Don't call him "Susan", though, because either you're not funny or he doesn't get the joke.

Names are important to the driver of your cab, and names are not a laughing matter. He will drop you off right here if you call him "Susan" again. He's told you so.

His name sounds Southeast Asian, but he looks South American, and you make the mistake of mentioning that.

"I am from Colombia. We honor our mothers. We honor our fathers. We honor our sisters. We honor our brothers." (Colombians have honor. Okay already, you get it. At this point you have to wonder if he's going to honor those shitty Colombian red cola drinks, but he doesn't. It's nice that he didn't try to strong-arm you into nodding along to his revelation of the worst thing to be mixed with rum since Dr. Pepper.)

You say: "My mother's name was Diana. She was the Goddess of the hunt, in Rome or maybe Greece. Cool name, right?" Maybe you read a few books. Bad move.

Cabbie says: "My mother's name was Delores(sp?). She raised seven boys and some girls too. Her name means "Bell" (You may have misunderstood this.)

"Delores!" Come on, Delores? You know that one. It means "sadness." Sadly, after being assertive about this fact, you are kicked out 2 blocks away from your apartment. Could have been worse.

What did that cost you? How many Delores and how much sense?

Whatever, Susan.

Comments: Post a Comment



<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?


View My Stats