Until such time as I get my schmancy new-to-me iPod all loaded up with audiobooks, I spend my days in the cab listening to NPR. And therefore - unapologetically - subjecting my passengers to NPR. They're usually good about it, but today I had a passenger who specifically asked if we could listen to music. I was feeling expansive, so I obliged. Unfortunately, the only thing that was coming in clear was the local classic rock station. I naively assumed she and I were on the same page in merely tolerating the shit that was emanating from the speakers until we moved into an area where I could find something better. But, to my horror, when a Van Halen song came on and I grunted and reached to change the channel, she asked, "Oh, you don't like that song?"
I sighed and took my hand away, generously sacrificing my ears while earnestly hoping I never had to pick this client up again.
I was rewarded for my profound sacrifice during the last hour of my shift, however, when no new calls came on the board. Pulled into an empty parking lot, locked the doors, put my seat back, shut my eyes ... and passed out.
Yup. Getting paid to sleep. Living the American Dream.
No comments:
Post a Comment