Years ago, when I drove a taxi, I used to pick up this five-year-old Special Ed boy. He was the most handsome kid I had ever seen in my life, like Errol Flynn handsome, only five and a little slow.
When people saw him they'd get big smiles on their faces and say, "Is he yours?"
For some bizarre reason, his mother was a catastrophe. Imagine Betty Friedan giving birth to Brad Pitt. It just boggles the mind.
He was a funny kid, but whenever I turned away from him he'd rip a booger out of his nose and put it on the passenger window. He was an expert and did it in one second. No matter how many times I yelled at him (how could I tell his mother something like that?) he'd still do it.
I still wonder if he ever did it at home.
Posted by Bob Wallace, who has a hundred stories to tell about driving a taxi.






I drove a taxi in college, although mine had wheels and didn't hover. Too bad, maybe someday. One day, while at the office I noticed one of the drivers looked as if he was crying. Tears were just pouring out of his eyes. It turned out a few years before he had been shot in the back of the head by a 15-year-old boy, who got 30 years in prison for his little escapade. Fortunately, it was only a .22 short. The slug was lodged in the back of the driver's brain, where the visual area is located. He told me he didn't have any problems with his permanent visitor, except that every once in a while his eyes would water like crazy. Obviously, the doctors couldn't pull the bullet out of his brain, so he was stuck with it.

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