Jul 10

Written by: michaela renee
7/10/2009 11:24 AM

Me: He drank too much.

Therapist: How much is too much?

Me: Too much that he couldn’t drive us home and we had to call a cab.

Therapist: Oh come on, better safe than sorry. I think it’s responsible of him to call a cab after a few drinks that put your life and a DUI at risk.

Me: I‘m not done, this wasn‘t just any cab.

Therapist: Ok, continue.

Me: Did I mention the date was excellent?

Therapist: No. I’m thrilled to hear that part.

Me: Seven miles...

Therapist: Why are you staring off like that? Are you ok? What was seven miles?

Me: The cab ride. It was seven miles. About three miles down the road he looks at the meter and tells the Cabbie, who I believe was Somali, that his meter is off. It was already up to $31.

Therapist: Whoa. $31 for three miles? Something is very wrong.

Me: It’s a first date and you are too drunk to drive, DEAL WITH IT. Cheap Bastard! Pay the cash! But no…he wouldn’t stop demanding that something was wrong with the meter.

Right then Somalia Man gets this look of rage…he starts screaming that we weren’t going to pay him and so he wasn’t taking us home.

Therapist: What?

Me: Oh yes, so all of a sudden, he racing down the highway in the opposite direction in his difficult-to-comprehend accent screaming, “PAY ME OR YOU NO GO HOME!”

Therapist: Oh my goodness.

Me: You don‘t even understand…Cheap Bastard is yelling, “I will NOT pay you! NOT UNTIL YOU TAKE US HOME.”

And Somalia Man is yelling, “Cash or credit! Pay now!”

Over and over.

Therapist: They’re egging each other on!

Me: So I‘m watching the meter go up and up and up…and it‘s at $97 and all of a sudden Somalia Man brings the car to a skidding halt off one of those easy off/easy on exits and he locks the doors. CLICK! Whips his head around and screams at Cheap Bastard, “YOU PAY NOW!”

Cheap Bastard goes, “Unlock this door” while jerking on the handle. And now he’s got this look of fear in his eyes and screams, “Terrorist! LET US OUT!”

And Somalia Man yells, “PAY NOW! YOU WILL NOT GET OUT! I NO TERRORIST I WORK HARD FOR PAY BILLS! YOU UGLY AMERICAN!”

Therapist: This is getting bad.

Me: I curled up in the far back corner and started sucking my thumb. Cheap Bastard reaches to the front to break the meter off the car and Somalia Man throws the car into drive and takes off again.

Therapist: You were being held hostage.

Me: We were going to die and I had to take control. So I pulled my thumb out of my mouth and pulled my cell phone out and dialed 9-1-1.

“9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”
“I’m being held hostage by a Somalia Man and a Cheap Bastard.”
“Sounds like a bad bar joke.”
“Yeah, here comes the part when the girl who called 9-1-1 dies because the operator is laughing too hard.”
“Ok, mam, I’m going to need you to calm down and give me your location.”
“Whizzing by Seaworld waving bye-bye at Shamu at 90mph.”
“Seaworld Drive and Highway 5?”

Somalia Man yells, “NO 9-1-1 NOT ILLEGAL YOU PAY CAB FOR RIDE”
Cheap Bastard screams, “This is a death mission! Uni-BOMBER! You are going to drive us into Terminal 1 at the airport!”

Therapist: Oh my goodness.

Me: Ya, and first I'm thinking, technically we would be a triple-bomber, but the next thing I know, sirens are blazing, the Navy is landing on the roof of the taxi…submarines are surfacing at Shelter Island…

Therapist: No exaggeration there.

Me: It went from being white girl with a Somalia Man and a Cheap Bastard to a Code Orange terrorist threat.

After about two more minutes of Transformers style high speed car chase, Somalia Man stops the car in the middle of the freeway because there are literally cops surrounding all sides of the vehicle guns drawn. Oh, ya, and guess what was cool?

Therapist: What was cool?

Me: I got to see the PO-PO use the Jaws of Life…then I Dukes of Hazzard-ed it out the window…I fell face down in the middle of Highway 5. Which worked out good because that’s how the cops planned on cuffing me anyways.

Therapist: You are kidding me.

Me; Nope, I’m sure not. I actually felt bad for the Cabbie, he just wanted Cheap Bastard to pay the cab fare. Poor guy.

Therapist: Did they understand you were the victim?

Me: It’s kinda hard to explain when you’re face down on the cement, ass end in the air, lace panties flashing everyone in Bay Park…but eventually yes, and they picked me up and dusted me off, and took the cuffs off…One of the Officers was totally making googly eyes at me too, and I’m thinking soooo NOT SEXY right now, uniform or not.

Therapist: Typical male.

Me: So after they determine that I was a hostage and not an accomplice, Googly Eyed officer gives me a schweet ride home in the back seat of the cop car that night.

By the way, those backseat doors automatically lock too, so I I start having a little fun for the 22 remaining miles of the journey… I grabbed onto the cage bars and peered in with big pouty eyes and started saying all these incriminating one-liners like, “I swear she didn’t look like a hooker.”

Therapist: No you didn’t!

Me: When we finally got to my house Googly Eyed comes around the back and opens my door and extends out his hand…

Therapist: That was sweet.

Me: Uh huh, then he says, “You know, you’re pretty funny, cute too, I’d like to take you out some time.”

So I replied, “Sure and maybe we can role play again…Next time we can act like you pulled me over for a DUI and you can give me the breathalyzer and see how well I blow? I don’t think so PO-PO, Ima pass.”

Therapist: You better hope you don’t get pulled over for speeding, there’s probably a note in your DMV file, “Smart Ass.”

 

Copyright ©2009 Michaela Renee

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