A Plea For Alternative Forms of Transportation

I’m going on an almost three-year hiatus from having a car. This has put me in more cabs in the last couple o’ years than I’d ever been in prior. There are a lot o’ weird-ass fucking cab drivers out there! I could tell a multitude of stories, but it wasn’t until this past Wednesday night that I’d ever actually thought I was gonna die in one o’ those wheeled drunk cages.

Significantly. Fucking. Terrified.—-

Friday night! The Queers, The Cute Lepers, Poison Arrows and The Dopamines are at Southgate House. The Comet hosts Shawn Abnoxious’ To Be A Mile poetry release with The Wolverton Brothers and The Sundresses along to raise some holy hell! Japanther, Prizzy Prizzy Please, Heck Yes and The Read punk out at the Bike Haus. And … Grammer’s hosts the Cin-City Sprints tonight.

Dancewise, those crazy-talented PROJECTMILL bastards, creators o’ the DMF nights at Northside Tavern, are taking over the CAC’s Kaplan Hall from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. to bring you a dance soiree for Contemporary Fridays: Spin to round off Final Friday shenans.

Sooooo … cab picks me up in front o’ Riddle Road Market, cuz I was in there buying beer to take to the Bunk Space show Wednesday night. Chick driving it is wearing pink print-flannel pajama pants and her eyes look all puffy like she’s been crying her face off (Her face also looks really shiny. Too shiny! Not your average oily shiny, but more like I-just-shellacked-my-face-in-vasoline shiny). I mention to her that she looks comfy and she tells me not to mind her, she’s just having a “rough night.” She then proceeds to tell me how she’s already taken two Klonopin to calm her nerves and lists off a couple other meds she’s currently on.

This does not sound good.

She goes on to tell me, totally unsolicited, how her boyfriend is fucking with her, but not fucking her.

TMI, crazytown!

I lamely mutter something about that sucking and secretly wish someone else was in here with me to hear this shit!

Oh, and whilst this convo proceeds to get even weirder, she is driving like 15 miles-an-hour down Central Parkway. I looked up at the speedometer to confirm this. She’s going mega-slow like she is gonna pass out and I’m picturing the cab slowly coasting into a tree, another car or an innocent tranny hooker. I ponder how fast I could take over the wheel should one of the aforementioned scenarios present itself.

Then she starts picking up speed again and exclaims: “Weeeeeeeeeeee!”

I shit you not!

I may die tonight! I twitter this for posterity. It’s important to leave all your cyber minions a final missive.

She keeps peppering the convo with the “don’t mind me” spiel again and again. She keeps either going really fast, accompanied by a slurrish “Weeeeeeeeee,” or really slow, like her body battery is almost dead.

I’m trying not to mind you, but I’m fearing for my life right now! Tonight is the night I die. This is how I’m going out — in a cab on the way to a sketchy locale in Over- the- Rhine. Homeless, crack-addled buzzard-people picking the corpulent flesh from my bones. My house in an embarrassing state o’ squalor with all of my secrets splayed out.

On Saturday ‘tis the Wake the Bear CD release at the Northside Tavern with Dan Mecher and The Mighty. I’ll be the one doing shots with your dad. DV80’s is going down at G. Slut.

She turns a corner exclaiming the loudest Weeeeeeeeeee yet and almost takes out a dozen or so local ruffians. All the while yelling and cussing for them to get out of the street.

Great. Now I’m going to get shot too! Awesome. Local debachitarian found shot in cab. Survived by two cats and an unfinished bottle of Jameson.

Obviously I managed to survive the death tram, but there was mos def some hit-or-miss moments along the way. I pondered calling the cab company to mention that a pill-ravaged lunatic was piloting one o’ their fine automobiles, but she had already had such a bad night, I didn’t want to get her fired. Plus, she had also confessed to me some additional personal devastation involving medical whatnots that was truly heartbreaking.

As I exited the cab, she volunteered that she planned on dropping some more Klonopin in her mouth-hole upon my departure.

I haven’t heard any crazy news stories yet, so I’m assuming she’s still alive? In her pajamas. Crying.

I sincerely hope her boyfriend has started fucking her again.

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