Jerks

I was on a negative roll: small tips, radio calls with no one there, other cabs stealing my loads. I'd had about twelve jerks in a row. I'm not being euphemistic. These were jerks, not assholes. Being an asshole takes intent and purpose. The jerks I was dealing with didn't have enough character to be evil. They were simply rude and obnoxious, creeps without a cause.

I try to shake off such petty things but I confess that I was not in a good mood.

A weird little man got in my cab and barked out a destination without looking at me.

"Would it hurt to say 'please?'" I asked him.

"I don't like your attitude," he snapped.

I snapped.

"Your 86'd - get outta here!" I snarled.

"I don't have to be nice to you," he said defiantly, "I'm not leaving!"

I lost it. Completely. I started screaming at him to get out. I was so mad I can't remember what I said.

"I'm not leaving," he kept repeating. "I've got my rights!"

I decided to toss him. I jumped out of the taxi and, slamming my door behind me, came around to his side and pulled on his door. I didn't have a plan in mind. I'm not usually violent but, if I'd needed to stretch a few of his ligaments to get the job done, I could have lived with it.

The door didn't budge. He'd locked it. I reached for my keys. They weren't in my pocket. I looked up and saw that they were still in the ignition. I tried the front door. He'd locked that too. In fact, the little jerk was sitting in the driver's seat.

I had thought that I was raging out of control. But, the instant I understood the situation, I calmed down. Smiling like an insurance salesman I said,

"I guess we got off on the wrong foot." Holding out my hand I added, "Hi. I'm Ed."

He didn't say anything so I gave him my widest smile and said,

"Now, why don't you open the door and get back in your seat. I'll take you anywhere you want to go - free of charge."

"No - No," he said, "you're going to hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said soothingly, "I've never hurt anybody. Heck - I'm a follower of Mahatma Ghandi ... sort of."

"You're a liar and a hypocrite," he replied. "You're going to hurt me."

Then, he drove off in my cab. He didn't even have to start it. I'd left it running.

I wasn't eager to inform my company about the incident. There was nothing my manager enjoyed more than firing cab drivers. He'd hold bizarre ceremonies where he'd berate and publicly humiliate them. I couldn't imagine what he'd do to somebody like me who actually deserved to be fired.

Yes. I confess. I was wrong. My temper got the best of me. Having the little man call me  a "hypocrite" cut deep. I had failed the Mahatma. My behavior had done little to promote world peace.

It didn't make sense for the guy to steal the taxi. The address he'd given me was about a mile away. I hoped that he'd simply drive the cab close to his home and leave it.

This turned out to be the case. He'd even been nice enough to take the keys out of the ignition and hide them under the mat. He also put my briefcase, filled with maps and dollar bills, into the trunk. As I walked around the car to check the tires, I heard him call out from a distant window high above me,

"I'm sorry!"