[headline, Huffington Post]
I was in a cab last night. The neighborhood convenience store is only four blocks away, but I have a sprained ankle so I couldn’t make it there on foot. All I wanted was a six pack of Tecate and a bottle of Tequila Don Julio Añejo to put in the beer, but when you can’t walk for free, you’ve got to pay for the ride (Life rule, which applies to women and gambling, as well as transportation). Otherwise, you’re dry all night, like in Saudi Arabia, where drinking and women drivers are banned.
The taxi driver was a woman. I gave her one block of small talk and then asked if she would have sex with me. “I’m driving, aren’t I?” she said.
So the question was, should I wait out the three remaining blocks, then hobble into the store and get my brew and tequila, and then hobble back out and have Trudi (for that was her name) drive me home, before we had sex? Or should I put off my purchase and just have her pull over in front of the Robinson’s house and join me in the back seat? In Saudi Arabia, Abdullah would be driving me to a chicken fight while I toked on Turkish hash in the back seat. No tough decisions necessary.
I believe in restraint, so I told Trudi I was going to buy my drinks first. I could tell she was disappointed by the way she gripped her gear shift. She told me that she had got behind the wheel for the first time at the age of fifteen, and had had her first child nine months later. When we got to my place, I asked her to come in and have a beer with me and then we’d retire to the bedroom. She looked at me like I was crazy. “Get out of the car?” she said.