yevlax

Helluva Mango Drink

I refuse to use the scooters at grocery stores, instead preferring to hobble about huffing and puffing with my cane or holding on to the cart. I can still walk a little, it just takes a lot out of me.

I use a handicapped bus service here in Louisville, 'TARC 3', to get to my Dr.s appointments and back. It costs $3 for a one-way trip, and I try to buy tickets online when I can, because I'm never out and about for change. Yellow Cab has a contract with the TARC company to supplement their business, and because I'm not actually in a wheelchair, I am usually ferried around by one of these taxis drivers. Katie asked me recently how the hell I was affording taxi rides all the time. I had to explain the above.

From what I gather chatting with the taxi drivers, they make less money ferrying people around this way, but its a much more reliable source of income from the subsidy and its a lot safer (it is very unlikely that a person who relies on a cab to get to the hospital is going to rob you, for example). Most of the drivers are cabbies who got fed up with working regular cab service.

I meet a lot of interesting people on these taxi rides.

A couple of weeks ago I was picked up from my weekly transfusion by an elderly white man. Seemed very jovial, like a kindly old grandfather. He told me that he was going to pick up another person before taking me home, because of how the route was laid out. I replied that was fine (it's not unusual for the tarc people to pick up multiple people on a route). I usually fall asleep in the back anyways. He also warned me that the girl he was picking up always goes 'AHHHH!' when we go under the bridge on 64. "I dunno why she does it, she just goes AHHHH!".

"Er...okay." I snuggled back against the seat. We picked up the lady, who gave the driver a bag of chips and a coke, and immediately he began teasing her about bringing him lunch. "I GOT THOSE FOR FREE SO YOU KIN HAVE 'EM," she bellowed. Then she turned on the radio, which was currently blaring the big song from that Kevin Costner Robin Hood movie. She sang at the top of her lungs, and the cab driver jovially joined her after a bit. And sure enough, when we went under the tunnel on 64, she went, "AHHHHHH!".

Another time, I was in the cab with two much older gentlemen. They had already been in the cab a while, and were discussing rambunctious tales of their youth. One of the gentlemen assured the other that he was a 'looker' back in the day. He used to be whatca called a met-tro-sess-ual now. He used to live down in Florida, and MAN, let him tell you how many women were on that beach. He could get any woman he wanted on that beach with his boyish good looks. Why, he'd have 4-5 women a week!

"There was this one woman, she was a rich family. Youd a heard of 'em if I told you the name. Boy, she wanted to marry me. Work for her dad, everything. I wouldve gone. I'd be sittin' pretty. But I hated Florida. I couldn't stay there forever."

"Why did you hate Florida?" the other one asked.

"Too hot," he replied

There was the Jamaican dude who picked me up once. At least I think he was Jamaican, I was too scared to ask. He was probably the worst driver I've ever met in my life. He cut people off, did u-turns in the middle of the street. He ramped his cab over a barrier once, because he was too impatient to wait for a light. The whole time he's driving, his radio loudly blaring Bob Marley's 'Don't Worry. Be Happy'.

I usually get picked up by some pretty easygoing folks. One guy grabbed me after a dr.s visit where I wasn't so groggy, and kept asking me what I liked to drink. I thought he meant alcohol, so I told him my favorite beer (Honey Brown) but replied I can't handle much of it anymore. "No, man, I meant sodas n' stuff."

"Soda? Well I just drink whatever. I'm trying to drink a lot of water now. I like Coke products and hate Pepsi?" I replied, hoping he was not a die-hard Pepsi fanatic.

He proceeded to tell me about this wonderful mango drink. You could only find it at one store in Louisville, and it was only 99 cents! "Oh," I replied. "C'mon, man, I'll buy you one! It's on the way. I gotta pick up Fred anyways."

"Who's Fred?" I asked.

"Friend of mine. We gone' to his house this weekend. He makes the best barbeque ever. I pick him up after we get the mango drink."

So we drove off the beaten path a bit and stopped at a convenience store so he could get gas and two mango drinks. He parked by the nozzle and cheerfully marched inside. I was glad he was going into the store to buy it because when he started talking about this drink I was afraid it'd turn out to be a sales pitch for those 'amway-juice' people. After paying one dollar American to bring his client a slice of heaven, he cheerfully marched back and presented me the amazing drink that I now cannot even remember the name.

It was just a fucking mango drink.

We drove on, me lying through my teeth and assuring him that yeah, THIS IS REALLY GOOD, MAN! (it was okay. I guess. If you actually like mango. Which I didn't. Not really.) Then we stopped at a church to pick up Fred. Fred got into the van and immediately began discussing the merits of his godlike BBQ and all the hot women that would be at the party. Man, if I'd known that handicapped guys apparently got this much pussy I'da broke my legs a long time ago. Fred also commented on the fabulous mango drinks we were drinking.

"Ain't it good, man?" Fred asked.

"It's awesome!" I replied, "And it's only 99 cents!"

They continued to chatter on, and we stopped at a light. They both looked to their right, whistling a little. I was in an awkward position in the back. "Hrm? I can't see," I said. I began craning my neck to figure out what they were looking at. "Hrm-mmm," they said in stereo. When the light changed the cab sped ahead. I finally caught a glance to the right, seeing an extremely attractive young brunette who seemed to be wearing something that might be called a bikini top, if you were feeling generous. She was looking ahead, seemingly bored and disinterested. I did not think she was impressed with our hot handicappidness. She might have been, though, if I'd have flashed my cane while we were at the light. Or the mango drink.

A few minutes later, after the driver and Fred had enthusiastically discussed the lady to the right, I was dropped off at my apartment. I walked over, checked the mail. I hobbled to the door, turned the key. I hobbled in, ready for a nap. I also stopped by the sink and the kitchen to pour the rest of the mango drink out and throw the can in the trash.

Stupid mango drink.