Pirates to Pyramids: Las Vegas Taxi Tales Read Online Free
Author: JJ Carlson, George Bunescu, Sylvia Carlson
kind of thing of ten?"
"Nope,” I said. “And aren’t we all glad?”
“ What do you say we open the windows for a little air?"
HOW SCREWED AM I?
Colorful language is not foreign to me. I was in the army. And I drove a lot of drunks when I started my cab career. Since new cabbies often started on the 3 a.m. shifts, on those nights it was nice to get sleepy riders just for the break from the language. Even the females would sometimes try to compete with trailer trash talk; just for fun. My ears paid the price. And I had to listen to it in case of impending violence to me, the cab, or both.
After a while I was very glad my seniority allowed me to work day shift when the drunks were sleeping. Gone with the drunks were the arguing, cursing, sickly customers and bad smells. And I grew attached to the peace and quiet of normal language. Most trips were now to the airport, buffets and shopping, never a need for cursing. I was now quite comfortable with civil talk.
Until one day, a guy started his conversation the moment he got in my cab with,
“ How screwed am I?” Only he used the F- bomb.
“ What does that mean?" I asked. He answered,
“ I am Arab-American. I am going to the airport to catch a flight and I don't have any identification."
I F- bombed him right back. "You are screwed."
This was New Year's Day only three months after 9/11.
"So, how did you get to Las Vegas without an I.D.?”
He barked, "I had an I.D. when I got here."
“ Okay,” I said more calmly," so where is it?"
“ I was pick-pocketed."
"Didn't your friends tell you to put your wallet in the front pocket? It's a sure fire protection."
They had told him and he had done it.
"I put the wallet in my front pocket."
“ What? How does a guy not notice someone reach into his front pocket?”
I wasn't prepared for the answer.
"Last night was New Year's Eve in Las Vegas." Okay, there were 300,000 people in the street, crammed like sardines. I've had heard that in some places they are squished so tight you get intimate with strangers and you've got no choice. Evidently, this was one of those scenarios.
A girl he didn't know put her hand down his pants and grabbed him "by my Johnson." He was so shocked that he eventually thought, "Boy I am glad my wallet is in my front pock...hey, wait a minute."
Then she was gone and so was the wallet. How did she escape in this crush? "I looked and looked for her but she had disappeared." Practice, he guessed.
Now he had to face the brand new airport security without any identification. Boy, you're screwed, I thought. Silence covered the car the rest of the way to the airport.
As I dropped him off, I gave him my only idea, which was admittedly thin because I had nothing.
"The only suggestion I have for you is to walk up and immediately ask for a cavity search, you know, just to show your earnestness."
He just stared at me. “Well...what have you got?" I asked him.
THIS IS SO EMBARASSING
I picked up this nice looking, well-dressed older man one Sunday morning. Little did I know that this single ride would alter my standard expectations, forever.
"Take me to the Bellagio" he moaned, unhappily.
I told him we didn't have to go there if it made him unhappy.
He said “I have to go there."
That didn't sound good. My eyes darted to the mirror to double-check my assessment of his age. The older they are, the quieter they are, is the rule. No, he was as old as I first thought. So how is it that he has to go there? What trouble could a nice old man get into?
He spoke slowly, "They threw me out of the Bellagio last night."
"What? They threw you out of the Bellagio?" A long pause followed.
"First I lost 12,000 dollars," he said.
"They don't throw you out if you lose 12,000 dollars; they get you a free room."
"I had a room," he boomed.
"Oh" I said. Another long pause
"Nope,” I said. “And aren’t we all glad?”
“ What do you say we open the windows for a little air?"
HOW SCREWED AM I?
Colorful language is not foreign to me. I was in the army. And I drove a lot of drunks when I started my cab career. Since new cabbies often started on the 3 a.m. shifts, on those nights it was nice to get sleepy riders just for the break from the language. Even the females would sometimes try to compete with trailer trash talk; just for fun. My ears paid the price. And I had to listen to it in case of impending violence to me, the cab, or both.
After a while I was very glad my seniority allowed me to work day shift when the drunks were sleeping. Gone with the drunks were the arguing, cursing, sickly customers and bad smells. And I grew attached to the peace and quiet of normal language. Most trips were now to the airport, buffets and shopping, never a need for cursing. I was now quite comfortable with civil talk.
Until one day, a guy started his conversation the moment he got in my cab with,
“ How screwed am I?” Only he used the F- bomb.
“ What does that mean?" I asked. He answered,
“ I am Arab-American. I am going to the airport to catch a flight and I don't have any identification."
I F- bombed him right back. "You are screwed."
This was New Year's Day only three months after 9/11.
"So, how did you get to Las Vegas without an I.D.?”
He barked, "I had an I.D. when I got here."
“ Okay,” I said more calmly," so where is it?"
“ I was pick-pocketed."
"Didn't your friends tell you to put your wallet in the front pocket? It's a sure fire protection."
They had told him and he had done it.
"I put the wallet in my front pocket."
“ What? How does a guy not notice someone reach into his front pocket?”
I wasn't prepared for the answer.
"Last night was New Year's Eve in Las Vegas." Okay, there were 300,000 people in the street, crammed like sardines. I've had heard that in some places they are squished so tight you get intimate with strangers and you've got no choice. Evidently, this was one of those scenarios.
A girl he didn't know put her hand down his pants and grabbed him "by my Johnson." He was so shocked that he eventually thought, "Boy I am glad my wallet is in my front pock...hey, wait a minute."
Then she was gone and so was the wallet. How did she escape in this crush? "I looked and looked for her but she had disappeared." Practice, he guessed.
Now he had to face the brand new airport security without any identification. Boy, you're screwed, I thought. Silence covered the car the rest of the way to the airport.
As I dropped him off, I gave him my only idea, which was admittedly thin because I had nothing.
"The only suggestion I have for you is to walk up and immediately ask for a cavity search, you know, just to show your earnestness."
He just stared at me. “Well...what have you got?" I asked him.
THIS IS SO EMBARASSING
I picked up this nice looking, well-dressed older man one Sunday morning. Little did I know that this single ride would alter my standard expectations, forever.
"Take me to the Bellagio" he moaned, unhappily.
I told him we didn't have to go there if it made him unhappy.
He said “I have to go there."
That didn't sound good. My eyes darted to the mirror to double-check my assessment of his age. The older they are, the quieter they are, is the rule. No, he was as old as I first thought. So how is it that he has to go there? What trouble could a nice old man get into?
He spoke slowly, "They threw me out of the Bellagio last night."
"What? They threw you out of the Bellagio?" A long pause followed.
"First I lost 12,000 dollars," he said.
"They don't throw you out if you lose 12,000 dollars; they get you a free room."
"I had a room," he boomed.
"Oh" I said. Another long pause
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