Me and Mr. Cab
by Rebecca Reilly
It was an ideal day. The sky was blue, the Aung was riding really well when I had a sudden attack of rage. In hindsight, considering my court date... I should've just given the guy the finger and road along on my merry way.
My step-dad, a Queens native, refined my boxing skills, I have a long list of fights won and I used to wrestle horses for a living... so the 6-foot 270 lb. Taxi driver didn't intimidate me.
There it was, suddenly, in front of me, the car lacking an appropriate turn-signal. I skidded, avoiding contact with the bumper, but the near miss turned me into a raving lunatic. Generally when I get really mad, I yell my head off. I came up to the driver's side and let loose a stream of tactlessness into the face of a notably ugly taxi driver. He and his sidekick, unleashed a furious volley which only served to stoke my already out of control abuse of explicates.
He looked mad, like a father that has told a bratty child to stop hitting a sibling on the head. Mr. Cab prepared to give this Bike Messenger a whipping. The fact that he had broken 3 laws in front of me was inconsequential. My life compare to his irritation at being called on his bad driving... was petty. So Mr. Cab took off his seatbelt and popped the door. I wasn't about to let him out of the cab. I held the door, to buy time, so I could think of a way to get out of this mess. He pushed out, I pushed in. His wife, the sidekick in the passenger seat, screaming all the while, "Leave her alone!"
In the struggle over the control of the door, Mr. Cab hit his head on the corner of the door. The result was a grotesque gash, yielding enough blood to cover the whole left side of his face and neck. I was surprised and tried to get away from this man. He jumped out, I backed up, found my pedal and lurched off hoping to get away. He ran after me down the middle of the street looking not unlike a refugee from the OJ riots in LA. I lost him for a minute. I called my dispatcher, and my dispatcher didn't know how to remedy the situation. Since my delivery was a mere block away, I schemed to lock my vulnerable steed behind a building and stealth into the drop. I didn't want Aung to be the ultimate victim of this ridiculousness.
Out of nowhere, the cab came bolting down the street after me. Out of sight, I though I'd be safe to lock the bike up. As I locked the bike and looked up, there he was, "Now, I've got you! You can't run now!" He looked horrible. He was ugly, mad, bloody, and ready to kick my ass. I gave up. I opted to take whatever abuse this lunatic had to give if it meant he wouldn't wreck my beloved bike.
Sure enough, he had more of a beef with me as he lunged at me and picked me up by my neck. As he choked me, I fondled the radio on my chest, trying to remember, despite my lack of oxygen, how to key in. After an eternity, I found the button and began gasping, "Help, I'm being strangled." I've always like Motorola as a company, but now there will always be a warm fondness in my heart for my electronic hero. Mr. Cab dropped me on the pavement. Luckily for Mr. Cab, no one saw his prowess in choking a 5'8" 140-pound woman. Considering my near-death experience, I felt pretty good. Definitely, I was relieved to be alive.
Dragging me out into the street, he hollered for the Kangaroo court of the street to call the police. Everyone was on Mr. Cab's side, Mr. Can after all looked like he'd just had his ass kicked. I'm not sure if it was my bullying that provoked their sympathy, or the fact that such a big dude had been outdone by Pollyanna. Emasculation is good enough reason to throw the book at a woman. So the police came. I got arrested. They took me in and booked me. It was an interesting experience. Felt like I've never be allowed to leave. I chanted for hours, being the worst Buddhist on the planet, I figured I had some serious Karmic catching-up to do.
The police defied my expectations. I was ready to be thrown around, beaten to pulp and raped. They were very kind, made sure the cuffs didn't hurt, asked if I was all right. Finally the detective came and interviewed me. I was expecting at the very least a lecture on my profoundly bad attitude. Instead he barked a command, "Reilly, stand up!" I did as I was told, expecting to be humiliated. The detective summoned another cop and pointed at me. "You see that little girl?" he asked the approaching cop. "That little girl took on a 6'8" 270-pound man, and won!" I hate to jump to conclusions, but, they seemed impressed. This was not the message of repentance I was anticipating.
After hours of watching cockroaches and smelling urine, my boss called and convinced the cops to let me out on my own recognizance. I thought for sure I'd be fired for my antics, in the other cities I have worked in, that would probably be the case. Considering it was my second day at this new company it probably helped my case that I took 60 pounds without complaint up to the hill earlier that morning.
So after hours of contemplating my life gone wrong, I was released. I found it ironic, stepping out of the cop shop through an annoying crowd of cops off the clock, that here, under the watchful gaze of those who serve and protect, I was strenuously harassed to the point that a stranger got to cop a good feel. Go figure.
Lambchop