Just got back from five pretty great days in Jersey for the holidays.
See, normally I just go home for a day or three, tops. But I decided to try and reconnect with my roots a bit more this particular trip (and I did.)
But this post isn’t about the Garden State/Beautiful Girls-type trip home for the holiday I had.
No, this is about the three minutes following my getting off of the train at the Harrisburg station.
The parking lot was pandemonium. Absolutely crazy.
You see, normally, the parking lot at the Harrisburg Amtrack station is pretty barren. Three or four cabs, couple of cars waiting or dropping off and a random crackhead and/or prostitute milling about.
But today was nuts. Seriously, there were more cars, cabs and cops there than I’ve ever, ever seen. (And I travel by Amtrack out of Harrisburg quite frequently)
I walked out – one big bag over my shoulder, backpack stuffed to the brim on my shoulders and a plastic bag with some bitchin’ cookies from my brother’s deli and some coffee my Mom gave me in a plastic bag in my left hand- and it’s raining.
It was just starting to rain hard, I just arrived from five days of sleeping on my parent’s couch in their basement, the train was pretty packed and I was just ready to get home.
So I walked to the head of the cab line and began to enter one of those orange minivan cabs from Harrisburg Cab Co.
The driver rolls down the window and asks (in some sort of Middle Eastern accent- not that it matters whether or not he’s Middle Eastern, but for the sake of this story- and the following exchange- you need to imagine his accent while you’re reading it. Trust me. It adds to the story.)
ANYWAY-
The driver rolls down the window and asks “Where you going, are?”
“River Plaza. 2300 block of Front.” I grumble, hoisting my bag into the back of the minivan.
“How much you pay?”
Stunned look on my face.
“What?”
“How much you pay for ride? Eez holiday. Eez very busy time now.”
Even more stunned look on my face.
“I’ll pay you whatever is on the fucking meter when we get to my apartment.”
“No, no…my friend! I sit here..two hour…for, what? Six dollar fare? I turn down woman going to Hershey for not enough fare.”
“Dude…I don’t give a shit. You’re a taxi cab. That’s what you fucking do….[agitated] no, no…know what? Fuck this. What’s your PUC number?”
“No! No! My frieeeend! I’m keeding. I’m keeding. Get in cab. I drive you.”
So, I sat down in the cab, put my earbuds back in and waited for him to pull out of the clustered-up parking lot.
As we’re pulling towards the exit, he rolls down the window and yells out the window at a kid who looked like he was heading back to his college carrying a big duffel bag and a lacrosse stick “Hey! Where you going?!”
“York College”
“Get in!”
And the kid got in- forcing his bag to fit onto the seat on top of my bags (and bag of cookies) and sat down in the front street.
“How much is it to York College?”
“Eeehh…fifty five dollars.”
And we sped off…without ever turning on the meter.
Is there a single public service company left in the world that isn’t run by corrupt, opportunistic, greedy scumbags?
