Sarojini
03-17-2004, 10:21 AM
My father sent me this wonderful story, and I wanted to share it with you all!
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THE CAB RIDE
~ Author unknown
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.
When I arrived for a 2:30 a.m. pick-up, the building was dark except for
a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances,
many drivers would have just honked once or twice, waited a minute, and
then driven away.
But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis
as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of
danger, I always went to the door... this passenger might be someone
who needed my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail,
elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood
before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil
pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a
small nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the
counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase
to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and
we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way
I would want my mother treated".
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could
you drive through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a
hospice".
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says
I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the
building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture
warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we
pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must
have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman
was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost
In thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient
to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven
away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more
important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments may catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what
others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID,
OR WHAT YOU SAID,
~BUT ~
THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
------
Thank you, everyone on this message board, for making each other feel good each and every day.
Love and hugs,
Jen
--------------------
THE CAB RIDE
~ Author unknown
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.
When I arrived for a 2:30 a.m. pick-up, the building was dark except for
a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances,
many drivers would have just honked once or twice, waited a minute, and
then driven away.
But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis
as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of
danger, I always went to the door... this passenger might be someone
who needed my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail,
elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood
before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil
pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a
small nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the
counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase
to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and
we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way
I would want my mother treated".
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could
you drive through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a
hospice".
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says
I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the
building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture
warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we
pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must
have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman
was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost
In thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient
to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven
away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more
important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments may catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what
others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID,
OR WHAT YOU SAID,
~BUT ~
THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
------
Thank you, everyone on this message board, for making each other feel good each and every day.
Love and hugs,
Jen