July 16th, 2008
The obese old woman at Fred Meyer has a bad hip and a wheelchair...8 comments
July 9th, 2008
“...I need to take a shower first and wash all of this blood off.”6 comments
July 2nd, 2008
“So I’ve got these two women in the back of my cab who just refuse to get out...”8 comments
June 25th, 2008
“My friend’s getting divorced, and he’s really drunk,” says the bartender...8 comments
June 18th, 2008
There’s nothing like a good Friday night, and I’m referring to the money.3 comments
June 11th, 2008
The old man in the karaoke bar’s parking lot insists that he doesn’t need any help...0 comments
June 4th, 2008
“What’re you up to?” asks my dispatcher.6 comments
May 28th, 2008
The middle-aged guy is working on an oil ship...3 comments
May 21st, 2008
“How you doing tonight, man?”3 comments
May 14th, 2008
As I pull into the back parking lot of Spot 79 on Southeast Foster Road...13 comments
[April 20th, 2005] "Do you know where the nearest Internet cafe is?"
I've picked these two guys up on Swan Island, from the Coast Guard boat in drydock for repair. The two of them are young, fairly good-looking, and one is getting worried about getting his taxes in on time.
No cafes close by that I can think of, and tax preparers are all closed by now; these guys are seriously considering asking random people in bars to allow them to use a computer-any computer, anywhere-for $50. I laugh and say in that case, you can do it on mine.
So we head back to my apartment and I bring out the laptop. They bring out beers. My cats bring themselves out from under the furniture.
The tax preparation does not go so well, though. This guy, he's really nice, but definitely not a computer guy. So I sit down to have a go. The laptop goes back and forth for an hour or so, and at last it's done. They've finished their six pack and I've washed a sinkful of dishes and opened about three months' worth of mail, all with the meter running.
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We get back in the cab and I take them to the White Eagle, where they give me $140 and their undying gratitude. But as I start to pull out, the poor guy who was so relieved to get the taxes done realizes he's left his bank card in the ATM. I run him back there, but it's gone.
We joke that it's karmic retribution for his luck in drawing a cab driver who would help him with his taxes two hours before the deadline. It still sucks, though.
