I hope this was worth it

So, remember this from July? You don't have to read the whole post, just go down to the fourth paragraph. Go, because it matters. I'll wait for you.

Okay. So I think I mentioned on the next day's post that it was a fun wedding and we all got hammered and yadda yadda yadda I got home at 4am (no, I did not just "yadda yadda" sex). So here's the story. Because I told Maril and the story made it's way out and now I keep getting mysterious gifts in the same theme. Still trying to figure out where that wine came from.

So I drove Tom with the intention of leaving my car and taking a taxi home. The party lasted quite a while, but in the end there were only a few of us left, and when Tom called the taxi it really (surprisingly) didn't take long for one to show up. We agreed to take this one kid home, a friend of one of Tony's kids, so he was roughly 21 and he lived between Tony's and Tom's. I sat in the front seat (because I always sit in the front seat in cabs) and really didn't pay much mind to the driver.

As we are pulling away, I mentioned to Tom and the kid in the back seat that it was a fun reception but I was kind of bummed because I didn't get to make out with anyone, and I had kind of wanted to, but there wasn't much available talent. Kid-in-the-Backseat says, Hey wait! You could've made out with me! I told him, sorry, but he's like 14 and that's just poor form. He slumped back in the seat and Tom and I continued chatting about whatever while we dropped the kid off and then went on to Tom's. The driver, meanwhile, has not said a word. Until we drop Tom off.

It's roughly 3 miles from Tom's to my casita, and just as we are pulling away, the cabbie says to me, So. You wanted to make out tonight? And I said, Yeah, but I didn't get to, so I'm a little bummed out. He then suggested that I make out with HIM. To which I replied, I can't make out with you, you're the taxi driver. To which HE replied, a little huffily, I might add, What, you won't make out with me because I'm a taxi driver? And I explained, No, not because you're A taxi driver, but because you're THE taxi driver. He didn't understand (we established that he was Armenian) the concept, but proceeded to then use the next 2.7 miles to present to me his argument on all the reasons why, in fact, I SHOULD make out with him. He wasn't a bad looking guy, and I remember throwing in my knowledge of famous Armenians to make him feel better for me not knowing exactly where Armenia is, while he continued trying to convince me how this night should end.

Ultimately, as we pulled into my complex, I thought to myself, You know, what's the point in living life like you're telling a story if you don't actually do anything that's worth telling? So I agreed. I tried to make him feel better by telling him he made a good argument, but really, it all came down to not having much to blog about lately.

Um, the making out part? That was okay. Except he kept trying to do these weird things with his tongue and I kept laughing at it (like, not in an encouraging way) (which I am not so sure is a good thing to do to an Armenian male) (because he got kind of mad) (but not, like, Crazy-Armenian-Cab-Driver-Turns-Violent mad, just mad because some white chick was laughing at him), and finally, after maybe five minutes, I opened the door and said, Okay, that was your tip! He just kind of sat there, and so did I, on the curb, and finally he asked me if I was going inside, and I said yes, as soon as you leave... so he did. There you go.

So really, the stuff that has happened after that is probably the funnier part of the story. Like after I told Maril, every time I got up and walked away from my computer she would sneak on and put a picture of a Broadway Cab as my wallpaper. And how I was talking to a customer up front a few days later and Dana told me she had someone on hold for me that wouldn't hang up, and (acting all serious)(which of course I believed) that it was Broadway Cab and that I left something in one of their taxis and when I finally finished up with the customer there was no call at all, she was just fucking with me. And how like I don't know, three weeks later or something I am sitting in the Beaverton branch and Judy L phones me and goes on and on about how she and her man took a taxi the night before and it came around that the taxi driver knew me but wouldn't tell her how and she wanted to know why, and she was so convincing that I ended up telling HER and then she burst out laughing telling me I was too gullible. But since I told her the story, Sandi in the branch over heard me, and now that branch knows. And then how I was downtown working and an anonymous package came in the courier run and it was that toy yellow cab I showed you on my August 23 post. And then Friday (Friday?) I took a little break and came back upstairs and there, sitting on the credenza, was this bottle of wine. I still have no idea where it came from, and nobody's telling.

So that's it. I hope it was worth it. I would like to go on record by saying that no, I am not, in fact, some kind of tramp, I just feel like a person should do things maybe just a little bit beyond the pale, rather than live a boring, vanilla, nondescript life. And plus I really do a lot for the sake of this blog, so you guys better appreciate it.