taxicab confessions

Monday night’s driver is from Pakistan

You see that car there? That is police. I know because I am waiting behind him, and he is not moving so I honk the horn. He pulls me over, shines light into my face and says, “Show me your license.” I say, “How do I know you are police, you do not have a uniform?” He shows me badge like this, straight away, in my face. I say, “OK, I see you are police, what is the problem?” He says I cannot honk at police and I should look it up in the book. I say, “OK, I will look it up in the book.” He says OK and he will let me go this time, but next time it is two hundred dollar fine or remove my license! And then I look it up in the book and there it is, 213e paragraph three. No, I did not mind, it is OK, because back in my country… I am from Pakistan. Back in my country, everyone honks the horn, oh my goodness. You should be hearing it. Everyone — trucks, cars, busses, horse buggies, donkey buggies, motorbikes, bicycles. And everyone needs own horn to be heard — ooh ooh ooh or eee-aw eee-aw, oh my goodness you should hear it. That is why this country is great, because there is law and no one can honk the horn unless there is good reason.

Tuesday Night’s Driver is from Haiti

This is terrible, the North Koreans. They fire missiles over Sea of Japan, you know. Terrible thing. Everyone is angry. It is World War Three, I know. World War Three. It is so unfair. It is terrible that a few men decide everything for the whole world.