The French Taxi Cab

Well tonight was interesting, in a things-come-full-circle kind of way. The day was dreary, rainy and cold - apparently now it's cool to just go from Summer straight to Winter and skip Fall completely. After work, some coworkers and I headed to a bar to watch the Phillies game. I left there around 5:40 to meet some college girlfriends for dinner, and I could not for the life of me get a cab. The ones with lights on didn't stop. The ones without lights on didn't stop. And there were long lulls where nary a taxi was even in sight. On BROAD STREET. A MAIN ARTERY of the city.

I was perplexed. So I walked, hoping to find a taxi as I strode, but my search was in vain. I ended up at 8th and Pine, about 8 blocks away from my final destination, and decided a cab wasn't even worth it at that point. So I made it to dinner flustered, but okay. We sat around at the restaurant for a while talking, and then headed back to my friends' apartment to watch La Vie en Rose, the move about French singer Edith Piaf. It was great. Piaf has an intriguing life and a great voice, and of course all songs sound so much more flowy and dramatic in French than they do in English.

I didn't stay for the whole thing, as I didn't want to have a late night. So another girl who was there offered to drive me home and we left. But as we were driving away, we noticed the car was clunking along making a sound like we were driving on ground up road. So we pulled over at 2nd and Washington, in South Philly, and sure enough my friend had a flat tire. Drat.

I sat with her for a while as she called Triple AAA, and wondered what a nice Jewish girl was doing at the intersection of 2nd and Washington, next to Snockey's crab shack, waiting for Triple AAA to come and rescue my friend's Honda Civic Hybrid. My friend told me I could go, in fact, she insisted I go. So we called a cab and it came within 5 minutes.

And the whole drive back to my apartment, the cab driver sang. In French.