25 February 2008

Philadelphia, Scene I, UPDATED

I really don't know where to begin, so I'll just summarize two of our cab rides.

Ride I, Airport to Molly's house, at around 5:30 in the morning:

After getting overexcited about finding the ATM, and subsequently losing the baggage claim, we got into a cab, and gave the man Molly's address (on 44th street, that will become important later). The rate from the airport to anywhere in town is a flat rate of $26.25, also important later. After driving around like a drunken koala bear for FAR too long, the man starts to ask us, "Is this the house?" "We don't know we've never been there." "Is this the house?" "We don't know, we've never been there." "Is THIS the house?" "We don't know, we've never been there! Logic tells me that **** 44th is reasonably near **** 44th (Edited because Molly didn't want her address on here...strange), so this might be it." "44TH?!?! Shit, we on 41st..." Then it took us about fifteen more minutes to get to Molly's house, during which time Kathy texted me important questions, like "Is our cabby drunk?" We give him $30. He asks, "Only THIRTY??" Uh....yeah...

Ride II, Center City back to Rental House, some time in the afternoon:

We hail cab. Mallika, Stacy and Kathy move for the back seat, which leaves me in the front seat. Oh well. I get in. Car starts. Kathy shrieks, hopping along the street with one foot on the ground and one foot in the car. "Whoops." We drive back, listening to the Soul Train soundtrack. Series of grunting and feeling around in dark parts of the car. When we get out, Mallika says, "Let's not speak, because Molly needs to hear ALL OF THIS."

EDITED because I just remembered the third cab ride which I must share with y'all, Ride III, downtown Saturday night:

I don't remember all the details, but cabby was African (as in from Africa, not as in fancy way of saying black). Our conversation went something like this-
"So where are you from?"
"Sierra Leone."
"How's that genocide treating you?"
"Not very good."
And I was his favorite person in the cab, the one with whom he wanted to continue a conversation. My social skills are sometimes lacking...


  1. This might be strange... but how about we DON'T give my address out on a public blog? Just a thought...

    But in addition to your cab stories, there's also Emily losing her wallet in one- and there's also the instance of us trying to find a cab at 4:30 am and walking across the parkway and finding NOTHING? Jamie and I got one about 20 minutes after we put you in one. I drank a fair amount of the flask of Jack.

  2. Not to nit-pick... but that's still my address.