Posted by Frodo on January 27, 2000 at 08:05
This is nothing special, but it's going to get archived in four days anyway...
Taxi Driver
I had the poor judgment to take a flight that arrived in Boston just before 5:00PM. Heavy traffic had backed up even to the taxi pickup area, and I was lucky to be standing at the far end of the line when an empty cab pulled in. Being fleeter of foot than the others, I darted over and opened the rear door. On the floor was a small pool of vomit, and I stepped back. The driver saw my reaction, slid back the safety window between front and rear, and looked over the back of his seat.
"Fuck! That guy really did puke. I didn't think he meant it," the driver growled. He rolled down the windows to let in some of the mild summer air. "You look harmless. You want to ride in the front?"
I needed the ride, he needed the fare, and he reminded me of someone. I climbed in and found room for my carryon on the floor. I glanced at the driver's unshaven face with its thick, black mustache. It struck me that this guy looked like a crude version of the actor, Tony Shalhoub, who played the part of a taxi driver on the old series, Wings. He spoke with a slight accent that I couldn't place.
"My last fare was drunk," he explained. "He told me I'd better clean the cab and he gave me an extra five. I haven't had a minute to check it out. I haven't even had time to take a piss."
He poked at his crotch to underscore this statement.
"I can usually take a piss at one of the hotels," he continued, "but the traffic's been so fuckin' wild today I couldn't leave the cab. I been holdin' it for hours. Too fuckin' much coffee."
The line of traffic stretched endlessly ahead of us. "It's goin' to take us an hour to get through the fuckin' tunnel," he complained, "and I really gotta take a piss soon." He shifted in his seat and pressed his crotch again.
We talked about the Red Sox and the weather, and each time that the crawl came to a total halt he would press his legs together. Then he was fishing for something under his seat, and not finding it he asked, "Check under your seat to see if there's a bottle there."
I did as he asked, but found nothing.
"Fuck! Those fuckin' guys took my piss-bottle."
He caught my look and went on. "I always keep a bottle under the seat for when I have to take a piss and there's no place to do it. I don't have to use it much, but I sure as hell need it now."
He was rubbing his crotch, and I could see the outline of his cock as it swelled into one leg of his jeans. He kept his hand there as we crept toward the entrance to the Sumner Tunnel.
"You ever piss your pants? I mean since you've been grown up?"
Actually I had a number of times, and it was not entirely accidental. "I did a couple of years ago at a party. Too drunk to find the bathroom, I guess," I volunteered. I didn't think I should tell him of the many occasions I had purposely delayed going to the bathroom until it was too late.
"Done it more than once in the cab," he said. "Usually just a few squirts, but I'm gonna flood my pants before we get out of this fuckin' tunnel."
From the way he was moving in his seat and pressing himself, I thought he might be right.
"I ain't no wimp," he explained. "I can hold four, five beers before I have to go to the pisser. But I ain't had a leak since before lunch, and I've had too much coffee since."
He looked tense, and he was squeezing harder. I could readily sympathize with his problem, having been there many times.
"Jeez, I'm gonna piss myself," he exclaimed. "You got a plastic bag or somethin'? I don't want to get this seat wet."
I opened my carryon and pulled out my plastic laundry bag. He slipped this under himself with his free hand.
We were still in the tunnel when he said, "Fuck! I can't hold it!"
A dark splotch blossomed out on the leg of his jeans. I could actually see the wetness glisten as it welled out in brief spurts. "Jeez, I can't stop it!"
He pressed and rubbed as the wetness spread, and when a sigh indicated that he had regained control, he was sitting in a visible puddle.
"Shit! I'm gonna have to drive home and change after I drop you off. I'm gonna miss some good fares."
It was the loss of income and not the embarrassment of wetting himself that seemed to concern him. Now that he no longer had to concentrate on his bladder, he relaxed a bit, complained about the other drivers, and seemed to carry on as if nothing had happened. When we finally reached my hotel, I tipped him an extra ten. I couldn't explain that it was the cheapest entertainment I had had in quite some time.