Oh those bad boy cabbies

I got a cab today to go from Sackville to Dartmouth, a mostly-highway haul that, at midday, involved clear roads and afforded the cabbie attention to chat. A lot.

We began with his expression of disappointment that I was not one of two other people he’d expected me to be. From there we moved on to his dislike of libraries. After that–since I continued to be cheerful–he decided to regale me with his typical Friday night schedule, which apparently consists of drinking himself blind, a situation with which his wife puts up as long as he “stays in the shed.”

Some road work on Windmill Road slowed us down sufficiently that he could move on to discussing politics. He somewhat uniquely identifies with both the canadian NDP party and the US GOP, not two parties that I readily imagine partying down together.

A meeting I had later in the day was slightly delayed as one of the attendees found herself waiting a long time for a cab she’d called. Although the cab company seemed to be different, she got a similar dose of outsider-verging-on-outlandish. In her case, the cabbie had a lot to brag about in terms of his former prison life and a large drug bust he’d been party to “somewhere in another country.”

So, maybe not the safest drivers around?


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