So...I edited this somewhat. Changed some tiny things...it still kind of sucks. I'm sorry if anything offends you, I don't own anything.
It all started out so harmlessly...
My mother and I went to London to do some shopping. We had wanted to do this for years, and finally my father let us go. I say 'finally' because my father is somewhat protective. Okay, very protective. But our story is not about my neurotic father and all of his tendencies, but this is about our shopping trip to London.
I was quite excited about this trip. It was my first time leaving the United States; well not really, it would be my first time leaving North America. Damn Canada. Anyway, my mother was dreading the flight over; she had taken a trip to London prior to this with her sister, mother, and mother-in-law as a graduation present when she got her PhD. So my mother drugged herself up for the flight over. For the record, my mother may be smart, but she's done some stupid shit in her life.
This being one of those times.
"Mother, what rental car company did we use?" I'm dragging my mother, my luggage, and my mother's luggage through Heathrow Airport, not a pretty sight to behold. God, I can hear what the airport workers are saying behind us now,
"Look at that poor girl, her mother's a drunk and her father is probably the reason why they had to come here," one woman says. I could feel them watching us, "No, do you see how they're dressed? The girl's probably a stuck up heiress, mother's a drunken social butterfly and they're probably here on one of their numerous shopping sprees with Daddy's credit card," another woman fires back.
Close, but no cigar. I laugh to myself, I freaking wish I was an heiress. That would be awesome.But alas, my mother is a right-wing conservative doctor who overdosed herself and I am a sad excuse for a daughter. My father, we have already discussed. And I don't have time to fight with the airport staff so I focus my attention back to my slurring mother.
"Let me make this easier for you to understand. Where...Is...The...Ren-tal...Car?" I have to slow it down for her; I don't know what pills she took. My mother looks at me and smiles one of those drunken people smiles where it gets kind of creepy. Yeah, it's been one of those days.
"Didn't get one. Grab a cabby." Oh my god, my mother, in her state of drugged euphoria, is speaking in a cockney British accent. I do think that I will die of embarrassment now. Thanks mom. I roll my eyes and head over the line of cabs waiting for passengers.
Those poor drivers, they never saw it coming. They see myself and my stoned mother, and start thinking the exact same thing the other staff did. I watch them as they do a silent 'Take her!' 'No, you take her!' moment and I slow my pace. Let them work it out, fuck if I actually care, I just want to get to the apartment we are renting, get my mother to bed, and try to find some "fit bloke" to go get some coffee with. That's all I want.
"Hello miss. D'you need a cab?" A friendly looking man asked. I'd guess he was around his forties, weathered. Must suck to be a taxi driver, Hearing people whining about how bad their flight was, how horrid their significant other is, getting told stories about the "hot action" some overweight banker got while he was at a business convention in Denver. I couldn't do it.
"Yes please." The man helps with the bags as I maneuver my mother into the back while grabbing the apartment address out of her carry-on. The driver slams the boot and gets into the driver seat.
"So where to?" He turns in his seat to look at us.
"Wharfedale Street, in Chelsea." I look up from the piece of paper.
"Very nice neighborhood. You renting?" He starts the car and zooms toward Chelsea.
"Yeah, staying for a couple weeks." Yeah we're taking out sweet time to do our shopping; hey we don't get out much okay?
"Ah, I believe that you'll be having more fun than your dear mum during your stay."
"And why do you say that, sir?"
"The local kids are getting home for holidays; many young people will be about. My name's Benjiy."
"Nice to meet you, I'm Addi and this is my mother Evelyn. Say hello mother."
"'Ello mother!" She then slums in the seat and then passes out. Thank god.
"Your mother's and interesting character, she is. Too much to drink?"
"She doesn't like to fly. You say there will be people my age out and about?"
"Mmhm."
"So, where do these people tend to gather?" Hells yeah, why not just get to the point?
"Different places. Let's see now, Chelsea…near West Brompton..." Benjiy pauses for a bit. I welcome the silence, time to prepare my game plan. Get everything settled, go get enough food so that when my mother wakes up and has the munchies she'll be okay, and get myself dressed to the nines, then go party in London with Londoners. Sounds like a plan.
"Well, 'course you could go into the center of London and hit the pubs and all, or you could try and find a flat party somewhere. There's a pub near you that's pretty popular called the Troubadour Club. Then there's Club 21 and K-Bar…" This man is trying to get me arrested in a foreign country.
"Benjiy, I like you. You tell me what I need to know, and you don't give me the fluffy tourist-y crap. Do you do this for everyone or do you just like me?" This guy is amazing. Hands down.
"Well, I saw your mum and saw you and I thought to myself, I thought, Benjiy this kid is going to get her mum to the room, and go party, she's not going to know where she's going or who she's with and this poor girl is probably going to end up like that girl did in Bermuda or where ever the hell. So I then thought, well I might as well give her the good spots to go just to save her some time. So, how'd I do?"
"You're freaking amazing."
"Do you want a lesson in British Slang?"
"Sure, why not? Wait! Should I use a British accent when I go out?"
"No, you'll get more guys with an American. But as for slang, please if you feel like saying 'freaking' as in the context that you did a couple seconds ago, use 'bloody'. As in 'bloody amazing.'"
"But then will I seem like a poser?" Shut up. I want to know.
"True, you probably will so use it only when you're around Americans." I nod. This man is wise. I truly have never had this long a conversation with a cab driver in my entire life. Damn this has been more conversation than I had with my last boy friend. Depressing.
"Well, here we are Wharfedale Street, Chelsea. Do you need any help?" Without even me answering, Benjiy has the door open to help my mother and myself out, and then he grabs the luggage and puts it on the sidewalk. I leave my mother sitting on the stoop of the two story flat, okay well technically it's a town house, but I don't like getting into technicalities. I hand Benjiy a credit card and while it processes he hands me a business card.
"Here's my number for the cab if you ever need it, I hope you enjoy you're stay here and I hope our paths cross again." I give him a twenty pound note.
"Thanks for talking to me and giving me the hot party tips, and besides your job probably sucks, so we will most likely meet again. Thank you." Benjiy gets back into the cab and drives away. I pull the key for the flat out of my pocket and fumble with the lock. Finally getting it I once again drag my mother and our luggage into the home. Benjiy was cool. I hope that tip was enough. Isn't the ratio now like 1.98: 1? So let's round that up to 2. So...holy shit, I just gave the coolest cab driver ever a 40 tip. No wonder he loves me.