A new take on the daily grind.

THE PICKUP

David S. Grant

“505 Old Pine Road.” I tell the taxi driver.

The run-down houses, the look of a thriving town during colonial times tells me I’m in Connecticut. The lack of divider between me and the driver confirms that I am no longer in the city.

“Can you believe this?” The taxi driver is pointing outside as buckets of rain fall. “It’s unbelievable, and the trees..” He points. “..are still green, I mean, c’mon it’s damn near Thanksgiving and the trees are still green.”

“Right.” I add.

The driver snickers, “That Gore was right, it is just miserable.”

We pass a warehouse that has a sign SELF STORAGE, but the lights are partially out on the second word, creating SELF RAGE. I ask the driver if he’s been busy.

“Well, you know, I’ve got my usual 5:15 pickup. This guy is a real nutcase. He lives in a hotel, ten minutes from where he works, I’m not sure why he doesn’t buy a car, but I’m guessing his wife must have taken him to the cleaners. What a freakin’ idiot.” His cell phone rings, he shuts it off and continues, “Then after him, each morning I pick up this moron who only wears shorts and tee shirts no matter how freakin’ cold it is outside. This guy is a real savage. One time he wore pants, but only once. What a jerkoff.”

I reach my destination, give him the fare, he records it on his clipboard, and as I get out he asks, “Hey, you need a ride back to the train station?” I say yes, around 4:30pm and he tells me he’s going to be here to pick me up and then adds, “Don’t be late, I’ve got laundry to do.”

That afternoon the driver is waiting for me. It is still raining when I get in. The driver is already talking when I get in.

“Ugh, this weather won’t quit. Twenty years ago my friend Josh left and went to San Diego. Never came back. I should have went with him. This place sucks.”

The driver lifts his clipboard and shows me his last three fares were all for seven dollars, “That’s 7-7-7, I need to go play the lottery man!”

Sensing he has lightened up I as if he has plans for the holiday.

“The old lady is making a bird. Other than that, I guess I’ll be working on Friday, picking up these same miserable people in this dilapidated town.”

Frustrated, I ask, “Why don’t you quit, why don’t you leave and get another job?”

The driver stops, a quarter mile from the train station. “Aren’t you listening, these people are waiting for me each morning. If I’m not there to pick them up they don’t make it to work.” He writes something down on his clipboard, then turns back to me. “You really are a freakin’ idiot, now get out.” As I shut the door, I hear the driver say, “Damn, I’m running late and I’ve got laundry to do.”


David S. Grant is the author of Corporate Porn, an alcohol and sandwich fueled romp through the darker side of corporate America and the lighter side of the adult film industry. Corporate Porn can be purchased at http://www.silverthought.com/davidgrant/
Check out his website: http://www.davidsgrant.com