aww
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark
except for a
single light in a ground floor window. Under these
circumstances, many
drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute,
then drive away.
But, I had seen too many impoverished people who
depended on
taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless
a situation smelled of
danger, I always went to the door.
This passenger might be someone who needs my
assistance,
I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and
knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly
voice.
I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the
door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before
me.
She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a
veil pinned
on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side
was a small
nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for
years. All
the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or
utensils on
the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled
with photos and
glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to
assist the
woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept
thanking me for my kindness.
"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my
passengers
the way I would want my mother treated".
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then
asked,
"Could you drive through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on
my way to
a hospice".
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were
glistening.
"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The
doctor says
I don't have very long."
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What
route would
you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city.
She showed me the building where she had once worked
as an
elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her
husband had
lived when they were newlyweds.
She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse
that had
once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a
girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a
particular building
or corner and would sit staring into the darkness,
saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she
suddenly
said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home,
with a driveway
that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled
up.
They were solicitous and intent, watching her every
move. They
must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the
door..
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her
purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.
She held
onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she
said.
"Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning
light.
Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the
closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I
drove aimlessly
lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could
hardly talk.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one
who was
impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked
once, then
driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done
anything more
important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve
around great
moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully
wrapped in
what others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR
WHAT YOU SAID,
~BUT ~ THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM
FEEL.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark
except for a
single light in a ground floor window. Under these
circumstances, many
drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute,
then drive away.
But, I had seen too many impoverished people who
depended on
taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless
a situation smelled of
danger, I always went to the door.
This passenger might be someone who needs my
assistance,
I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and
knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly
voice.
I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the
door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before
me.
She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a
veil pinned
on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side
was a small
nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for
years. All
the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or
utensils on
the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled
with photos and
glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to
assist the
woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept
thanking me for my kindness.
"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my
passengers
the way I would want my mother treated".
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then
asked,
"Could you drive through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on
my way to
a hospice".
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were
glistening.
"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The
doctor says
I don't have very long."
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What
route would
you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city.
She showed me the building where she had once worked
as an
elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her
husband had
lived when they were newlyweds.
She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse
that had
once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a
girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a
particular building
or corner and would sit staring into the darkness,
saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she
suddenly
said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home,
with a driveway
that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled
up.
They were solicitous and intent, watching her every
move. They
must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the
door..
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her
purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.
She held
onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she
said.
"Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning
light.
Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the
closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I
drove aimlessly
lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could
hardly talk.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one
who was
impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked
once, then
driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done
anything more
important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve
around great
moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully
wrapped in
what others may consider a small one.
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR
WHAT YOU SAID,
~BUT ~ THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM
FEEL.