branded , materialistic me

Saturday, November 25, 2006

♠10:47 PM

is it et cetera, or et cetra?
is it susi, or sushi?

pinched this from today's church bulletin
READ IT :

The Cab Ride

In the years as a cab driver I have seen a good portion of the various kinds of people that exist in our world. passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. People whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman i picked up a few years ago, on one of the night shift run as a cab driver i encountered.

I was responding to a call from a small old run down four storey building situated in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some party animals, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground window floor. Under such circumstances, many drivers just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation signals of danger, I always rushed to the cab and would drive off.

This passenger might be someone who needes 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 80s 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 on had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls. 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, and 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, and then asked, "Can you drive me 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 rearview mirror. her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long to live."

I quietly reacher over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like met ot ake?" 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 over the bridge where she said she met her husband for the first time and where he proposed to her. We drove through the neighbourhood 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 down in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring at darkness, saying nothing.

At the first hint of the sun 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 covalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. 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, and 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 oments often catch us unaware beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. Sometimes our prejudices become the obstacles that waste the wonderful opportunities that would enrich our lives. Great moments happen all the time. We will miss it if we look for great ones to happen rather than to see the greatness in them. Most of all the ones that involve people are the ones that will enrich us the most.

People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.

That said, michelle makes mistakes like
nobody's business
point taken, she still makes them
which makes her one of the few
clowns around town
she thinks i like some twins
because she overhead rayna & i talking
about something something something
okay, to give her credit, she didn't overhear
or anything of that sort
it just happened that she sits next to us
so she hears whatever we say

pffft/ how do you do that? big fat biggy problem
is it, (cheryl/nicole/tessa) cheryl, or soh?
snow white la
(rayna) cherry, or strawberry?
i only like real cherries, not those fakes you find on
brithday cakes & ice creams and i like sweet strawberries
(mine) X or Y?
Z is for Zotia, and that's good enough for me (:

he's so charming it melts me so

; this is why i'm hot