Jimmy's Job WC 298

Jimmy’s Job
WC 298

"Yeah, you too, buddy!" the cabbie yelled at his fleeing passenger.

"What a jerk!" he said to me. "Drive him to the worst part of town and flips me off 'cause I won't wait for him."

"Why can't you wait, Jimmy?" I asked from the front passenger seat of the smelly cab which reeked of body odor, urine, and tikka masala, among other pungent essences.

I opened my notebook and clicked my pen; I was on a ride-along for my story on independent cabbies in the Big Apple.

"Bad neighborhood," he said.

"So, Jimmy, why are you not with a cab company?"

"Without a high school diploma, I'm kinda screwed. And I've done time.”

I slid toward the passenger door as we drove into a better part of the city. I noticed his cab license on the dash.

“You need a license?”

“Can’t drive without it. Cost an arm and a leg.”

I jotted that down.

"Look at this guy! Fancy suit. Big tipper. Prob'ly."

Jimmy pulled over; the man got in.

"How long is this going to take?" Mr. Brooks Brothers said.

" Where ya headed?"

"Uptown."

"What a tool," Jimmy said out of the corner of his mouth.

"Big place, buddy."

"Financial District."

"'Bout fifteen minutes."

"I don't have fifteen minutes."

"it's Rush Hour," Jimmy said, as we sat in heavy traffic.

"I’ll walk!"

"Yes, sir!” Jimmy flipped the lock switch.

Mr. Brooks Brothers got out without paying and hurried off.

"These entitled jerks think they can rub a magic lamp and their own personal genie appears," Jimmy said, veins popping out on his forehead.

“My dad woulda pounded lumps on him. When I was a kid…”

I wished I had a genie’s lamp, so I could disappear, but took notes instead.

After all, that was my job.