A friend posted a story about a NYC cab driver’s encounter
with a woman who was leaving her home (permanently). The gist was about the
importance of patience. It put me in mind of an experience I had many years
ago. It was 1996, I was between jobs, had to put food on the table, and took a
job driving for limo company in NJ. Honest work – I learned a lot, and had
experiences that I’ll never forget. Here’s one…
I picked up two women who lived in a retirement community in
Ocean County, NJ (where such communities are a growth industry). I was to take them
into Manhattan where the older of the two, Rose, had a doctor’s appointment.
The trip was what was known as a wait-and-return wherein there was a flat fee
for the round trip, plus the clock started ticking (at $25 per hour) when we
reached the destination and continued until we began the trip back. Rose was
about 80, frail, but full of life. She carried a large black purse. Her friend,
about ten years her junior, helped her into the car. “I got cash in this
purse,” Rose announced. No problem, Rose, we’ll settle up when we get back. Sit
back and enjoy the ride.
We chatted on the way into the city. “I used to live on
Ludlow St. You know where that is?” I sure do, Rose. Lower Eastside. Tell me
about what it was like back then, Rose. And she did. “You heard of Yhonna
Schimmels on Houston?” The kinish place. You bet. “I worked there as a girl.
Can’t get a good knish ANYWHERE anymore.” I know what you mean, Rose. Only
place you can get rullepulse anymore in Minneapolis is Ingebrettsen’s. I
explained that rullepulse was a lamb sausage favored by us Scandinavians. Rose took that in. “Well, then you know what
I’m talking about. Your food, my food. It’s important. We remember tastes,
don’t we?”
We chatted some more. Seemed that Rose had only been into
the city for the occasional quick trip to a doctor. She had not seen the old
neighborhood for years. And years.
We arrived at the Doctor’s office. The two of them went in.
About an hour later Rose’s friend came out. “It’ll be a little while longer.” She
was crying. What’s wrong? “Well, the news isn’t so good.”
Thirty minutes later, they emerged and climbed back in the
car. We headed south. I told them, we’re going to take the Battery Tunnel to
the BQE and go through Brooklyn. I’m taking Ludlow down to South St. Let’s
cruise the old neighborhood.
For the next hour Rose had her nose pressed to the window.
Allen St., Rivington St., Orchard St. Around blocks, up and down Houston St. She
chattered. She giggled. She told stories about every block. I had the time of
my life. When we got back to Ocean County, she opened her purse. “So, how
much?” You owe me for the roundtrip, Rose. That’s it.
“That’s it? You’re a nice young man.”
I’m fifty one, Rose.
“Nu? To me, you’re a kid…”
Thinking about it now, I should have paid her for the memory.
