My account director ordered me a car service home the other night. I easily could have taken a cab, like I always do when I work late, but she had already called the car so who was I to complain. Up pulls my 7 seater black Escalade ride home. I was disappointed there wasn't a fully stocked bar inside.
Me: "This is a fancy ass car I got myself here... pimpin!"
Sleazy driver: "Yesssssss, let's go somewhere else then..."
Uhhh what? No thanks. Now I'm uncomfortable and there's no cab TV and Eyewitness News briefs to pretend I'm watching to fill the awkward silence. I really couldn't have imagined a situation in which I'd miss taxi TV before this very moment. Sleazy driver is creepily staring at me in the rearview mirror, then turns on the XM radio to the dance trance station and blasts it. It's 10 pm. I just worked 13 hours. Really, this is happening to me?
Sleazy driver: "I have Bose stereo! I get girls Friday nights, they like this music."
Me: "Oh, that's good."
Awkward. Why the F do I have to live so freakin far uptown? What's the price tag my company had to pick up for this little un-joyride? $35. ::cough:: Is that in Euros?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
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