Last night JK, CJ, and I took a cab home.
This is not an unusual undertaking, once it gets dark.
“Get that van over there,” CJ said, as JK and I chattered away.
We waited patiently for the other riders to exit, and climbed in.
It was a handicapped-equipped van, which basically meant that it had no front row of seats, just a giant space, and the back seat.
The three of us squeezed onto the bench like sardines, and headed in the direction of JK’s apartment.
We were so far from the driver that we could barely hear him.
“My feet don’t even touch the ground,” I whispered.
JK looked down and started laughing as I hissed at her not to look.
She looked anyway.
When we arrived at our first destination, JK wrenched herself from between the two of us and then attempted to open the sliding van door.
Which she couldn’t do.
The driver told her to try harder, so she buckled down and pulled with all of her might.
And ended up basically in CJ’s lap.
“Is this a joke?” she asked.
It was not.
At this point we had dissolved into a fit of inappropriate laughter, and the cab driver had actually come into the cab through the other sliding door to assist us.
He had no problem opening the door.
Eventually, once we stopped laughing, JK exited and waved goodbye.
Next up, we headed north to CJ and my neighborhood.
“I feel like I should put my seatbelt on,” CJ said, staring into the abyss of the taxi.
The car stopped suddenly at that moment, and CJ went scuttling into the open space of the cab.
I buckled up as she scrambled back onto the seat.
Every minute’s an adventure, chickens.
Always wear your seat belt.