Day 23

10,000 taxi cabs in this city, and I have to get into the one with a dyslexic driver. He passed right by my apartment on 79th street... and took me all the way to 97th. Oh, and the cross street was Riverdise. Eventually, he gets to the correct building, but guess what? He forgot to turn on the meter the whole time! Which is problematic because I need a receipt to get compensated by work. "Don't worry," he mumbles, "I'll make you one." Then we negotiate over how much the ride should cost. Though, it's not any kind of negotiating I've ever done. "How 'bout twelve," he suggests. "Sure thing," I say, "does that include tip?" "Oh, with tip... how 'bout... ten?" Um. What just happened? Is the tip going to be negative two dollars? Does he think that HE'S supposed to tip ME? "Let's stick to twelve," I mutter, "You probably need it more than I do."

Oh, one more thing, and I swear this part is true: he gives me the receipt, and the year is filled in as "2097." I point out his mistake, and he gives it back to me, this time filled in as 2077, which is closer, granted, but still not the actual date. I ponder asking him what the world is like in the future, whether I wind up as a famous rock star, etc., but I ultimately decide that the humor would be lost on poor Gerry. Or, make that, poor Reggie.