Schmoozin'

Having had the experience of driving taxi in a small town before, I asked what my employer referred to as "a totally understandable question," my first day of training.

"So who are the regular customers who no one ever wants to take? You know...the ones that can never be pleased and end up complaining about everything."

Old Lady A. was the answer I received that day, and I had been kept away from her until tonight out of fear that I would quit after driving her.

So, you might be able to understand that I was a little apprehensive when I found out that she would be my last fare of the night. Yes, even big, mean, bald men who have been around the world can be afraid of little old ladies.

First off, like any hard to please costumer in any field of the service industry, she had the initial demands to be met. In my case, this meant picking her up in the back alley entrance of her house.

It should be stated at this point that while I am doing fairly well at learning all the ins and outs of this small town, I am not, however, very familiar with any alleyway except for the one I park my car in when I get home at night.

I was super-fantastically-aggravatingly-nice to her as she approached the vehicle, even going so far as opening the door, holding out my hand for her to hold, and using the hardly-ever-appropriate prefix: MIZZ.

On the way, Old Lady A. could not find anything to not complain about. Whether it was the small piece of trash that had blown into her yard, the bump of the car as I slowly exited the alley, the route I took to get her to the grocery store, or the parking lot at said grocery store.(Actually, I'm with her on that one. I'd say twenty percent of my calls involve that grocery store and the parking lot is indeed a death trap.)

I schmoozed the whole way, trying to get on her good side and seeing if maybe I could change her mood.

Which she must have liked cause at the end of the day, the only tip I got was from her. Now, this does not say anything about my service, this meerly speaks to the idea of tipping in the average small town Midwesterner's head.

Upon getting back to the office to cash out for the night the dispatcher asked how the ride went, chuckling. I told him that everyone should spend time with and old person like that at least once a week. He had never heard a diagnosis of Old Lady A. that resembled that before and I elaborated,

"You need to talk to people like that so that you can see exactly what not to become when you get old."

Me? I'll be curmudgeonly, grumpy, and frail, but by God's Grace, I don't want to be bitter.