Dietro il Volante

I wound up not being required to attend the play rehearsal Saturday afternoon, so I chose to work extra hours Friday night. It didn't amount to a hill of beans — or cash — like I had hoped it would. It was especially slow for a Friday night. That, or there were a lot of other cabs out there.

I was asked to help out in one of the oft-abandoned west zones, and the dispatcher told me he would help me out in return later in the morning, so I did it, which led to me being sent to another fare out there, only that one was a no-show. Then he sent me a fare from Elgin to O'Hare airport, a $46 fare! But still, the night amounted to a small mound, not a hill.

In the morning I booked off at 9:30 and headed to the Apple store at Woodfield Mall to see if they had a car power adapter for my Mac laptop. They did, but it was too much product for what I need. Thanks, but I don't want 2 USB ports, an espresso maker, and a sock warmer as part of the package. What, is the thing manufactured by U.S. politicians? I'll have to look online.

Then I went to the Verizon store to see how much it would cost to get an "air card" so I can get online from my cab during the slow times at night. Too much, it turns out, so, if I can find an affordable power transfigurometator, I'll only be writing in the cab, and not posting.

As I was leaving the parking area near the Verizon store, an older gentleman very timidly hailed me — with his index finger up in the air, not the typical "Hitler salute" kind of hail. It actually took a second for it to register that he was actually signaling me!

I was off duty, and I really wanted to go home, but then the newly awakened business man in me thought, "ees more money!" so I cranked my window down. He spoke in another language, something like "libero Woodfield Mall." It sounded like Spanish to me. Then he showed me words written on the back of a computer-printed map: "Woodfield Mall."

At first I thought he was just asking directions, but then I said, "You want to go?"

He said, "Yes."

I booked back in to the dispatch system and started the meter. Woodfield Mall was literally only blocks away, but the fare was going to be at least enough to pay for the steak, egg, and cheese bagel I had just eaten at McDonalds in Woodfield before I hit the Apple store! As we neared an entrance to the mall parking lot, I asked him "Which store do you want to go to?"

He replied, "Centro commerciale." Only the second word was pronounced "ko-mehr-chee-AL-ay." That's Italian!

I asked him, "Are you speaking Español, or Italiano?"

He said, "Oh, no! Italiano!"

I smiled and blundered through the few words of Italian I know: "I'm Italiano! Mi nonno di Abbruzzo! Castel di Sangro." I'm Italian! My grandfather is from the Abruzzo region. The town of Castel di Sangro." At least I think that's what I said. Either that, or I told him I wanted to taste his underpants. I have to find my Italian phrase book.

He said, "Ah, Abbruzzo! L'Aquila; Pescara." (towns in the region). And then, in pretty good English, "I know Castel di Sangro."

By then it was time to drop him off. The meter read $5.40 — which, I believe, was the exact amount of my steak, egg, and cheese bagel and cup of coffee. It was the end of the ride for him, but the end of a really neat experience for me. I had the chance to mangle someone else's native language for him, and he got to meet the ascendant of century-old Italian expatriates. He gave me six dollars. He said he wanted something back, and I thought it was change, but he actually just wanted a receipt. So he left me with a sixty-cent tip.

Cheap dago bastard.



°