I could walk, run, dance, kick a man hard enough in the chest to stop his heart.
I turned heads.
Worked harder than anyone I knew, except one guy.
He was a homeless veteran with a secret permanent tent spot somewhere.
He avoided work when he could, but on those occasions when he could be persuaded, he was excellent. Also, he was the one person I ever worked with who gave no thought whatsoever to my being a woman. Man or woman, he carried his end, and if the other end dragged then he wasn’t responsible. (But that was another time in my life, he was already a memory twenty years ago.)
Twenty years ago I was driving a cab at night.
I was good, real good. I was quick to get there, handled the drunks like a champ. I knew all the cut-throughs, and side streets where I could make time.
I never tried to boost fares, because tips are better that way, and most of the fare goes to the company. People trusted me, and I had some real cool regulars, like twenty dollar guy. I first picked him up at a bar that called me when they needed to get rid of a problem. He told me his address, and when I got there, he was out cold. I threw him over my shoulder and dragged him to the front door, rang the bell. It was his mom. I apologized for waking her. She had her husband drag the kid in while she paid me.
The next evening I got a “special”, a trip requested for me specifically. It was him, sober and going out. He wanted my cell number, because I was the first cabbie who didn’t empty his wallet and leave him on the lawn. He gave me a twenty dollar tip every time I took him out, so I would get him when he had to go home.
Now I am a wheelchair full of ABC gum.