A Gentleman of a Certain Age

I was having a really good Saturday. Breakfast at my favorite coffee shop, which lately has been so busy on weekends I can't get table. Their breakfast meats are just better than anywhere else's, and I had the Eggs Benedict.

Then I called for a cab for a ride to a salon a couple towns over. My cabbie was a lovely older lady, a grandma, who is a nail tech by trade and a driver on weekends. And a big Elvis fan. She drove slowly and got me there a little late, but what they hey! She was careful and the ride was safe.

First I had a champagne and strawberries pedi. The pedi itself was pretty workmanlike, but there's something about champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries that can brighten a Saturday afternoon.

Then I had a facial. It, too, was pretty workmanlike, no dermabrasion and just a few extractions on my nose. I'd like to think it's because my complexion is so dewey, but it's because it wasn't a very sophisticated facial. Still, she had a nice touch, the room was fragrant and dark and comforting, and I dozed off. (That never happens during extractions!)

Finally, the massage. Ah! The massage therapist was a young man in his 20s, but he put me at ease. It was a short massage, only 30 minutes, but he did wonders for my shoulders. I haven't worked out much this month, and it felt good to have someone artfully work the kinks out.

Then I went across the street to Dunkin' Donuts to wait for my cab home. And that's when it went to hell.

My cab driver was a Vietnam War veteran who insisted on talking politics with me. INSISTED! He was a rock-ribbed Republican, which is fine, but he was a misinformed one. It was making my teeth hurt. I kept saying, "I'd really like this conversation to end," and "I wish this conversation was over." But I guess he was like Wiley Coyote and he needed the ACME anvil to fall on his head.

"I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS ANYMORE!" I said. "And please stop disrespecting me."

"What?"

"I have been asking you for two miles to end the conversation and you just keep talking and it upsets me."

His response? He laughed.

Clearly, to a man of 70+, my opinion as a mere white chick didn't matter. Never mind that I am his customer.

"And now you're laughing at me. That's insulting."

"I'm not laughing," he chuckled. "Besides, most people like a good debate." Except this wasn't a debate. This was a lecture from a man who thinks the world is flat. And I was held captive in the backseat and paying for this punishment.

"So this is my fault? I ask you to stop talking, you continue and it's my fault?"

"Never bothered anyone else before," he said. I find that hard to believe. My neighborhood couldn't be bluer and his attitude is not within the mainsteam. I think I may just be the first one to ask him to shut up.

"Can't. We. Please. Stop. Talking."

"They say you shouldn't discuss politics and religion."

"I don't want to discuss anything with you!" I carry a book with me at all times for this very reason.

"You don't want to talk?" he asked incredulously. As though it shocked him that anyone wouldn't want to hear him pontificate.

For a local cab driver, I was surprised he didn't know my street was closed for a neighborhood festival. Or maybe he did and was so shocked by my humorlessness that he forgot. So I got to spend even more time with him as he maneuvered his way around street closures and one way signs.

When we finally got to my house I did tip him. I almost didn't -- I was so angry. But then I thought, his job is to get me from hither to yon safely, and he did that, and gas is $4.00/gallon. So I gave him $2.00 over the meter. Even though he did completely harsh my massage zen.

Then I went to the local street fair and drowned my anxiety in mac and cheese with Andouille sausage so spicy I actually sweated.