When I call out to the Emanuel E.R.’s waiting room for my fare...
August 27th, 2008
“Son of a bitch, you’re running up the meter!”27 comments
August 20th, 2008
"Hey bro, remember me? You wrote that story about me in the paper."3 comments
August 13th, 2008
“It’s the Californians, man, the Californians are the worst.”15 comments
August 6th, 2008
The middle-aged man I picked up at Vendetta is in a hyperactively verbose lather ...0 comments
July 23rd, 2008
When I step into the obese old woman's apartment5 comments
July 16th, 2008
The obese old woman at Fred Meyer has a bad hip and a wheelchair...8 comments
July 9th, 2008
“...I need to take a shower first and wash all of this blood off.”6 comments
July 2nd, 2008
“So I’ve got these two women in the back of my cab who just refuse to get out...”8 comments
June 25th, 2008
“My friend’s getting divorced, and he’s really drunk,” says the bartender...8 comments
June 18th, 2008
There’s nothing like a good Friday night, and I’m referring to the money.3 comments
[April 30th, 2008]
When I call out to the Emanuel E.R.’s waiting room for my fare, a meek “that’s me” emanates from the corner behind me. I look over to see a little old lady, with one arm in a sling and the other in a cast. I gently help her up and usher her out to the cab.
She’s on her way to the Hayden Island manufactured-home park. I ask her what happened, and she mumbles that she broke both arms in a fall.
“And I don’t have health insurance, of course.” She says it with the tone of resignation and bewilderment I associate with people who’ve lost everything to a natural disaster. And perhaps that’s exactly what this is. How likely is it she can afford to take this financial blow?
“They say I can go back to work tomorrow, but I don’t know how I’m going to put on my clothes.” She sounds like she’s about to cry.
“What do you do?” I ask incredulously.
“I’m a cashier,” she replies, and the thought of her trying to tough that out with broken arms is enough to choke me up. The rest of the trip is spent in silence.
When we arrive at her darkened home, I escort her to the front door. The porch is immaculately kept, with a small cat stand. She seems so much like a grandmother. Is she? Is there anyone to stay with her, to help with her bills?
I’m too afraid to ask.
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RECENT COMMENTS ON “When I call out to the Emanuel E.R.’s waiting room for my fare...”
Tell me what you seen
Was it a dream?
Was I in it?
Life seems so obscene
Until it's over
Who knows?
The problem is that we have built a culture (you and me and those before us) that says "tough luck". Some people get more than others.
The last time I was in Emanuel's ER,...
i can't believe i'm actually commenting on a night cabbie - but here goes: a little devil's advocate here. of course it would have been nice of NC to offer to help, and this instance is a little more ...
Hey NC, I think you did a great job with this story and I feel that I know what you mean by being "too afraid to ask." Hang in there.
