Taxi Chronicles 201

A few weeks ago, I had a pain in my neck – well not exactly in my neck, but at the back of my head on the left side. I didn’t see it coming on so it must have slithered in and in a very sly way that I attributed it to a bad night’s sleep and that it will slither away in the same manner that it slithered in. However, the pain intensified – literally pushing me to a diet of pain killers. Pause a minute. You see, I am a paranoid person and after a few days, I had worried myself half to death about the effects the pain killers would have on my kidneys. Checking out the pain at the clinic, I was assured that there was nothing to worry about and was given some liniment to massage it away with. The recommended massage didn’t ease the pain but rather, it did a good job of distributing the pain equally along my neck muscles, that I took to walking with a haughty head held high posture and coupled with a mood that was worse than that of a nauseous exhausted expecting mother – not that I would really know what the mood of nauseous exhausted and expecting mother is like seeing I have never been pregnant. One evening while still trying to recover from this strange inexplicable pain, I walked to the taxi stage. The pain had by now upped its game to the next level and took delight in transforming itself into a headache if I did not keep a steady head. The taxi stage was a little crowded, but after a quick rekey, conclusions were drawn that everybody looked civilised and no one would fall prey to the new Miss Angry and Haughty that I had become. But once the approaching taxi stopped, civilisation went out of the window and in came an Aleppo in Syria battlefield. It was a battle at the barely opened door. Miss Almost-Louboutin Heels turned into Queen of Elbows, using her elbows to barge everybody out of her way. Mr. Cool and Composed was now a single minded ogre, almost crushing someone’s foot beneath his at the taxi door. Meanwhile, my headache was in a world of its own and all intense. Ten minutes later, another taxi pulled up. I took a cautious step forward while scared that my neck and head may not survive the escapade if I tried being a fighter. This group was a bit more civilized - probably because the taxi was only half empty or am I supposed to say it was half full? Anyway, we were a group of five at the door when a tall weary gentleman stepped in front of me, almost pushing me over. Though spent, I held onto the taxi door and drew breath. Something in my expression must have struck him when he turned, because he suddenly paused and gave me leave to enter undisturbed to a comfortable seat by the window. Having had a stranger save my life, my faith in humanity and taxis was restored. This, of course only lasted until the conductor refused to give me my change. I guess some things don’t change. Back to taxis! More taxi chronicles to follow here.