Stoned in the Rain

Hello.  My story is here, my story will be moral.

I had always hated Wednesdays for no particular reason other than the insurmountable fact that they have always tended to be rather non-descript non-eventful days, I would often think “damn Wednesdays and the shit they inflict on world with their mediocrity”, but then I would also think about if EWOKS used to live in warring factions or not.  I think a lot, I don’t know why, I haven’t thought about that, however onto my story that will be moral.

On the surface this was Wednesday no different, just another flat liner of a dull Wednesday playing its way out in my reality tunnel.  It was 8.4o ish, I had 20 minutes to get to my dull dreary Wednesday work and it was raining.  Fuck you Wednesday, I know you are named after the god of financial gain and the guide of souls to the underworld but why are you always consistently shit?

Now anyone will tell you that rain in London means that all London Taxi cabs will evaporate into another dimension somewhere between where you are standing and your final day on earth, where they wait to reappear in force when you don’t need a taxi. When you die and go to St Peters gate you will have to fucking walk there, when you get there you will find 40,000 taxis waiting at the other end complaining that work is slow.  I was fucked, it was raining, my pants were getting wet under my suit trousers, I was dripping precipitation off of my ball sack and I needed a cab.

The tube was a good twelve minutes walk, seven if I ran even; using my best comedic run, since the age of 12 I have always managed to run like a duck with piles.  Even if I did a fat man run to the tube I would still be woefully late, and I would still be piss wet through and too fucking miserable to be sat at a cubicle for 8 hours, under the gaze of a strip light and with nothing but spreadsheets and shitty Wednesday to keep me company.

Fuck that, I would wait for a cab.  I stared into space contemplating my life changing decision, and evaluating how wet my balls now were through my pants.

I heard a faint “Hey, Hey” broadcasting through the sound of the water torrent that I was stuck under, it hit my inner ear canal softly and bounced around into my frontal lobe.

“Hey boss – you need a taxi?”

A dull blue Vauxhall Astra had pulled up next to me, it was a wreck, it must have been 20 years old if it was a day.  An older South East Asian man was speaking to me whilst lifting his face to the gap at the top of his ever so slightly open side window.

“Hey – need a taxi boss?” 

This was quite obviously one of those dreadful “illegal” private hire taxi’s touting for business. In London there are thousands of them, I only say dreadful because that seems to be the general consensus of opinion in polite circles in London. But as I was not really partial to polite circles nor to per-determining my reality with the prefix of “Dreadful” at any point, I generally didn’t give a shit if I used them or not.

I knew that these taxi’s tend to be uninsured, driven by non licensed taxi drivers and manned by immigrants that may have not been subject to the required “knowledge” of London’s roads expressly reserved for black cab licensed taxi cabs.

Beggars cannot be choosers, and my suit trousers were already clinging to my legs like Saran Wrap around a beef joint. I would take my chances.

I called out through the translucent foggy haze caused by the heat given off by my skin pressing against my damp attire that was now enveloping me. My view of the my would be chauffeur was restricted but I was sure he could hear me.

“How much to Pall Mall mate”

“I will take you for $25 guvnor – Good for me good for you”

I was startled at the brazen price hike; a black cab would cost me $20 from Fulham to Pal Mall – I hesitated.

The driver called back through the haze as my mind stalled, possibly sensing my hesitation;

 “You are asleep – you are asleep if you think that you can get another cab now, you will just get more wet and more annoyed!

Come now Mr, I have good music, and I have weed, fun times in my cab”

I glanced at my watch – a little green warrior that could be softly toked on between here and my final destination was not going to make my day any worse.

“You have a customer”

I called back through the haze.