Pumped

Last night three trendy, good-looking, young guys hailed me in the city. Trendy, as in hip casual gear, ironic haircuts and attitudes to suit. Climbing aboard, they squealed, “Stonewall, driver, Oxford Street!”, then proceeded to bounce around in their seats, full of beans.

When I stopped for the first red light they chided me, “C’mon, driver, you could have made that light.”

• Me: You want me to break the law?
• Them: You’ve gotta loosen up a little...Live on the wild side.
• Me: Like go to Stonewall?
• Them: (Much laughter)
• Me: Um, you know Stonewall’s a gay bar, right?
• Them: Oh, no!...Don’t tell Mum...Doesn’t matter, we’re poofs.
• Me: No you’re not...
• Them: What?
• Me: You’re not gay; you’re just confused...
• Them: (More laughter)This sounds like an episode of Family Guy...
• Me: One day you’ll all meet nice girls and settle down.
• Them: Yeah, and have three kids...and a MacMansion...don’t forget the white picket fence.
• Me: Or the Commodore...
• Them: Of course, must have a Commodore.

After they alighted and skipped off down Oxford Street, their infectious energy and high spirits reminded me of those male models from the movie, Zoolander.

Which is not to suggest my passengers were as stupid as them, of course. But the thought of that gas-pumping movie scene had me chuckling for the rest of the shift.

Comments

[Anthony]

But... but... did the badinage result in an inflated tip?