Cabbie

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry.
Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep.
But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town.
I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".
"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me and address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".
I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.
 

Love And The Cabbie

I was in New York the other day and rode with a friend in a taxi.  When we got out, my friend said to the driver, “Thank you for the ride.  You did a superb job of driving.”
The taxi driver was stunned for a second.  Then he said, “Are you wise guy or something?”
”No, my dear man, and I’m not putting you on.  I admire the way you keep cool in heavy traffic.”
“Yeah,” the driver said and drove off.
“What was that all about?”  I asked.
“I am trying to bring love back to New York,” he said.  “I believe it’s the only thing that can save the city.”
”How can one man save New York?”
“It’s not one man.  I believe I have made that taxi driver’s day.  Suppose he has 20 fares.  He’s going to be nice to those 20 fares because someone was nice to him.  Those fares in turn will be kinder to their employees and shopkeepers or waiters or even their own families.  Eventually the goodwill could spread to at least 1,000 people.  Now that isn’t bad, is it?”
“But you’re depending on that taxi to pass your goodwill to others.”
“I’m not depending on it,” my friend said.  “I’m aware that the system isn’t foolproof so I might deal with ten different people today.  If out of ten I can make three happy, then eventually I can indirectly influence the attitudes of 3,000 more.”
“It sounds good on paper,” I admitted, “but I’m not sure it works in practice.”
“Nothing is lost if it doesn’t.  It didn’t take any of my time to tell that man he was doing a good job.  He neither received a larger tip nor a smaller tip.  If it fell on deaf ears, so what?  Tomorrow there will be another taxi driver I can try to make happy.”
“You’re some kind of a nut,” I said.
“That shows how cynical you have become.  I have made a study of this.  The thing that seems to be lacking, besides money of course, for our postal employees, is that no one tells people who work for the post office what a good job they’re doing.”
”But they’re not doing a good job.”
“They’re not doing a good job because they feel no one cares if they do or not.  Why shouldn’t someone say a kind word to them?”
We were walking past a structure in the process of being built and passed five workmen eating their lunch.  My friend stopped.  “That’s magnificent job you men have done.  It must be difficult and dangerous work.” The workmen eyed on my friend suspiciously.
“When will it be finished?”
“June,” a man grunted.
“Ah.  That really is impressive.  You must all be very proud.”
We walked away.  I said to him, “I haven’t seen anyone like you since The Man From LaMancha.”
“When those men digest my words, they will feel better for it.  Somehow the city will benefit from their happiness.”
“But you can’t do this all alone!”  I protested.  “You’re just one man.”
“The most important thing is not to get discouraged.  Making people in the city become kind again is not an easy job, but if I can enlist other people in my campaign…”
“You just winked at a very plain-looking woman,” I said.
“Yes, I know,” he replied.  “And if she’s a school teacher, her class will be in for a fantastic day.”

Art Buchwald

揀 老 公 10 大 秘 訣

女 人 最 怕 嫁 錯 郎 ， 那 麼 揀 老 公 又 有 甚 麼 秘 訣 呢 ？ 根 據 內 地 網 友 經 驗 總 結 出 來 的 「 女 孩 嫁人 前 必 看 的 10 條 忠 告 」， 原 來 嫁 有 錢 人 未 必 一 定 開 心 ， 嫁 離 婚 漢 亦 未 必 不 好 … … 這 些 忠 告 或 許能 給 一 眾 女士 們 一 些 啟 發 ， 讓 她 們 找 到 自 己 的 幸 福 。

1 ）不 怕 嫁 老 ， 就 怕 嫁 小
如 果 你 的 男 友 只 有 20 多 歲 或 以 下 ， 你 可 以 失 身 ， 但 不 能 嫁 。 男 人 33 歲 左 右 會 是 成 熟 中 帶 穩 健 ， 你 可 在 他 面 前 任 性 、 撒 嬌， 他 寬 容 大 度 ， 也 有 足 夠 經 濟 基 礎 。

2 ）嫁 有 錢 人 ， 不 如 嫁 願 為 你 花 錢 的 人
看 一 個 人 夠 不 夠 愛 你 ， 不 是 看 他 為 你 付 出 了 多 少 ， 而 是 看 他 擁 有 多 少 卻 肯 為 你 付 出 多 少 。

3 ）離 婚 的 男 人 可 嫁
曾 離 婚 的 男 人 在 情 感 的 江 湖 中 淹 死 過 ， 準 備 過 平 靜 生 活 ， 可 以 考 慮 。

4 ）嫁 家 庭 型 男 人 較 事 業 型 好
家 庭型 男 人 能 讓 你 有 一 個 溫 暖 的 家 。

5 ）嫁 與 你 性 格 互 補 的 男 人
夫 妻 若 同 為 急 性 子 或 同 為 慢 性 子 ， 雖 然 性 格 一 致 ， 但 鬧 矛 盾 時 多 一 發 不 可 收 拾 。 相 反 ， 急 性 子 慢 性 子 相 配 ， 如 能 注 意 互 補 ， 往 往 會 急 慢 相 和 ， 進 而 相 得 益 彰 。

6 ）嫁 人 要 占 星 問 卜
要 ！最 好 找 人 問 一 下 掌 相 、面 相 和 八 字 。 若 做 不 到 ， 那 至 少 應 該 深 入 了 解 他 的 血 型 和 星 座 。

7 ）自 私 男 人 是 大 忌
有 責 任 感 的 男 人 是 對 自 己 負責 、 對 家 人 負 責 、 對 事 業 負 責 、 對 自 己 的 現 實 生 活 負 責 。

8 ）嫁 與 你 學 歷 差 不 多 的 男人
學 歷 相 差 太 遠 ， 夫 妻 沒 有 甚 麼 共 同 語 言 ， 思 維 方 式 也 多 有 不 同 。

9 ）花 心 的 男 人 可 嫁
世 上 沒 有 不 花 心 的 男 人 ， 但 要 有 自 制 力 。 愛 美 非 罪 過 ， 好 色 沒 有 錯 ， 只 要 抵 得 住 誘 惑 。

10 ） 嫁 與 你 門 當 戶 對 的 男 人
男 女 雙 方 的 條 件 若 相 差 太 多， 即 使 結 了 婚 ， 愛 情 也 相 當 脆 弱 ， 不 堪 一 擊 。