Confessions from a Sikh and Tired Las Vegas Cabby (Part 1)
Today I was in Las Vegas City hailing a taxicab for the airport. I noticed a particular gentleman, appearing to be of Arab decent, pull aside just in front of me in a cab and begin to wave his arms frantically. I hesitantly approached him in bewilderment as to what the rush was; then upon glancing at my watch and realizing my plane was set to depart in less than an hour, I became amazed by his psychic sensibilities.
As I neared the window, it became rather evident that his flapping arms were not on my behalf, but rather an attempt to waft several toxic, deep seeded gas passages from the interior of his taxicab. “Move away… air dangerous!” The man yelled as he quickly exited the vehicle and ran for cover under a cartoon portrait stand near by, leaving his door ajar and windows wide open.
Lighting a cigar and taking a couple concentrated drags, he tilted his head back, blew out a ring of smoke, and snapped his head back towards my direction. “Gas deadly. Just ate bean, taco bean. Incomparable damage. My name is Laloo Prasa Yadividoo. I am Sikh Indian. Here nine days since last bathe. Need you go somewhere?”
Taking a moment to digest what it was I just witnessed; I glanced towards my watch in one last moment of desperation.
“Can you take me to the airport?”
Many hand wafts and three King air fresheners later we were on the way. Pulling out into oncoming traffic, Laloo looks back at me through his rear view mirror with a smile, “I (sick) Sikh… Sikh… Sikh.” I smiled back and nodded in agreement.
“I know; do we need to stop by a restroom or something?”
“No sick tummy… Sikh Indian. No afraid; me been to airport many time without,” puffing his cheeks and bulging his eyes “BOOM!” Smiling again, he looks back into the rear view mirror and winks, “Muslim bad; Sikh good…” (To be continued)
*photo curtesy of mwolfe at stock.xchng