The Burrowing Bohemian

It was late in my shift when I stumbled onto a local ride, destination unknown. I didn’t learn how unknown until much later. The pick-up address was across the street from where I spent most of my

nights, waiting for a fare.

In other words, the infamous circus-comes-to-town intersection.

Yeah, right. Lucky me.

The pick-up address was the motel on the opposite corner.  What kind of motel? Let me put it this way. The police department gets a call there almost every night. It’s a very small motel, and any kind of drug can be bought or sold there.

As I pulled into the driveway, I kept those facts in mind. I was on high alert and noticed the parking lot was empty. Only one or two cars were ever parked there and if I needed a quick getaway, it would be relatively simple. I never liked complications.

By complications, I mean drug dealers, muggers, carjackers, or hoodlums.

A female in her late twenties scurried over to my cab and quickly got in. She immediately lay down in the seat and began rocking back and forth. With her head resting near the door window, she was facing me and began giving me instructions:

“Go, please!”

“Hi. How are you doing?”

“Just drive!”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t care. Just drive!”

“Okay, you got it.”

So I drove. After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of me. I asked her what was wrong and she told me she wasn’t feeling well. She had some sort of “flu-bug.”

Every thirty to sixty seconds, my passenger quickly sat up, blip! and looked outside. She looked through the passenger-side window, blip! the rear window, blip! and the driver-side window blip!. After looking all around, she dipped back down in the seat, blip! and heaved a sigh of relief.

To anyone watching nearby, I am certain my taxi took on the appearance of a Whac-A-Mole game, played at many arcades or carnivals. If you aren’t familiar with the game, let me describe it briefly:

A typical Whac-A-Mole game consists of a large waist-level cabinet with five holes in its top and a large, soft, black mallet. Each hole contains a plastic mole and it moves up and down. Once the game starts, the moles pop up from their holes at random. The object of the game is to force the individual moles back into their holes by hitting them directly on the head with the mallet, thereby adding to the player’s score. The more quickly this is done, the higher your final score will be. If a player does not strike a mole within a certain time or with enough force, it will sink back into its hole with no

score. Game play starts out slow enough for most people to hit all of the moles that pop up. It gradually increases in speed, with each mole spending less time above the hole and with more moles outside of their holes at the same time.

By now, you should have a picture in your mind. Of what, you might ask?

What my amusement center on wheels looked like from a distance. The Whac-A-Mole game resumed…..

Business was slow that night and I was slightly amused with my passenger’s antics. The burrowing beauty was actually a nice distraction from the usual routine. I felt like I should have been putting quarters into a slot.

If I can only remember where I put that padded mallet.

We stopped at four or five different apartment buildings. We had no luck at finding someone to give my friend in need lodging for the night. The diva of dips and dives continued instructing me.

Blip! “Go back to the motel!” Blip!

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

Blip! “Let me know when we’re there!” Blip!

When we got back to the motel, I noticed there were three police cars in the parking lot. A lot of activity was brewing in front of the room my restless rodent had emerged from earlier.

I told her what I saw, and she reacted as if the back seat had electricity racing through its springs.

Blip! “Keep going!” Blip!

“Which way do you want me to go?”

Blip! “I don’t care! Just go!” Blip!

We ended up at an apartment building, where she found a friend who would take her in for the night. We had driven around the city for about two hours, and ended up a whopping one mile away from the motel.

However, I did gain some insight while spending time with my panicky passenger.

During the last leg of our adventure, my passenger divulged some classified information to me.

Earlier at the motel, she got into a fight with her boyfriend. When he realized the situation was hopeless, he became infuriated and called the police. He knew the mysterious mole had an outstanding warrant, and knew the boys in blue would be very curious about it. That’s why she originally left.

Finally, it all made sense to me, as we arrived to our final destination for the evening.

Blip! “How much do I owe you?” Blip!

I told her the amount. She got out of the cab, paid what was on the meter, and thanked me. I answered, “No problem, any time.”

Before she disappeared into the night, I expressed my best wishes to her in the only way I knew how. With sarcasm. “I hope you’re feeling better! Take care of that flu bug!”

I didn’t get a response. I looked around, and didn’t see her anywhere. She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared. I had no idea where she went.

I don’t know where the mole is now, but I’m willing to bet she’s busy digging another hole for herself.