Winged taxi driver

My last paycheck was good enough to pay the July rent by its lonesome, without the money I had saved from the previous one. And I could afford $20 in gasoline today. Praise be to God.

I got a good 7½ to 8 hours in at inventorying a Kmart Supercenter in Chillicothe yesterday. Praise be to God.

And as I expected, the Census Bureau has invited me to their training for verifying vacant and deleted addresses. I’m not quite sure I know what that entails. Praise be to God.

But I must confess to still being a tad faithless, and wondering why God would choose to leave my car, electricity, and Internet in big jeopardy.

Last night, I drove Wolfdog out to a Western Union money station at the corner of Cleveland and Weber because none of the local Kroger stores had access to the WU servers. While I was at that place, I picked up a copy of the Employment Guide.

I think this little periodical is a colossal waste of newsprint because at least half of it is given to advertisements for trade schools and colleges, leaving precious little space for ads from actual employers seeking help. One little one column by two inch ad caught my eye, though, one wanting taxicab drivers.

I would obviously be desperate to consider such a line of work, but taxi driver does have much in common with some of the other jobs God has allowed me to have in recent years, jobs that at first forced me to talk to real people via telephone, and then moved me on to meeting real people face to face. It’s also the direct result of a serendipitous discovery made while helping those less mobile than I. It does follow several patterns.

I have the skills to be a taxi driver. My driving record has been free of violations since the mid 1980s and free of accidents since 2004, when I drove a security cruiser and had to take a falling tire from a flatbed truck full on rather than swerve around it at freeway speeds and probably spin out, taking 5 or 6 other vehicles with me.

To this day, I still believe I made the best possible driving decision. Give me the exact same scenario, and I’ll do the exact same thing.

I will not count the hit and run punishment Ooo Shinee took late last May. I was not behind the wheel. And the more I think about it, the more the word “punishment” seems to fit. The hoods in this ‘hood don’t take kindly to any form of snitching to the feds, even if it is only names, genders, races, and birth dates.

Anyway, to bring this back to driving taxis for a living, I’m sure I can do this job, and I’ll most call the number in the morning.

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