Fuzzy
Obviously there is a finite number of taxi drivers, and one begins to recognise some of them. So as I sat in the back of the taxi this morning I decided that I should give them nicknames. The guy who picked me up this morning shall henceforth be known as Fuzzy (because he has sort of wirey, fuzzy hair).
Anyway, fuzzy's taxi is fucked. The suspension is is so shot that it feels like riding a fried egg to work. Also, fuzzy likes to fling the vehicle around a little bit, and is not scared of the brakes.
Undoubtedly the highlight of this morning's journey, however, was when he pulled out his nail clippers and proceeded to clip his fingers.
Anyway, fuzzy's taxi is fucked. The suspension is is so shot that it feels like riding a fried egg to work. Also, fuzzy likes to fling the vehicle around a little bit, and is not scared of the brakes.
Undoubtedly the highlight of this morning's journey, however, was when he pulled out his nail clippers and proceeded to clip his fingers.
posted by stuart at 2:58 pm
2 Comments:
I have two comments. Firstly, how does it feel to ride a fried egg to work? (as you quoted earlier somewhere), is this from your experiences of your other weird trips?
And another thing, to use the vernacular of the author, with regards to Fuzzy clipping his nails - "What the fuck?"
In response. I had never ridden a fried egg, to work or otherwise, before now. But think about it: imagine sitting on a largely unstable gooey ball, that threatens to pop at any moment.
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