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Weekend Fun & Games 

Well, it was a typically busy Burlington weekend. End Time is approaching for the students, and they were out partying in numbers, final exams be damned.

As Saturday night rushed towards last call, I began thinking, "Wow, I'm doing pretty good tonight; let's see if I can finish up with a flourish." Can you jinx yourself with thoughts? I wonder . . .

My next fare was a guy from Wolcott and his gynormous friend, who immediately passed out next to him, like Jabba the Hutt in repose. So, all the way to Little Eagle Bay (formerly "985 North Avenue," much less sexy) my entire discussion was with the Wolcott fellow. I have an affection for Wolcott. To me, it's like the heart of Vermont - tucked in there, humbly, in the Northeast Kingdom. My wife lived in North Wolcott for a spell many years ago, and, in 2001, I drove my brother to a home in that town where he bought a nifty little Toyota, which is still running strong.

Anyway, just as we pulled to a stop, Jabba, snoozing there in the back seat, opened wide his baby blues and, in the next instant, the projectile vomit was all over the back of my seat, the top of my jacket, my hat and the steering wheel.

"Sorry," he said.

"Get your friend out of the cab," I said to the Wolcott person.

It's like a volcano, I figured. One eruption may just be the beginning. Although I was fuming (there's no excuse for this behavior unless you're 15 and it's your first time getting drunk), nothing I could say would remove the vomit from my clothing and vehicle and return it to the insides of the offender where it rightfully belonged. So, I just took a twenty buck tip, accepted the profuse apologies from both of them, and rushed to the carwash.

A half-hour later, this is what my taxi smelled like:  A heady blend of cleaning fluid, air freshener and vomit. How lovely is that?

One final reflection, slightly random as it is:  At Cumby's, I searched out the green, pine-scented, tree-shaped car deoderant. They were out of that flavor, so I bought the "new car" scent. Where the "new car" scent arises from in an actual new car is a mystery to me. But, darn if that little air freshener didn't have my old buggy smelling just like it was direct from the showroom. That is, if someone had already vomited into it in the showroom.

Wow, this was a pleasant posting . . .

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About The Author

Jernigan Pontiac

Jernigan Pontiac

Bio:
Jernigan Pontiac was a Burlington cab driver whose biweekly "Hackie" column appeared in Seven Days 2000-20. He has published two book-length collections, Hackie: Cab Driving and Life, and Hackie 2: Perfect Autumn.

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