Do Overs…or, I Did It!

I did it!  Yes I did.  What did I do, you ask?

Picture it:

Friday, October 28, 2005, 7:55 a.m.

I hurried down the hallway of my apartment building, my nose scrunched as I held my breath to avoid inhaling the stale-fish smell of the paint primer, which had been bothering my breathing all week.

As I arrived in the foyer, I saw the car idling on the street, crowned by the glorious yellow that signals, “Cab Company.”  Yes!  I smiled as I pictured my triumphant arrival at work at 8:20 a.m. (instead of 9:05 a.m. had I waited for the bus).  I’m supposed to be at work by 8:00.

A minute later, as I clambered into the back seat of the cab, I actually saw the driver.  My jubilation evaporated, and I silently screamed, “Nooooooooooooooo!”

The scream shattered the picture in my mind’s eye: its pieces fell like shards of glass from a broken mirror.

This was the same driver who had driven my mom and me home from the grocery on Saturday.  She’d driven way too slow, stopped at yellow lights, and smoked the nastiest smelling cigar or cheroot with the windows closed.

You may ask–“What’s the big deal?  Tell the heifer to step on the gas, ask her to put out the cigarette and/or open the windows, and threaten to withhold a tip as the last resort.”

Well… if you know me at all, you know that’s not my style.  I will run twenty kilometers to avoid an argument or confrontation of any kind.  As for speaking up for myself in uncomfortable situations… naaahhh.  “Suffer in silence” has always been my motto; I can’t stand being cussed out.  So I’m normally defeated by the situation.  Waaay after the moment is past and probably long forgotten by the perpetrator, I come up with comebacks or witticisms that would have suited the situation perfectly… oh for a “Do Over” button.

But, this morning, you would have been soooo proud!

We were driving along, talking.  (Well, I was talking, and she was nodding and grunting.  I had decided to let bygones be bygones from Saturday and was my usual ebullient self.)

“How are you today?” I asked.  “Looks like it’s going to be a cold winter…”

I saw her hand disappear from sight and reappear—with the cigarette.

All conversation paused, and in what seemed like an hour, but was probably a minute, I watched as she lit the cigarette and placed it to her lips.  She took a puff, exhaled.  I watched as the white cloud of smoke came towards me.  I don’t know if I could distinguish which hit me first, the smell or the fumes.

I just knew it wasn’t happening this morning.

So I quietly asked, “Would you please not smoke?  It affects my breathing.”  There was no response. Ordinarily, I would have let it go and consoled myself with the thought that at least I’d tried.

But I knew she’d heard me.  Maybe it was the slight tilt of her head, or the straightening of her spine that betrayed her.  So again I said quietly,  “Excuse me… EX-cuse meee?”  She had to acknowledge me this time. “I asked, would you please not smoke? It affects my breathing.”

She tried the old window-opening trick, but I was ready for her.  I slid my hands into my bag and pulled out my inhaler.  I shook it with more vigor than was warranted, so it made a nice, healthy rattling sound.  In an Academy Award-winning performance, I uncorked it and, with more sound effects, took two puffs and returned the inhaler to my bag.

When I saw her pitch the still-lit cigarette out of the window, I took that as a sign of defeat on her part and then graciously pointed out that she’d forgotten to turn on the meter.

Did I feel guilty about not mentioning her oversight?  About as guilty as she felt running up the tab on Saturday and overcharging me.  She tried to run the meter up by driving slowly, but it was a no-go.  As I arrived at my office, she tried to get $25 dollars out of me.  I gave her $23, wished her a wonderful day, and stepped out of her cab.

It’s rare that I have the opportunity for a “Do Over.”  I thought I handled that pretty well…don’t you?