A cosmically selective process
We have been together for five years, My Beloved and I. And it is because we have been together quite so long that I can tell from the slightest muscular twitch what he might be thinking.
On this occasion - as we sped through the streets of Chicago, locked into a yellow car, it was obvious to me that the twitch of the muscles at the back of his head were giving off a definite sense of being about to be taken down a dark alley and murdered by someone who may later be discovered to be the worst serial killer in the city’s history.
(They’re really very expressive twitches.)
In the back of the cab, far from the physical threat of imminent fear in the front we were far more relaxed about the ordeal. Me, an old friend from the Ionian age (a particular Loud American, if anyone’s been reading that long) and his lovely ladyfriend; we all sat there, happy in the back and enjoying the surreality of it all, so ….
So, I should start from the beginning.
________
It was just (from the outside) a normal yellow cab that we’ll hailed down on a street in some part of Chicago that I can’t remember the name of and doesn’t matter anyway.
But as soon as we got in, the driver began.
“CONGRATULATIONS!…” he bellowed, after a few social niceties about:
- where we were going (a blues club at some address or other)
- which route we should take (a good one that would get us there fast) and
- why two of us appeared to be British (because we were British).
“….YOU, ladeez and gennlemen, have had the fortune to happen upon the Singing Cabbie this evening! One of the most astounding singer-songwriting cab drivers in the WORLD! Wouldja like to hear a SARNG?”
Would we like to hear a song, we asked each other?
Yes, we decided.
“Yes” we told him.
“MENU!” He shouted, going into some kind of performance mode … “A sarng about Love? Sex? Marriage? Social Status? Honesty? Traffic? Or ‘Other’?”
It was made clear that the choice should be taken by a lady - and further settled that it should be taken by the sole lady visitor at that - in the back of the cab, the decision was left to me.
I cannot take decisions, so plumped for the one answer that seemed to avoid having to make one.
“Other, please!” I said, expecting a surprise topic. But no.
“SECONDARY MENU!” he announced, pleased. “Ageing; Chocolate; Memory; Seashells or Metaphysics?!?”
It would clearly have been criminal to have chosen a song on any topic other than metaphysics. So we sat in complete silence through four choruses and a bridge of a well constructed, lustfully sung number about what life would be like as a butterfly.
We smiled and swayed in the back, and we clapped when we thought it had finished. And then again when it actually had finished.
In the front, My Beloved stared concentratedly at the streets swishing past his window, in the fear that to turn and look at the Singing Cabbie would prompt an unstoppable fit of giggles, which might suddenly incite a shower of stabbiness on the part of the slightly terrifying man behind the wheel.
When he finished we all said it was very good, and then we all went quiet and looked out of the window, like one usually does in a cab in an unfamiliar city being hurried to a new place, and soaking up as much of the atmostphere of the city as you can, from …
“You’ve got time for another song!!!” Announced the Singing Cabbie!
“Oh! GREAT!” We said in the back, thinking that that sounded like a proper response. In the front seat I saw My Beloved’s shoulders drop an imperceptible inch.
Not wanting to have to go back to the deafening menu screen, we picked the only one we could remember from the subsidiary menu. And the song about chocolate - which came complete with an opening monologue (and an interupting phonecall, with the Singing Cabbie’s eldest daughter sounding nice but faintly embarrassed on speakerphone - we all had to shout ‘Hi’) - was a retrospective lovesong about a woman who really was crazy about chocolate. It had a chorus that centred on the words She’s a Shu-ggar Sluuuut!, if that helps.
We pulled up outside the blues club, and then sat, immobile and silent, through the last verse. And then clapped, politely, even though it wasn’t as good as the butterfly song, while waving purses and dollar bills at each other in a battle for who was going to pay the fare first. He interrupted before we could.
“Are you guys in a hurry?”
“We. Um. We’re here, right?”
“No, it’s just, if you had an extra couple of minutes, I could show you something really cool. It’s just around the corner. It’ll be a couple extra dollars on the meter, because we have to drive around there. But it’ll be worth it, I promise”
In the back, we looked at each other and shrugged, ignoring the hairs of fear bristling on My Beloved’s ears.
And, as soon as we agreed, he revved the engine back into life and pulled away from the curb once more.
My Beloved usually interjects that it was at this point in the ride, and with the man’s next words, which were “I’m a Big Fan of [outlaw and mass murderer] John Dillinger …” that he became irretriavbly convinced that the only place this ride was ending was in a damp Chicagoan basement with a Singing Cabbie standing over us with a big smile and a hacksaw, and started planning the perfect ninja defence moves he would employ to save us before it ever got to that ….
…but luckily it didn’t get to that.
We turned one corner, then another, then another, and then cruised slowly down a road where a film about John Dillinger is being made (with Jonny Depp as JD, btw, and directed by Michael Mann. I have other details, but they’re beside the point).
All the streetlamps had been turned off and moved away; temporary tramlines ran down the middle of the street; all the gaudy plastic shopfronts were replaced with wrought iron and wood - floral dresses hung on modest mannequins in the window. And on one side of the street, the cinema where Dillenger finally got caught by the FBI had been restored to how it would have looked on that night in 1934.
After whizzing through florescent streets and bright, wide freeways of the modern city it was, as the man said, quite magical.
And pretty fucking cool.
And that, ladeez and gennelmen, is the weirdest cab ride of my life.
And every word is true.
He gave us a flyer on the way out of the cab.
Here it is.
(click images to see them bigger)
“Who gets The Singing Cab driver is a cosmically selective process. When your karma is due, he’ll arrive to make your day, shamelessly promote his career agenda and deliver your destination in one piece, right side up”
Brilliant.
That’s brilliant. Lived there for just over a year and was never cosmically selected … at least not by Ray St. Ray.
Comment by bob — 30 June, 2008 10:26 pm
Anna, blimey. You make me laugh every time I read your stuff, and occasionally your writing absolutely dazzles me. This is one of those days. It is very important that I become famous, so you can write my biography. It will be BRILLIANT.
Comment by Vici — 30 June, 2008 10:40 pm
So I take it this is all part of your first Dr Who episode? Right?
Comment by Daniel — 30 June, 2008 11:05 pm
Awesome. Totally awesome. You know, the longer I read your stuff, the more I’m starting to believe that your karma resembles a patchwork quilt. Or paisley. I’m glad you can write about it, too.
Comment by wolf — 1 July, 2008 12:30 am
wait–you were here in my city and you didn’t even say hi? And you were in the neighborhood of my university (right there on the corner by that famous movie theater) and you didn’t spare me a thought? And Loud American is here too? Why didn’t I know this? Can you facebook me some info? (yes, I just used facebook as a verb–it happens if you work with teenagers…so sorry.)
Taking my pouty face home now…
Comment by Teri — 1 July, 2008 2:32 am
Ok. Best post- ever.
You really ought to turn this into a short story.
Brilliant.
Comment by Nicole — 1 July, 2008 2:35 am
I’d have so many more readers if stuff like this happened to me.
Great post. well done.
Comment by drew — 1 July, 2008 3:54 am
I feel the need to spread the world of http://www.myspace.com/singingcabdriver to everyone else.
Comment by Aquarion — 1 July, 2008 8:10 am
Ah, now I was avoiding linking to him (he has a tremendous blog too)(still not sure if that’s exactly the right word) because I didn’t know if he’d like my version of our ride. But MySpace are worse with links in though, aren’t they?
Ok, well, that can stay, then, for now.
Comment by anna — 1 July, 2008 8:34 am
Cor, how fucking cool was that?
I would have been having the same paranoid fantasies as your beloved, though. I’m a bit scared of taxi drivers at the best of times.
Your opening sentence made me think this post was going to be the Big Announcement, and I spent half the post imagining all sorts until I finally realised it wasn’t. Unless the Singing Cab Driver has offered you a job as his Singing Assistant? Maybe you will sit on the roof in spandex and sing backing vocals whilst passing the occasional biscuit (sorry, cookie) to occupants through the windows? No?
Comment by clare — 1 July, 2008 9:18 am
“But MySpace are worse with links in though, aren’t they?”
Oh, is there something I should know about linking / not linking to MySpace stuff?
Comment by clare — 1 July, 2008 9:20 am
Oh no, not at all, Clare, I don’t know fucking anything about MySpace - I just aassumed that they don’t have the same kind of Stat software that blogs do, and the owner of a page might not be able to trace links as easily. I might be wrong. I don’t know, as I say.
Comment by anna — 1 July, 2008 9:23 am
Ooh, I just listened to “Love to Drive.” Brilliant. Reminded me of someone, but I can’t think who. Um… The Cure? Maybe. Not sure.
Comment by clare — 1 July, 2008 9:24 am
He does seem a bit, well… y’know.
Nice of him to try and make people smile though!
I might have to sing to people on the train tonight, and see if they cheer up.
Comment by two left feet — 1 July, 2008 11:30 am
leftfeets - I hadn’t linked to his site on purpose - so I’ve edited your comment slightly, hope that’s ok.
I think anyone is google savvy enough to find him if they want!
a
Comment by anna — 1 July, 2008 11:38 am
Oh the singing cabbie, I really wanted to take his cab while I was over in Chicago in April but I wasn’t cosmically selected either sadly! My friend Leah who lives there however has been cosmically selected twice now, which I think is just greedy!
Comment by VickiinNice — 1 July, 2008 12:29 pm
What a great story.
Hope you’re having a fab time.
Comment by nuttycow — 1 July, 2008 1:49 pm
I did, nutty - I’ve been back for a month - just having time to write up some things even now. But yes, I had a really great time.
Comment by anna — 1 July, 2008 1:50 pm
Awesome… when reading that entry was slightly fearful for the lives of you and Bobbie, but now realise that Americans are just that weird! Your actual driver sounds fab (now I know you’re not dead) - am very jealous. Was in NY last week and all the cabbies were a fine blend of superfluous and crap - yet nothing special.
a x
Comment by angelesque — 1 July, 2008 10:50 pm
Oh heavens, that made me laugh. I live there and have taken many cabs and have yet to be serenaded. I was shown a contested speeding ticket and traffic violation once, but never had a song. Congratulations! [and they were filming next to my apartment, it was fun to time travel]
Comment by hope — 2 July, 2008 2:52 am
Oh, Anna, your posts are always a joy. :-)
Comment by nibblepig — 2 July, 2008 7:48 am
Fantastic story and a brilliant post - thank you for brightening my day.
Comment by James — 2 July, 2008 8:33 am
“More than a ride, it’s a trip!” Indeed. Unfair. My cab driver experiences have included the slightly stoned, the politically shouty, the truculent and smelly, the expecting-free-advice-on-web-design and (once) the unbelievably helpful and friendly. Am pondering if it is worth a visit to Chicago but because of the cosmically selective thing am afraid it will be like winning at grade school bingo so will probably stay home.
Comment by Megan — 2 July, 2008 1:50 pm
erm, good karma or bad karma?
hahahaha
Comment by -b. — 3 July, 2008 10:50 am
awesomest story ever. the cosmos likes to supply you with material?
Comment by Eloise — 3 July, 2008 4:16 pm
if nothing else, that’s a perfectly good reason to go to Chicago. Glad he didn’t turn out to be a serial killer or anything, and too bad you didn’t get to see Johnny Depp up close and personal. :)
Comment by Lynn — 3 July, 2008 8:09 pm
I.
LOVE.
IT.
The post. The singing cabbie. Everything. Can’t stop laughing long enough to say more…….
Comment by guyana gyal — 4 July, 2008 5:09 pm
Very good story.
My favorite line about Chicago comes from “The Untouchables,” and of course, is uttered by Sean Connery: (with words written by David Mamet)
“Welcome to Chicago. This town stinks like a whorehouse at low tide.”
Comment by a usual suspect — 5 July, 2008 2:39 pm
Fabulous. Bunnies in Vegas and now singing cabbies in
Chicago. You could start the Karma Surprise Travel Agency.
Comment by asta — 6 July, 2008 12:41 am
Oh my this was too funny!
Comment by Julie — 6 July, 2008 3:25 pm
Angelesque, happy to report that singing cab drivers can be found in good ol’ London, too! After spending a completely unplanned and lengthy night out on the town with friends, we caught a black cab back to their place, driven by an Elvis impersonator! He had his guitar in the front seat with him and strummed away while driving, and we took our time getting home. “Blue Suede Shoes” was my favourite of the 3 songs we were treated to.
Comment by Meredith — 6 July, 2008 4:38 pm
Did you go to The Green Mill? Al Capone used to have party rooms hidden under it and tunnels around that area of Chicago (I don’t live far from them).
Yes, our cabbies (especially Ray St. Ray) are pretty eccentric but that’s why I love ‘em. Please don’t let them scare you from coming back!
P.S. Wish I could’ve bumped into you whilst you were here (in a non-creepy type way, obv).
Comment by Kathryn — 8 July, 2008 9:19 pm
I used to live in Chicago AND had this singing driver once or twice (first time, fun. Second time did get on my titnerves) AND like cats AND could stand to lose a pound or 25 AND my name is Anna AND I read the guardian.
I love reading your blog - it’s like a parallel universe.
Magic.
Comment by Anna too — 29 July, 2008 2:05 pm
Hi Anna, I know just what you mean about the twitch in the back of his neck, but in this story, the “shoes are on the other foot”. My beloved is a singing cab driver. Before I knew of him, he had been asked by some of his female passengers, over a two year period, and not the same one either, if he would be their husband, but guess what? He did the asking and now I’m Mrs Eagle, which is his call sign, his name is Colin and we live in Hervey Bay, Queensland, Australia. It wasn’t fate that brought us together either, we call it answered prayers.
Comment by Dorothy — 6 September, 2009 10:54 pm
Hi, Anna!
Your story was just brought to my attention and I enjoyed your view on our experience that evening. The point of what I do, by the way, is so that you DO have a good story to tell. Any paranoia about experiencing the pleasantly unusual is strictly in the eyes or humor of the beholder.
I’m not a big fan of the Myspace either, and suggest the curious check out singingcabdriver.com
Good luck in life and love!
Yours truly,
THE SINGING CAB DRIVER
Comment by Ray St. Ray — 23 February, 2010 4:42 am
Ray! How amazing to hear from you, what a wonderful place this internet is.
I’d say it seemed a long time since that memorable ride - apart from the fact that I happened upon my beloved singing Sugar Slut to himself while washing up the other day…
It is a truly unique entertainment/service you provide, my friend: though somewhat more alarming to those not expecting it than it must feel to you, who does it every day. On reflection, I would think that only one out of the four of us being afraid we might get murdered is a pretty good ratio!
Thanks for finding me, Ray (again)
anna
Comment by anna — 23 February, 2010 10:37 am