Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Once Upon a Time in a Taxi

This is a true story. It happened to a friend of Olli and Gareth's, whom I shall call Oswald, because they don't have any friends called Oswald.

Oswald was at a party. Also at the party was a pretty and very girly girl called Clarissa. Actually she wasn't called Clarissa but I don't think she knew, at that point, what she was called.

Clarissa was very, very drunk. Oswald, from a motive of great selflessness, decided to help her to get home. If he had any motives other than kindness, they do not feature in this story.

Oswald found a taxi. The taxi driver's name wasn't Nigel, but that's what I'm going to call him.

You may know that taxi drivers often won't let very very drunk people into their cabs, in case they vomit copiously all over the interior. Nigel didn't know this. It was going to be an educational night for him.

The taxi set off in the direction of Clarissa's home. After a very short time, Clarissa vomited copiously all over the interior, and all over Oswald, and all over herself.

Nigel screeched to a halt.

"That's going to cost you fifty quid, mate," he said, "to clean my taxi".

Oswald explained that he is a poor student and didn't have fifty quid on him. I think he did ask Clarissa but her reply wasn't coherent and didn't include any offer of money.

Oswald gave Nigel all the money he had, which wasn't much.

"Right, you can both get out of my taxi this moment," said Nigel assertively. Oswald climbed out and Clarissa fell out after him.

Nigel roared off into the night and plays no further part in this story except that I feel rather sorry for him.

Oswald looked to see where they were and the answer was The Middle of Nowhere Next to a Field.

"Come on, Clarissa," said Oswald, " get up. We'll have to walk home."

"Nggghmmh" said Clarissa enthusiastically from her position on the ground.

"UP! WALK!" repeated Oswald, to no avail.

Clarissa wasn't very big. Oswald hoisted her onto his back and carried her the two miles back to his house. He observed that the gentle rocking motion as he carried her enabled an even layer of vomit to be spread all over his clothing.

"Otter tail?" murmured Clarissa when they arrived. It took Oswald a little while to work out that she was suggesting that they should sleep top to tail in her bed.

Oswald considered this generous proposition. He thought of his feet, which were now the only bit of him that was not covered in vomit. He thought of Clarissa's hair, which was a vomit-covered mass of once-blondeness.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he said, and did.

It was early afternoon when they woke. Oswald noted with interest that a dried crust of vomit covered most things in the room, including every part of him, and all his clothes.

"You can't go home like that," commented the now-sober Clarissa.

As I mentioned previously, she was a very girly girl. As Oswald walked home, wearing a pink hooded top over a pair of white jeans embroidered with a little pattern of roses, he thought that the traditional pleasures of youth can be over-estimated.


Blogger Silverback said...

Beautifully recounted and, unlike Clarissa, you painted a very vivid picture. She painted just about everything else, it seems.

I think your feelings for the taxi driver say more about you than him but having said that, I get upset if my car smells of anything other than new car smell.....even 5 years later.

2 miles with a girl on your back..sounds like a life lesson if you ask me !

8:53 pm  
Blogger Jennytc said...

Well, he won't be doing THAT again in a hurry! Whereas she probably will...;)

8:09 am  
Blogger rhymeswithplague said...

Wait...What? He carried her the two miles back to his house, and then her bed was in his house and when they awoke they were in her house and she said "You can't go home like that" and then he walked back to his house? I missed the part where they changed residences while they slept.

I'm as baffled as poor Nigel.

I'm sure you'll straighten me out, Daphne.

12:21 pm  
Blogger Yorkshire Pudding said...

Oswald, Clarissa and Nigel? Next time you choose to use pseudonyms, let's have some proper earthy names as might be favoured by barbarians from Yorkshire such as Bob, Maureen and Frank or Geoff, Nora and Fred. None of these posh southern names please!

2:05 pm  
Blogger rhymeswithplague said...

Here their names would be Bubba, Myrtle, and Abdul.

6:44 pm  

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