The students have been coming back. First the local kids—they’re less likely to take a cab—then the kids from farther away. This weekend was filled with the latter.
As the stereotype goes, the students from the coasts are spoiled rich kids whose parents send them here so they can get a bit of exposure to the slower, friendlier Midwestern culture. But they all have Daddy’s credit card, freely participate in the sexual disease-swap in their microcosm of fraternities and sororities, and treat the locals like they’re some unfortunate alien species which hopelessly lacks sophistication so shouldn’t be given any regard. So the stereotype goes.
I was waiting for a fare on the campus end of downtown where all the college kids go to drink and heard a tap on my window. Six girls stood outside.
“I’m waiting for Jim,” I told them. “None of you look like a ‘Jim’.”
“You want us.” One girl placed herself in front and shouted in that way only a native New Yorker can. “We’ll make it worth your while.”
“I have to…”
“You want us!”
“No, you want us!”
“I’ve got a call.”
“YOU WANT US!”
In these sorts of situations I have a few choices: I can roll up the window to the oh-so-friendly shouts of “Fuck You!” as I wait for my passenger; I can take the girls three blocks to their sorority and put up with the small tip that usually follows a promise to make it worth my while; or I can just drive off and look for one of the countless other people trying to flag a cab.
This time I went with the second option and put up with their vapid conversation. It was my christening spoiled brat ride of the season.