Gin and tonic please
Bourbon?
No, gin. G-I-N, gin. With tonic
Do you want tonic with that?
Yes, you prick, I want gin & tonic squared
and later,
Could I get a taxi please
You want dresses?
It's okay, I'll walk
I can see why people might want to bomb this country. I'm not condoning it or anything but when Nation Shall Speak Peace Unto Nation, it only works if both are listening.
I don't have this trouble with immigrant Americans. Today's taxi drivers were Somali and Indian, with seven and twelve years in the hood respectively. They understood me, I understood them. No-one needed to draft a UN resolution to make their point.
Why this gulf of understanding? Another republican plot?
My Indian driver was an old Sikh. There are only old Sikhs and young Sikhs. A Sikh will celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday then wake up the next morning as a fifty year old. That 'weirds me out' as they say around here.
Mr Singh (a guess, but a good one) muttered to himself throughout the journey. Initially I thought he was talking, but it was very flat and repetitive, and reminiscent of Kabaddi. Once we got some speed up, he used the cover of wind noise to break into song. It was always on the edge of hearing, but had a soothing soporific effect.
My new business idea is the Singing Sikh Taxi Company. It will be faddish and short-lived, and will be dumbed down to suit its audience. The logo will be a Sikh version of the laughing cow, and the song selection will be primarily show-tunes. If I can get the cost down, the roof of each car will be swathed in turbanage.
I know what you are thinking... you are thinking I am a business genius. Thank you, I am.