More specifically, taking cabbies alone, to or from the airport, and in the dark. And not the cabbies in New York, for some reason in my mind they don't count, I just mean the ones here.
Maybe it's the route. Maybe it's the seeming unaccountability of cabbies. I mean, how do I know this is an actual cabbie? For all I know, he could have bought a cab and is just riding around picking up women.
Maybe it's because none of the cabbies ever talk to me and I manufacture craziness in my head about what they're plotting behind the steering wheel. Of course I realize that I could talk to them but I'd rather not engage possible perpetrators in small talk and instead I'd rather hide behind my cloak of fear, i.e. smart phone and leave digital trails about my whereabouts.
Again, I say "unwarranted" because not one single time have I heard of anything happening to a cab passenger. Not ever. If anything, the cabbie is the target and they should probably be more afraid of us than we are of them.
But there's always a first time.
I don't want to be the first time.
I know I won't be. But still.
See, what happens is, I go into sweats about taking a cab.
There is one route to and from my house and it's across a long causeway and bridge with water on both sides and along the causeway there are little access roads to a waterside road and mangroves everywhere.
Taking a cab is no fun for me because the entire time, I envision the cabbie pulling off the road onto one of these sideroads. And then I see headlines and searches and all of that.
Again, I know. Completely unwarranted. However, my hands are sweating and I have a headache the entire cab ride just thinking about it and when I arrive safely, I thank God for getting me there although I probably never had a reason to fear the cabbie in the first place.
And so last night while packing for LA and the Cars 2 trip, contemplating the possibilities of how to get to the airport at 5 a.m., I put out my comfy yoga pants and shirt because when I get to the hotel the plan is to go straight to the gym. Instead of flip-flips like normal when I travel, I chose sneakers.
This is of course not because I was planning to head to the gym, but in the case that I took a cab to the airport and the cabbie decided to pull off on one of these dark scary sideroads, I could get out and run to the nearest well-lit area at 5 a.m.
Now depending on how far we are across the bridge, that may be a long ways. So would it be safer to run along the highway and attract all the other crazies in the dark at 5 a.m.? Or safer to hide in a mangrove bush until light, so that I could see whatever car, hopefully police officer, was trying to pick me up off the side of the highway at 5 a.m. while I was running.
See?
These are the things that I think about.
There is something wrong with me.
Don't try to analyze it, I have no deep dark past.
So I ordered a Super Shuttle.
I was happy to be the last one he picked up and the first one he dropped off, all pre-paid and everything with a full van of nice people. It was magical.
I sat down in the van and breathed easy. See? Much better.
Of course on the way across the causeway, I was convinced that the driver was falling asleep and spent the entire ride concentrating on whether or not he stayed within the lines and worried that because I hadn't worn my seatbelt I would possibly get tossed from the van if he hit the wall, spun around and crashed. And at what point can you put on the seatbelt if you hadn't at the beginning without sending the message that his driving is crazy? Which it wasn't actually. There was only one crazyperson in the van and it was me.
I'm going to drink my latte now. And then get on the plane and
See you in LA!
(Got a xanax I can borrow?)
Ps. You can follow my trip on Twitter: @christieo! I'll be posting both here and at 5 Minutes for Mom!
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