Average guy or scum of the earth?, Jordan, 24 October 2008
His car smelled like women. I thought the smell was the intended outcome of the strawberry air freshener hanging from his rearview mirror, next to a little black pillow with “Allah” embroidered in gold. She thought the smell was the smell of women, probably many women, in his car.
He had a very deep voice. I thought he probably had troubled vocal chords and had smoked too many cigarettes. She thought it was the voice of a scoundrel.
He wore sunglasses that had obviously been very carefully selected for fashion. I thought they looked good. She thought… well, I don’t know what she thought, but they gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
His wife told us that sometimes he gets cranky but she knows how to deal with him so that it’s never too much of a problem. I believed the wife. She suggested that he probably beats his wife.
He acted like he’d known us for years. I assumed that was the familiarity that came with the fact that we were working closely with his wife. She presumed that he was a little too familiar with young women in general.
He asked in a dozen different ways if the taxi service he provided was to our satisfaction. I didn’t answer but could think of no complaints. My friend took his phone number with a look on her face that told me she hoped she’d never have to use his service again.