[AnthonyN]

NOT A JOKE BUT IT MAKES YA THINK..........


WHAT REALLY COUNTS.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was
> > >> a
> > >> cowboy's life, a
> > >> >>life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't
> > >> realize was that it
> > >> >>was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift,
> > >> my
> > >> cab became a
> > >> moving
> > >> >>confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in
> > >> total anonymity,
> > >> >>and told me about their lives. I encountered people
> > >> whose
> > >> lives amazed
> > >> me,
> > >> >>ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched
> > >> me
> > >> more than a
> > >> >>woman I picked up late one August night.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> I was responding to a call from a small brick
> > >> fourplex
> > >> in a quiet part
> > >> >> of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some
> > >> partiers, or
> > >> >>someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a
> > >> worker heading to an
> > >> early
> > >> >> shift at some factory for the industrial part of
> > >> town.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark
> > >> except for a single
> > >> >>light in a ground floor window. Under these
> > >> circumstances,
> > >> many drivers
> > >> would
> > >> >> just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive
> > >> away.
> > >> But I had seen
> > >> >>too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as
> > >> their only means of
> > >> >> transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger,
> > >> I
> > >> always went to
> > >> >>the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my
> > >> assistance, I
> > >> >>reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and
> > >> knocked.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I
> > >> could hear
> > >> >> something being dragged across the floor. After a
> > >> long
> > >> pause, the door
> > >> >>opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She
> > >> was
> > >> wearing a print
> > >> dress
> > >> >> and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like
> > >> somebody out of a 1940s
> > >> >> movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The
> > >> apartment looked as
> > >> >>if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture
> > >> was covered with
> > >> >>sheets.
> > >> >>There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or
> > >> utensils on the
> > >> counters.
> > >> >> In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos
> > >> and
> > >> glassware.
> > >> >>>> "would you carry my bag out to the car?"
> > >> she
> > >> said. I took the
> > >> suitcase
> > >> >> to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She
> > >> took
> > >> my arm and we
> > >> >> walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me
> > >> for my kindness.
> > >> >> "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my
> > >> passengers the way
> > >> >>I would want my mother treated".
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> When we got in the cab, she gave me and address, then
> > >> asked, "Could you
> > >> >> drive through downtown?"
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry.
> > >> I'm
> > >> on my way to a
> > >> >>hospice".
> > >> >>
> > >> >> I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were
> > >> glistening.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The
> > >> doctor says I
> > >> >> don't have very long."
> > >> >>
> > >> >> I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
> > >> "What
> > >> route would you
> > >> >> like me to take?" I asked.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> For the next two hours, we drove through the city.
> > >> She
> > >> showed me the
> > >> >> building where she had once worked as an elevator
> > >> operator. We drove
> > >> >>through the neighborhood where she and her husband had
> > >> lived when they
> > >> were
> > >> >> newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a
> > >> furniture
> > >> warehouse that
> > >> >> had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing
> > >> as a
> > >> girl. Sometimes
> > >> >> she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular
> > >> building
> > >> or corner and
> > >> >>would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon,
> > >> she
> > >> suddenly said,
> > >> >>"I'm tired. Let's go now."
> > >> >>
> > >> >> We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
> > >> It
> > >> was a low
> > >> >> building, like a small convalescent home, with a
> > >> driveway that passed
> > >> >>under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as
> > >> soon
> > >> as we pulled
> > >> up.
> > >> >>They were solicitous and intent, watching her every
> > >> move.
> > >> They must have
> > >> been
> > >> >> expecting her.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the
> > >> door. The woman
> > >> >> was already seated in a wheelchair.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into
> > >> her
> > >> purse.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "Nothing," I said.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "You have to make a living," she answered.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "There are other passengers," I responded.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.
> > >> She held onto me
> > >> >> tightly.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she
> > >> said. "Thank you."
> > >> >>
> > >> >> I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning
> > >> light. Behind me,
> > >> >> a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a
> > >> life.
> > >> >>
> > >> >> I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I
> > >> drove aimlessly,
> > >> >> lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could
> > >> hardly talk. What if
> > >> >>that woman
> > >> >> had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient
> > >> to
> > >> end his shift?
> > >> >> What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked
> > >> once, then driven
> > >> >>away?
> > >> >>
> > >> >> On a quick review, I don't think that I have done
> > >> anything more
> > >> >> important in my life. We're conditioned to think
> > >> that
> > >> our lives revolve
> > >> >>around great moments. But great moments often catch us
> > >> unaware-beautifully
> > >>
> > >> >>wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
> > >> >>
> > >> >>
> > >> >> PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR
> > >> WHAT
> > >> YOU SAID, ...BUT
> > >> >>THEY
> > >> >>WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.