Long-time pal and sometime roommate Lyndsey joined us on our galivant across Costa Rica. She brought with her Mike, a Londoner and general man-about-town. The two of them took a cab, as you do, from the airport to the hotel and had a conversation with their driver which stuck with us.
L&M: Pleasant, conversational. Is Christmas very big down here?
Cab driver: Not for me.
I feel like a tiny jerk about it, but I find this hilarious. I don’t know if it was the too-much-information factor or the solemn portent of Mike’s tone as he said, “Not for me,” with his chin down, his eyebrows up and a British downbeat on the last word as if promising worse, but there it is. It also turns out that, “Not for me,” is a surprisingly versatile punchline in conversation. It lends that extra something to a chat, that little suffering-as-lifestyle-choice, don’t-ask quality that is so attractive in strangers.
To get back to the issue at hand though, “Why?” you might ask, “What was his issue? Why does this poor hilarious man have such a glum take on our happy holiday?” Good question. Let’s continue.
Cab driver: My lady left.
L: For where?
Cab driver: For another person.
I can’t help it. I find it additionally hilarious that a.) he was left for a “person,” gender unspecified, formality and mystery implied, and b.) Lyndsey completely missed his meaning.
I want to find this man, write down everything he says for as long as I can take it – probably in the range of ten minutes – go get a drink and use his material forever.