In years past, we celebrated the occasion with trips to Seattle and San Diego, tasty dinners and cute gifts.
Although this time of year is one of celebration and holiday cheer, the anniversary festivities with my girlfriend Nicolette always reminds me of our first date, when I got stranded as a result of my complete lack of public-transportation knowledge.
Sit back and relax, as I transport you back to a time two years ago, when I documented my first-date fiasco.
How my first date was saved by an anonymous taxi driver (Sept. 22, 2016)
I’ve been with my girlfriend for a year and 10 months now, and one of the common questions I get is how we ended up together. I can’t help but give a slight chuckle every time someone asks. It’s a pretty straightforward answer, but I can’t help getting “triggered” when I’m reminded of our first date. Don’t get me wrong– it was actually a delightful time, and I’d do it again if we could, but, holy heck, let this be a reminder to always charge your phone and buy a car.
As most charming fellows do when they stumble upon attractive ladies that tickle their fancy, they ask them out on a date. So, I opted to do just that. I was the editor-in-chief of my community college paper at the time, and my lady of interest was a staff writer. As some of you know, you tend to fall for co-workers, classmates, etc. It comes with the territory when you closely interact with the same people for so long.
I walked up to her, worked up the charm and asked her out. All right! Nailed it.
Heading into the weekend, it was time to meet up. Seeing as we both had no mode of transportation, she had the lovely idea to serve as my bus guide for the day and show me around Hollywood. We hit up all sorts of hip spots around town.
Day became night. We ended our evening eating at IHOP, and I eventually planted a big wet one on her. BOOM– she’s my girlfriend. In either case, it was midnight or so, and I had to get home! My newly christened girlfriend pointed me in the right direction and gave me some specific instructions to get back safe and sound. What can go wrong?
I accompanied her home, said my farewell, got on the bus and made my way back. As it was trekking along, the bus suddenly came to a stop. Time’s up. We completely forgot that buses are not a 24/7 service. Yikes.
The driver was telling me to get off the bus. In my best attempt to negotiate with the guy, I asked if he could just do me a favor and drop me off at my stop, anyway– or, at the very least, get me somewhere that’s not here.
Wasn’t going to happen.
He pretty much told me to take a hike, and I got off the bus. Splendid.
It was almost 2am. As I grabbed my phone to call my good ol’ momma for a ride, I could see that it’s unresponsive. It’s dead.
Look, I’m a paranoid guy. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m alone. The bus driver gave me some vague general direction of where to go. And I just happened to be in seemingly the most poorly lit neighborhood in history. I see no landmarks. No place to potentially find a phone or some type of resource. I might as well have been in the middle of nowhere.
I just aimlessly started walking toward an intersection.
It had only been a minute when a taxi stopped at a red light right in front of me. What luck! Acting impulsively, I sprinted toward the street, stopped in the middle of the crossway and waved my hands in front of the driver. I slowly made my way to his passenger side.
In Spanish, I explained my situation. The driver, an older gentleman I estimated to be in his 60s, was courteous enough to let me in.
He said he was on his way to a Latin nightclub known as El Pedregal. That’s right in my general area. He needed to get gas, and I needed cash– he didn’t accept cards– so, we made our way to a Shell station. Strangely enough, no one was there. And the gas pumps weren’t working.
He beckoned me back to his taxi. He concluded that he had enough gas to take me home. Free of charge. I can’t tell you the amount of times I thanked him.
In a little over 10 minutes or so, I was home. I told him thank you, muchas gracias, Feliz Navidad— all that sort of thing. I was so relieved. I went into my apartment and hopped into bed. What a night.
I’m sure in some alternate universe, I walked the entire route home, got blasted in the back by some hooligan with a 4×4 and was never heard from again. Rest in peace. But, this is not that universe, and here I am. Thank you, Mr. Taxi Man. You saved my life– and $20 or so, too.