Hailing a taxi can be tricky, sure, but hailing a taxi on Valentine’s Day in thefinancial district is borderline dangerous. Everyone’s got plans. Everyone’s gotplaces to be. And everyone’s got reservations. Whether they are romantic,bromantic, sisterly, or otherwise pathetic, the fact still remains: there simply aren’tenough taxis for everyone to get to where they want to be, where they wish theywere, or where they are expected to arrive.
And that’s why I’ve got it all figured out this year.I’ve had four different dates with four different women in the last four years,and the problem with being on Wall Street is that everyone else on Wall Street isalso on Wall Street. And none of us got here by being nice, courteous, or, in allhonesty, human.
Johnson grabbed my taxi four years ago and when I fired him the nextmorning, he smirked across the boardroom table and muttered “it was worth it.” Hegot married eight months later to an actress. You’ve probably seen some of hermovies. I avoid them whenever possible.
Henderson grabbed my taxi three years ago and when he was indicted forinsider trading a few weeks later, he knew it was me. He knew why I did it. And hissmug facial expression as I testified against him and knew that he would loseeverything told me that he’d be fine. He had friends in prison, he had friendseverywhere, people liked him, he was likable, he was going to be safe. When he gotout a couple of months ago, I saw him on the street. Back at it. Looking rested andin the best shape of his life… with two beautiful young interns on his arms. “’Sup,bro?” My hatred is only outweighed by my respect.
Edmonds grabbed my taxi two years ago and I got into an actual, real-lifefistfight with him in the middle of street. We both got arrested after he pushed anonlooker into a parked car and she sprained her ankle. He got sued and spent thenight in jail. I missed my reservation and carried out my swift vengeance by placingdrugs in his desk drawer, resulting in a relocation to another division. He nowheads that division, always has a bloody lip and a smirk whenever we pass in thehalls, and asks me about “that rematch” I apparently owe him. He lives for the shit.
Cameron grabbed my taxi last year and I killed him. Straight up murderedthe bastard… and he’s the one that got me back the worst. You see, it’s not the guilt.It’s not the shame. It’s the fact that he died, but never actually left. I’m the only onewho can see him, and I’m not sure if he’s a ghost or my conscience (if I even haveone) or what, but the fact still remains: he’s been with me every Valentine’s Daysince I choked the life out of him, took his taxi, and put both him and the driver inthe Hudson River.
Which brings us to this year.
So in short: No, I will not hear any of your plans for the night. No, I will notlet you leave early for your own reservations. No, I will not give you specialpermissions just because you are my son. No, I will not be interested in meetingyour fiancée. No, I will not stop cheating on your mother. No, I will not even somuch as think of sharing a God damn mother fucking car with you tonight forValentine’s Day. Life is hard enough as is… so get back to work.
My Uber is downstairs.
