She was a gregarious young white woman, early 20’s, a brunette pixie out from the midwest to visit her boyfriend. She sat directly behind me, the only passenger; she asked me when we’d arrive and called her boyfriend to let him know. Then we had a lively, if not deep, conversation. At one point she stopped to take a call from a girlfriend. She started talking about her job.
Sometimes you start out on one train of thought, only to derail into another. Maybe you start to say “he blew his top,” but switch to “he had a cow.” That’s what happened to her: she was talking about a problem at her job and said, “Like, Jason, the assistant manager? He got so mad, he blew a cow.”
I held the steering wheel in a death grip. Do not laugh out loud. Do not drive into the ditch. Fortunately, because she was right behind me, she couldn’t see the war between hilarity and professionalism taking place on my face.
This was early in my shuttle career, and I chose a poor route that made us about 15 minutes late. The boyfriend seemed angry, and kept looking at me suspiciously. Good thing we weren’t near a cow pasture–who knows what might have happened?