Hello! Or, should I say High?

HIGH: a stupefied state produced by a drug

We had a wonderful weekend in Vancouver, British Columbia. 

The weather was fantastic.  The train ride was beautiful.  Our hotel was conveniently located.  The aquarium was delightful.  The fireworks were impressive.  Science World was awesome. 

But, it was a lot of activity and as our train pulled into King Street Station just after 10pm, I was tired.  Husband was tired.  The kids were tired. 

In our exhaustion, the yellow cabs beckoned to us with the promise of door-to-door service and speed instead of the long walk and extra ½ hour of travel time that the bus would require. 

So, we queued with our fellow passengers and waited our turn.  Three cabs from the front of the line, Son announced he needed to pee.  Bad. 

Husband and Son exited stage right in search of a bathroom while Daughter and I remained at the front, allowing people to cut in front of us one at a time while we eagerly awaited the presence of all four of the bladders in our family. 

Several safe-driving cabs came and went.

Husband and Son returned and we approached the next cab to arrive.  The driver nearly side swiped another cab on his to the curb.  Not a very auspicious beginning to what will be a carseat-free ride home.

We got in and Cab Driver seemed friendly enough, knew our destination and quickly got on his way.  Aggressive driving is something I typically admire when the meter is running, but serving as a human carseat I found myself more than willing to pay for slower service.

While he attempted to set a world record for quickest drive from one red light to the next, Cab Driver cranked up the music and casually mentioned we were listening to his band and that the CD would provide 79 minutes of listening pleasure. 

We had a jack of all trades on our hands: a cab driver, musician, and direct sales entrepreneur. 

Cab Driver was kind enough to fast forward to a song that prominently featured 4:20 and even explained to us what it was “code” for (seriously, does that even count as code anymore?) in case we were in any doubt of his position on herbs.

Suddenly, the rolled down cab windows seemed less like an attempt to enjoy the warm evening than I had previously assumed. 

Cab Driver fast forwarded to another musical highlight, a song called “Gotta Go to Work.”  It was about as complex as it sounds.  But, he added a layer of intrigue when he told us that we could find a YouTube video of the song featuring lions hunting – you know, even lions gotta go to work.  Deep.

Cab Driver then began an animated talk about killing lions for sport.  His soap box sermon was punctuated by two-hands-off-the-wheel charades of hunters blowing up lions.  He had my full attention as we swerved from lane to lane.  

At one point, Cab Driver asked Husband what kind of work he did.  Despite my highest hopes, Husband did not say he was a DEA agent.  He told the truth: transportation planning.

Well, as luck would have it, Cab Driver had a solution to our region’s transportation woes: 

Mail Order Weed.

Yep.  If people didn’t have to drive to get their weed, there wouldn’t be so many cars on the road.

Problem solved. 

After a final inappropriate conversation foray into Thailand’s sex trade, we were deposited in our driveway with our luggage, all our limbs and a renewed appreciation for bus transportation.

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