Oh crap.
I suddenly realized why the bartender had been so eager to help me find the guy who had called the cab as he slurred and stumbled his way across the parking lot. Maybe early thirties, tattered clothing, scraggly hair and beard, and clutching a paper bag of what i supposed to be full of empty beer cans by the noise it was making.
Assumption time starts in.
Homeless. Drug affected. Definitely drunk. Not going to have the money for the fare. Possibly dangerous.
"How's it goin'?" I ask him as we start towards the Fred Meyer's he directs me to.
"Ooooh, man....Not so good... Not so good at all. I don't really want to talk about it."
Great. Drunk, broke, and in a bad mood.
Before I can signal that his decision to not talk about it is fine by me, he talks about it.
"Who am I kidding, I gotta get it off my chest, man... Today's probably the worst day of my whole life. My family isalls..." He starts slurring and mumbling so heavily that I can't make out a lot of what he's saying, but certain things catch my ear.
"... And the doctor's saying I got multiple personality something, because I hear voices..."
I start to seriously wonder if he's dangerous.
"... And i hate it man, I hate that methadone they got me on, but I can't quit takin' it man..."
I pull the cabbie move and unbuckle my seat belt, in case I should have to bail from the car for any reason. Its not that I think an attack is imminent so much as an awareness that sometimes really fucked up people have violent mood swings. This guy is very fucked up.
"... and then I gotta go see my PO in the morning, and they're probably goin take me in again, i'm gonna have to go back to jail, because I violated parole..."
I should mention that this entire time, between further explanations of why it is the worst day of his life, he has been alternating between passing out and whimpering. I should also mention that I have been trying my best to commiserate with him (even as I constantly look back to make sure he doesn't have a weapon), which he is profusely thanking me for.
"... And I'm just so tired.... I don't know what I'm gonna do...."
"Well, this is your stop buddy."
"Oh, yeah, okay."
At this point I'm fully expecting that he will stumble out of the cab, not pay his fare, and I will drive off. This is an admission that I'm sure any cabbie reading this is appalled at, but I just don't have the energy.
Amazingly, however, he begins rummaging through his pockets.
Wow, he might actually have money...
"Oh, man, where did I put that..."
Oh, never mind.
"Oohhh, what am I gonna do" he mutters quietly to himself. "I think I'm gona have to run for it," he adds in the same quiet voice.
I look at him in disbelief.
Are you fucking serious? You're going to "run for it"? You can barely fucking walk!
This thought process is interrupted by what I finally realize is laughter coming from the back seat.
"Oh, man, I got you so good!" he exclaims, as he pulls a crumpled twenty dollar bill from the paper bag full of empty beer cans.
No fucking way.
"Sorry, man," he says still convulsing with laughter. "Oh, god, the look on your face was priceless. I'm sorry man, but oooooohh I got you good heh heh..." As I give him his change, he gives me back a forty percent tip, and then begins the painful process of extricating himself form the cab. I'm about to get out and help when he finally makes it, and stumbles out into the parking lot.
I drive away marvelling at how even on the worst day of his life, he takes the time to pull a fast one over on an unsuspecting cabbie.
As I circle back around, I see him stumbling aimlessly in front of the store. Two women walking out of the front door speed up and change paths to avoid walking close to him.