A guy and three girls get in at the meatpacking district, they are all in good spirits. The guy just met all three, and showed them to a few bars, he was their tour guide of the moment, and all three girls were British. Him and me talked of how we loved the East Village, then we were both quizzed about our neighborhoods where we were raised and also on television shows we watched. They were all such likable people.
"What's yaw favohrit telavishun program?" One asked as she poked her head through the partition like a happy puppy. She rattled off just two names, Silver spoons and Different Strokes.
"Do you know any American sitcoms that aren't more than ten years old?" he said with an equally euphoric gleeful expression.
Not a minute went by when one of us wasn't laughing.
We came to his stop, and he was very much hoping to take one girl home, my pessimism makes me think it is who ever seems most interested. Really though, they were all really fun people. So he got out of the cab, enjoying some male bonding in the front. He said good-bye to the girls, and we had to wait a while. He said a really long good-bye to one.
"Is your shift ending?" the two ask me as we are forced to watch a show we didn't pay for.
"Actually I just started."
"A line would be really good right there."
Oh, bugger. The fare increased a buck, so I decide to tell the two hugging that we should go, on account of the meter, which has increased by a buck.
"Only a dollar, what’s a dollar?" he says
Phhh, doesn't make me happy, but I insist on believing these are good people. They ask to borrow my clipboard so they can poke her in her butt. I also entertain by driving the car in reverse with the door open right up to the couple to maybe remind them that an accommodating cab was waiting.
Eventually he leaves and she gets back in with the rest. They talk the rest of the way about their man successes on this trip to New York. She evaluates him as "cheeky". They wondered how young this other guy was that approached them the day before. He was really small, but his big hair made up for his height, he overcompensated. I drop them off and tell them they were very enjoyable, mostly because of their accents.
"What base did I reach?" She asked me.
How interesting, since they play cricket and not baseball, the whole bases game was new to them. But much like "Silver spoons," I'd like to think we Americans no longer use bases to relate to romance because there hasn't been an approved unit of measure to symbolize any specifics.
"It is different for everyone." I said, "Everyone has a different definition." I was really trying to figure this out and map out her progress according to medians averages and what is deemed suitable.
"Well he touched me on my bum."
Well this changed everything. I remember a former apartment-mate of mine was very excited about her guy touching her on her butt. This must mean a lot I thought. "WELL OH, he touched you on your BUM. A touch on the bum is definitely second base," I exclaimed, with a smile to match their excitement.
"Oh your cheeky."