A nice ride rudely interrupted. (Plus bonus interactive survey.)

I was doing a drop off at a French Quarter hotel just before midnight last week. A couple of soccer-mom types, one blonde and the other brunette, were standing in front of the hotel entrance.

"Hey, let's see your calves!" demanded the blonde as my passengers disembarked. I dutifully flexed my calf muscles for her.

"Do you go Uptown?" asked the brunette.

This is a common question and one that is almost never sincere. People seem to get a big kick out of asking me to take them to outlandish places: the airport, the West Bank, California... Technically Uptown doesn't fit in this category since it is located inside Orleans Parish and is therefore, in theory at least, a possible pedicab destination. (See here for a previous post on distance rides including the story of a trip Uptown.) But nine times out of ten, when someone asks to go Uptown the request is intended as a joke.

I gave my stock reply: "It's not a question of how far I can go; it's a question of how far you can afford."

"Hmmm... Well, how much would it be to --?" asked the lady, naming an Uptown address well beyond the Garden District.

So maybe this one was serious. Or more likely, she had been joking initially but on a sudden whim was giving the idea serious consideration.

I hesitated a moment. Did I really want to do this? It would be the furthest I had ever traveled on a single, one-way ride. There was almost zero chance of picking up a fare on the return. It was hard to estimate how long it might take, but I figured that it would be more than an hour round trip -- probably a good bit more.

On the other hand, it had been a slow night with slim tips so far. It was a warm summer evening, and the prospect of a long, leisurely ride Uptown with moonlight filtering through the leafy branches of the live oak trees overhead was very appealing.  In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably also mention that these ladies were very pretty. (It turned out that only one of them needed a ride, but I didn’t know that yet.) Not that I had any untoward intentions, but if you read my last post you may not be surprised to know that I’m a bit hungry for any kind of female companionship lately.

"Thirty dollars," I said.

This was a lot more than it would have cost to make the trip by taxi -- but dirt cheap for that distance on the pedicab. I really wanted to do the ride but not badly enough to do it for nothing.

"Oh, I see," the lady said, sounding a little disappointed. "I'm probably better off just taking a cab."

"Yes, I'm sure you can get a cab a lot cheaper if that's what you're looking for," I admitted.

She hesitated a moment before blurting out. "You know what? I'm going to do it!"

"Are you serious?" her friend said, suddenly realizing that the joke had gone farther than she had expected.

"Sure! Why not? It'll be fun," the brunette replied.

"You've got to be kidding!" the blonde protested. "I'm going to tell your husband."

The brunette ignored the threat and settled into the seat behind me.

"Take good care of her," the blonde ordered me as I began pedaling away. "She's got three kids and a husband at home."

"Yes, please be careful," echoed the brunette. "I've got three kids and a husband."

"Hey, do I look dangerous?" I asked.

"No," she admitted. "But the dangerous ones never look dangerous."

The ride started out well. She was friendly without being flirtatious. I don't think she told me her name; if so, I don't remember it. I did learn that she was a school administrator. I asked about her Katrina experience, which is a pretty reliable way to open up a conversation in New Orleans, and she told me a brief version of her story. Our conversation moved on, and we both talked about our kids a bit.

About five minutes into the ride she got a call on her cell phone. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing.

Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be home in a little bit.

…I’m on my way now. It’ll be a few minutes.

…Yes.

…Yes. I’m on my way.

…I uh…took a uh...pedicab.

…Did she really call you? I’m going to get her! She betrayed me!

…No! I could have gotten a taxi if that’s what I wanted.

…I’m going to pay him forty dollars.

…No!

…NO!

…NO! I’m fine. Really.

…NO! I don’t need you to come get me.

…No, really, I’m fine. I’m OK, hear? I’ll be home soon!

“Uh-oh,” I said when she hung up. “Sounds like you’re in trouble.”

“Oh yeah, a little,” she said dismissively. “It’s no big deal.”

We picked up the conversation where we had left off as we continued the ride. Another ten minutes passed pleasantly before a car came zooming up out of nowhere and screeched to a halt beside us. The driver shouted something that I didn’t quite catch through the open window, presumably my passenger’s name.

“Oh no!” she gasped.

“Your husband?”

“Yes, my husband. I can’t believe it! This is so embarrassing! I’m really sorry,” she said as she fumbled through her purse for the money to pay me.

“No need to apologize,” I reassured her. “No damage done to me.”

Of course there wasn’t any damage done to me. To the contrary, she paid me the price we had agreed upon plus a ten dollar tip, so I ended up getting a fairly decent fare for the distance, which would not have been the case had I carried her all the way to her destination. No damage at all. Just a twinge of disappointment.

______________________________

Here’s a chance for you, my readers, to weigh in on this story. I’m interested in knowing what you think about the husband’s behavior.

A. His action was reasonable and responsible. His wife had put herself in a potentially dangerous situation that demanded his intervention.

B. His action was romantic. He went above and beyond the call of duty out of a noble desire to protect his lady. Any girl should be grateful to be so well cared for.

C. He was acting like an overbearing jerk.

D. Other. (Explain.)