Not too far away
The degree of planning will separate the veterans from the rookies in most situations. Be it the game of war, or the war of the game, or just a simple trip to visit friends; without some preparation, the train may go off the rails (or lack rails altogether).
I was the designated taxi this evening. End of the warm weather, an excuse to have a large party at someone else’s house. Ever notice how in the city, the else is always driving distance away? Under thirty minutes each direction and you’ve done well. The Green Shift will hit the partygoers hardest, methinks. First alarm bell: “We should leave in about five minutes.” This with my shoes kicked off and a project of seating dozens of bolts into holes (that are a smidgen too tight) underway.
But, veteran designated taxi drivers know when to ask the questions. “Where are we going, and how many passengers?” We’ve taken to leaving extra van seats in the basement lately; the extra weight costs at the pumps. A session on Google produces a printed map, and some wrestling in the dark reseats the second row seat, we’re ready for action.
The trip to pick up friends was an exercise in speedy DJ – trying to pick some songs that won’t sound as if the father of the van had acted as music director. Then, after a few turns in the neighbourhood, I had a trio of lads, off to conquer the world. Parties have changed. WE didn’t have to sing in preparation (are they having a karaoke party?). WE also knew where we were going.
You see, the printed map was just enough to get us into the neighbourhood. After I convinced them that singing wouldn’t replace a GPS, they started watching for the clues. Things like “There’s a big tree near a stop sign” and “It’s over a hill”. It didn’t matter. When we saw about fifty young people milling by the side of the road (think Miller moths), we’d arrived. With barely a goodbye, I was on my own, ready to reverse engineer my way back home.
