This week's assignment was a fun one. We pooled ideas for posts and then chose one as a starting point for our own blog. I chose #71 "I thought I was going to die…"
I thought I was going to die. Literally. I don't think I've ever really thought that any other time in my life. I have a fear of heights and an over-active imagination, so there have been lots of times I've been afraid of falling to my death. On a ski lift, for example. But as I recited my mantra (Our Father), and had a death-grip on the side of the lift, I knew it was POSSIBLE I could die, but not PROBABLE. There was the time I had mono, and I prayed that I WOULD die, but I didn't feel close to it happening at all. But that cab ride. That cab ride was the green light to heaven.
My DH and I were in Vegas six or seven years ago. He'd never been before, and I surprised him with a trip. I'd been to the Strip four or five times before then, and I'd always walked to get places for the most part. I'd taken a cab to and from the airport, of course, and I'd been a passenger on a bus there and used the monorail once or twice, but usually I just hoofed it everywhere. I mean, every building is a destination, and 90% of where I wanted to be was on the same street, and I usually didn't have a time frame to work in, so it always seemed silly to use any transportation. But when DH and I were there, business was booming and traffic was ridiculous, so the lines at the bus stops and monorail were crazy. And it was H-O-T, hot, and we were hungry. We wanted to go from New York, New York (on the south end) to the Stratosphere (on the north end) for dinner. So we got in a taxi. If only we'd known what we were getting ourselves into.
I've ridden in cabs in Chicago and New York - I've experienced the attempted scam on taking a longer route for an out-of-towner, and moves that should be reserved for a hockey rink, or at the bare minimum, a NASCAR track. I think I was blindsided in Vegas because it's not a typical big city, so I anticipated a ride comparable to ones I've experienced in KC. The driver was nice enough; he wasn't even foreign. (I say that only to illustrate that we weren't reacting to a stereotype.) Things started out fine; DH and I were relaxing and chatting casually as we merged into traffic, and the driver asked if we minded jumping on the highway to avoid the congestion. I knew this was a ploy for more money, but I also could see that we would easily get where were going in half the time, so when DH said that was fine, I didn't protest. And then it happened.
I can honestly say, I don't really remember much more of the trip. I can't really describe exactly what traffic violations were committed other than a vague sense of speeding and extreme reckless driving. I just remember the adrenaline I was feeling, the silent prayers I was saying, and DH looking at me and saying with complete sincerity, "I think we're going to die." I love my hubby, but he is not big on snuggling and especially avoids PDA. You would not have known that had you seen us in that back seat from the tight grip DH and I had on each other.
Finally, after probably only 15 minutes but what felt like an hour, we got to our destination. We threw the cabbie some cash and jumped out of that car. We were exhausted and ready to eat and go back to our hotel and relax. Needless to say, though we were tired, we walked back, thankful we only had throngs of pedestrians to avoid instead of oncoming cars. We haven't been in a taxi together since.