Bag O'Shit

A woman gets into my cab at Bush and Taylor carrying a small bag of shit. She directs me to Fillmore and Washington. I turn up Taylor and head west on Pine. She’s seated driver’s side rear and has the bag ‘o shit out the window.

“Sorry about the smell. You’re probably wondering why I have this bag of smelly poop.”

I’m listening to the Giant’s game. I turn down the volume. “Alright….let’s hear it.”

“It’s my puppy’s stool. I’m taking it to the vets so they can analyze it. My puppy’s been very sick. We have to get there in 15 minutes, or the sample’s no good.”

The Mets hit into an inning ending double play, and I turn off the radio. “You mean after 15 minutes it becomes a worthless bag of shit?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for the smell.”

“I noticed you didn’t use a ziplock baggie. It wouldn’t smell so bad with a ziplock sandwich baggie.”

“I don’t have any ziplock baggies.”

“How do you carry your sandwiches to work?”

The woman makes a funny little sound by pursing her lips and exhaling through clenched teeth. “I don’t carry sandwiches to work in little baggies.”

“But you carry shit in little baggies and walk around lower Nob Hill, and get in cabs. You’d be surprised at how handy small, ziplock, sandwich baggies can be.”

“Don’t you think California St. would be quicker.”

“Absolutely not.” I turn the game back on.

“You don’t have any pets, do you.”

“No.”

“I thought so. If you could open your heart to an animal, you’d understand why I’m doing this.”

“I’m still working on humans, then I plan to move up the food chain to animals.”

The woman laughs at this. I know how to turn on the charm.

I pull over at Fillmore and Washington.

“Could you wait for me? I’ll be a couple of minutes, then I need to go to Geary and Jones.”

“Will you be returning with the sample?”

“No, I’m leaving it here for testing.”

“No problem.”

The woman walks into Pets Unlimited, and I notice that she has a nice ass. I put on my flashers, and start eating a turkey sandwich. Meanwhile, Bonds actually gets a pitch to hit and dribbles a grounder into the heart of the shift. I open all the windows and save the sandwich for later. I can see into the reception area, and the woman is arguing with a man at the front desk. She’s trying to give him some shit and he’s giving some right back.

I turn off the engine and briefly consider going back to school. I could graduate at 48 years of age and go on some interviews. I take some comfort in knowing that I’ve got enough ziplock baggies at home, to last me well into Fall.

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