MISS MOOX + time


Yesterday I went to Boston for the day, a treat to celebrate the Memorial Day holiday here in America.

The day was enjoyable, but this exchange particularly amused me.

Walking down the street, headed to Chinatown for lunch, I spotted a taxi sitting at the curb and thought I'd ask him if there was an Ethiopian restaurant in town. 99% chances are the taxi driver is from Africa, or will at least know where Africans hang out. I bent down to look into the passenger side window and asked.

"Why you want to know?" he demanded fiercely.

Wondering if he was upset at the idea of a white person wanting to eat at an African restaurant, I replied, "I like Ethiopian food. I was just wondering if there was one in town."

"OK." And gesturing widely, he began to describe rapid-fire the path I would have to take, pointing out a building where I would have to turn left. "The 24/7 Diner. They're open all the time." He smiled, as if this was some kind of joke.

"OK, thank you," I said, prepared to leave.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

I told him.

"How old are you?"


"Are you married?" "No." "Do you have a boyfriend?" Shaking my head amusedly, knowing where this was going.

"Can I have your phone number?"

"No, I don't think so," I responded with a big smile.

"Why not? I was watching you walking down the street, I noticed you. You are the kind of woman I like. You're beautiful," he effused, throwing his head back pleadingly.

"Well, thank you," I replied, for what else can you say?

"So can I have your number?"

"No, no," I responded, in good humour. "I'm sure you're a very nice man," I added hastily.

This hit home. He swelled up and looked around importantly. "Never you said a truer word!" he exclaimed, thumping his chest. "I am a good man! And I'm a journalist!" he added proudly, as if being a mere taxi driver was not enough to win my heart, his other qualifications might. "I give you my card!"

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Just a minute! I give you my card and you will see!" He fumbled in his leather day planner and eventually pulled out a white business card which he handed to me. "Jean," I read.


"Where are you from, Jean?"


"Oh, I know some people from Haiti..." and we rapped about the people I knew, and a man he knew who had the same last name as one of my friends.

"Now, can I have your phone number?" he demanded, in a tone not to be refused, as he reached for a pen.

"No, no, no," I laughed, preparing to walk away. "I have your card," and I waved it at him.

"How do I know you will call me?" A tone of desperation.

"Well..." and I shook the inquiry off. "Merci, Jean. Merci beaucoup," and I set off to walk again down the street.

It made me laugh. And believe it or not, it brightened my day. Because even if he was a taxi driver who looked almost old enough to be my father, it's still nice to be appreciated. It reminded me that this used to happen all the time when I lived in Toronto. I love the directness of men from other cultures. They don't beat around the bush when they're interested in a woman.

art, Heart, ideas, inspiration, love, people, person, and more:

Relevant to: Appreciation + time