Mr. Cook's Wild Ride

It’s difficult to type right now, as I reflect on a somewhat life-threatening ordeal we have just come through here in Communist China. Our adventure began after we passed through immigration and customs. On our way out of the train station, we were stopped by a man who asked us where we were going. The man wasn’t wearing any type of uniform, but being a little unsure of what to expect, we gave him the name of our hotel. He ran and grabbed another guy and said he’d obtained a taxi for us. He quoted a price, which seemed a little high, but, hey, we’re newcomers in town. So we said if the ride would be no more than the price he’d quoted, that was fine. He and the other guy then grab our bags and head down the steps. We’re following closely behind as the two guys and our luggage careen through an area under construction and into a restaurant adjoining the train station.
We’re right behind them, through the restaurant, around the tables, past the booths, diners staring at the sight of two Americans chasing their luggage through the restaurant. We leave the restaurant and enter a small parking lot. This doesn’t seem like it would be the place to catch a cab, and I’m starting to get a little suspicious; but again, we’re in a whole new world.
The guy starts packing our luggage into the trunk of a fairly modern Toyota. The car has no markings to indicate it is a cab, nor is there any driver’s I.D. posted in the car. I’m getting a little antsy, but figure by this point, if these guys weren’t on the up and up, it was just a matter of whether they’d kill us in the parking lot or in some out-of-the-way spot that had been predetermined.
The first guy who approached us gets in the front passenger seat, and the other guy is sitting behind the wheel. The first guy says I’ll take my money now. I go ahead and pay him, hoping that he’ll just make this quick and painless.
He takes our money and hops out of the car. The cab driver starts the engine and immediately becomes a raving maniac. He’s weaving between cars, trucks, bikes, motorcyclists, pedestrians, blaring his horn, gunning the engine and slamming on brakes…somewhat simultaneously.
My friend, Rob, who is traveling with me on this leg of our trip, observes that it doesn’t appear the driver has the foresight to realize that if he changes lanes, he’s only going to have to almost immediately change again because of traffic blocking the lane he’s just changed to. I think the guy just doesn’t care. It’s like playing a video game. The driver takes one obstacle at a time and moves on to the next.
But my mind is on more important matters. I’m sitting there thinking about how I can prevent our being murdered. I’m pretty positive that we’re about to meet with foul play. We pass a policeman in his cruiser. I think maybe I can use some sort of international symbol for, “Hey, I think this pseudo-cab driver is going to kill us.” Being unable to recall that particular hand gesture, I contemplate taking my shoelaces out of my shoes and strangling the driver. I’m sitting right behind him and, from reading a good many mysteries, I think I know how to pull it off. The only problem is that I’m wearing loafers.
So, I begin to determine if I could quickly grab him by his hair and slam his face into the steering wheel. Now keep in mind, I wouldn’t do that until he, the driver, made the first move. But, as soon as it looked like he was ready to kill us, I was ready to be the hero. I was halfway daydreaming and worrying at the same time…daydreaming about crushing the driver’s skull and worrying that I might not grab his head just right and just end up irritating him. I was also wondering just what that first move on the driver’s part would be and would I recognize it in time. After all, when it comes to killing a cab driver/kidnapper, timing is everything.
All of a sudden he starts shouting and slams on the brakes. I came that close to grabbing the driver’s head and slamming it into the steering wheel, when I realize he’s shouting at a school kid who has come running out in front of the cab. I was so unnerved, that I decided that should anything happen, the driver could just go ahead and kill me. I just wasn’t up to any head-slammings.
Within a few minutes we pull up to the hotel. The driver gets our luggage out of the trunk and drives away. I have to admit I’m relieved, but slightly disappointed.
Later in the day, when I confess to Rob that I was on the verge of killing the our driver, he admits that he was trying to figure out what he had on him that he could use to defend us. “I figured he didn’t have a gun,” Rob said, “but, he might have a knife. I was trying to decide what I had in my pocket that would be a good match for a knife.”
Fortunately, neither of us had to kill anyone…on this particular day. We lived to tell the story. But, just barely. Besides, did I mention that there were no seatbelts in the back seat?