You see, in the past, when I was just a wee lad, I would be 'placed' into a cab. Often times, my father would stuff me into the front seat, tell the driver where I was heading and off we went.
For those of you who missed it, I said 'front seat.' So, this time around, when I hailed an empty cab, I saw that I had the option of either front seat or back seat. In the States, it's customary to sit in the back, but I'm not really sure what the protocol is here.
To make matters worse, just as the cab had pulled over, I was
spotted by a friend of my father's. "Hey, David! How's it going? Where are you headed? Blah-blah-blah." I was so flustered by the encounter that at the last minute I called an audible and went around the car to sit in the front seat, worrying I may insult the driver if I were to sit in the back.
So here I am, riding shot-gun in a cab in Tel Aviv. If there were a gauge for Uncomfortable Silences, this particular moment would have broken the needle. I tried my best to 'act normal,' like I always sat up front.
I looked out the window and tried not to clear my throat too much. I shifted in my seat dozens of times and silently prayed for the driver to start the small-talk. Nothing.
It was the longest five minutes of my life. It's such a strange sensation sitting that close to someone and not saying a word. There was no radio, no weird questions about that state of affairs or the weather. Just two grown men, in a car, ignoring each other.
1 comment:
So, which is it? Front seat or back?
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