A story for the blog

This is the story: I finally have a job and I absolutely love it. Getting to work on the other hand is not the most amazing experience everyday. But I've tried to find the entertaining side of taking public transport.

For some reason, on those unfortunate days when I have to take the front seat of the taxi, the driver feels a pressing need to a) make conversation with me and b) nudge me when they get to the punchline. I'm not a morning person and so when you're hoping to engage me in conversation or make me laugh, please understand this: I'd rather be asleep, I will politely laugh at the moments that I assume are the funny moments, I may ask a question related to keywords that I've picked up from what you're saying but really dude, I'm not interested. Afternoons are much the same except one taxi driver took it upon himself to solve my problem of singleness. This story I must tell:

It's just after six and I catch a taxi at the corner of a shopping centre. I signal for the taxi to stop, someone hops out and I hop in. Alone with the driver. The need for conversation captures the drivers mouth and he asks me why my husband didn't pick me up from work today. Sorry sir, how do you know I have a husband? Ok, I'll indulge you and be flattered that you think I can't possible have my face and still be single. Haha. So, he goes on to be upset at this husband of mine who has me taking taxi’s at this hour (he exaggerates, it was only six pm). My turn. I explain I’m not married and I don’t have a boyfriend. Shock, horror, dismay. Where do I live? None of his business, but let’s just go with it. I live with my sisters.

So at this point he makes an evaluation and within minutes he has a solution for me: I haven’t found a “yellow bone” to marry me. This is a problem. But the solution is simple. A stranger hops into the taxi, the driver passes me his phone and tells me I should pick a “dark one” like himself because I’m actually running out of time. So it’s obviously been a long day and I’m confused by this phone that’s been handed to me and the Stranger laughing her head off. I’ve obviously missed something here because his deep Zulu is being translated into English in my head and some things are seriously getting lost in translation.

I ask for clarity on a word and Stranger bursts out laughing. Ok? Glad this little situation is entertaining. “Let me pay lobolla for you,” says the hilarious taxi guy. The penny drops. Me: single woman who has failed to catch the eye of a “yellow bone” man and is instead catching a taxi at six pm after a long day at work. Him: taxi driver. Taxi = mode of transport for single girl if she’ll just put her phone number in his phone, oh, and marry him.

If only life was that simple.

Taxi ride ended, I eventually got home and thought about my life: God has opened a door for me. I’m enjoying the new journey. I get to hang out with friends at work everyday and I live rent free with my sisters. I take taxi’s and buses and the train to get to and from work and every now and then have to engage in a conversation that turns into a blog post. I have my character stretched every now and then when I stand in the rain waiting for a bus that feels like it will never come and all the while learning to count my blessings. I have no problems, just a collection of experiences that I may cry about, blog about, but generally just laugh about.

I think we can officially welcome me back to the blogging sphere because I may have plenty of stories to tell or not, haha.

Fee