the ride
Exhausted, Lorna left the Association building and hailed a cab. A taxi pulled up and she got in. Through the smoke inside she could just about make out the driver’s silhouette and thought she could discern a huge nose and a fat belly.
"Where to?" muttered the driver, hardly opening his mouth to prevent his Unknown Soldier-brand cigarette from falling out.
"Just take me home," answered Lorna.
"Where’s home baby?" asked the driver Hollywoodly. His accent sounded foreign.
Lorna told him the address and slumped in the back seat.
On the way to Lorna’s flat the driver kept up a running mumble about other road users’ wanting driving skills and ignorance of the highway code. Lorna tried to place him but found it impossible. Eventually her curiosity got the better of her.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
The cab stopped under a streetlamp near some traffic lights and the driver turned round slightly to answer her. It was then that she caught a good glimpse of him.
"My God! You’re a Proboscis Monkey!" exclaimed Lorna.
Of course, she thought, that explained the nose. Sleeping’s accounts of his expedition to Borneo had provided detailed descriptions of Sir Reginald’s lengthy discussions on poststructuralist literary theory with the Proboscidean Elders, as well as inaccurate sketches.
"Nasalis larvatus!" she cried pointing at his huge pendulous facial organ for smelling and breathing.
"But you’re an endangered species. There can only be about 7,000 of you left in the wild!"
"That’s right! "affirmed the driver.
"What on earth are you doing here working as a taxi driver?" enquired Lorna, still surprised to be riding in a cab driven by a primate other than the Archbishop.
"Well, my Phd was a poststructualist approach to the disappearance of the ramin tree (Gonystylus spp.) in Borneo," he explained. "It was entitled 'Seven Thousand Proboscis Monkeys in search of a Habitat’ but academic folk here don’t take kindly to us Nasalis larvatus ‘coming over here and taking all their jobs’, so I got a job as a barmonkey at the Wayfarer’s Hotel, then as Cardboard Primate in the Vanguard Fashions warehouse and finally as a shelf-stacker at Pricefighter’s. Until I got my taxi license."
Lorna wondered what Sir Reginald would have made of this.
"Where to?" muttered the driver, hardly opening his mouth to prevent his Unknown Soldier-brand cigarette from falling out.
"Just take me home," answered Lorna.
"Where’s home baby?" asked the driver Hollywoodly. His accent sounded foreign.
Lorna told him the address and slumped in the back seat.
On the way to Lorna’s flat the driver kept up a running mumble about other road users’ wanting driving skills and ignorance of the highway code. Lorna tried to place him but found it impossible. Eventually her curiosity got the better of her.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
The cab stopped under a streetlamp near some traffic lights and the driver turned round slightly to answer her. It was then that she caught a good glimpse of him.
"My God! You’re a Proboscis Monkey!" exclaimed Lorna.
Of course, she thought, that explained the nose. Sleeping’s accounts of his expedition to Borneo had provided detailed descriptions of Sir Reginald’s lengthy discussions on poststructuralist literary theory with the Proboscidean Elders, as well as inaccurate sketches.
"Nasalis larvatus!" she cried pointing at his huge pendulous facial organ for smelling and breathing.
"But you’re an endangered species. There can only be about 7,000 of you left in the wild!"
"That’s right! "affirmed the driver.
"What on earth are you doing here working as a taxi driver?" enquired Lorna, still surprised to be riding in a cab driven by a primate other than the Archbishop.
"Well, my Phd was a poststructualist approach to the disappearance of the ramin tree (Gonystylus spp.) in Borneo," he explained. "It was entitled 'Seven Thousand Proboscis Monkeys in search of a Habitat’ but academic folk here don’t take kindly to us Nasalis larvatus ‘coming over here and taking all their jobs’, so I got a job as a barmonkey at the Wayfarer’s Hotel, then as Cardboard Primate in the Vanguard Fashions warehouse and finally as a shelf-stacker at Pricefighter’s. Until I got my taxi license."
Lorna wondered what Sir Reginald would have made of this.
posted by Bob @ 1:31 pm
1 Comments:
At 12:39 am,
Anonymous said…
Shouldn't it be "Hollywoodily"? After all, monkeys do tend to make noises that sound rather like a bark.
Simon
Post a Comment
<< Home