Styrofoam Shoes

I took a cab in Staten Island today back to the ferry terminal.  The cab driver was this dude with wavy gray hair slicked back, pointy face, probably 70 but looked 85 from smoking — the kind of guy you’d peg hanging at OTB every day, not driving a cab.  He had a friendly, who cares demeanor with a vintage outer borough accent that probably hasn’t been heard inside Manhattan in 40 years.

When we got to the waterfront, driving up the shoreline with icy rain pelting the frigid water, he began talking.

I’ll pretend this was a monologue for brevity:

You wanna go for a swim?

You wanna go fishing?

YOU SURE??

How ’bout I drop you off here?

You wanna go fishing?  I see people fish here!

You wanna swim across?

YOU SURE??

I can drop you off here.

You wanna swim with the ducks?

YOU SURE??

[pause]

I got styrofoam shoes!

You can walk across!  You won’t even get wet!

YOU SURE??

I got styrofoam shoes!

Only problem is…they’re size 10.

Oh good!  You can float across!

YOU SURE??

Lots of people have been telling me to not take myself so seriously.  In one case, the story was about how old people just don’t care about all the BS anymore.  They’re just happy to be alive.  This guy was the perfect example.

I want to be like him someday.  I’m sure.