What follows is a true story. My friend Christie and I had a rather....interesting time getting from dinner to Clay's concert in Baltimore...thought you might enjoy reading about it. I didn't use my friend's real name because as I wrote, I kept thinking that this 'script' would have made a great script for an "I Love Lucy" episode with Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance in their inimitable roles of Lucy and Ethel!
WHAT’S NEW P USSYCAT?---A JNT BALTIMORE ADVENTUREWhat better way to honor the ethereal, almost angelic voice of Clay Aiken in concert in Baltimore than with the memory of Club P ussycat? Or getting thrown out of a taxi by the driver in front of a hotel?
Indeed.
My friend and I did get to the Lyric Opera House in time for the curtain to rise and reveal Clay’s Joyful Noise 2005 opening winter scene. We didn’t miss a note from his golden throat or a glimpse of his glorious countenance. But we felt extremely blessed as we found our seats that night, considering we had spent the last 45 minutes or so being driven around (and around) the less glorious parts of Baltimore.
No, that’s not fair. In fact, when we first got into the taxi after a wonderful pasta dinner in Little Italy, we were in a jolly mood. Good food, a glass of Chianti, good friends and the impending inimitable experience that is Clay Aiken in concert…ah, yes. Life was good.
When we told the driver “Lyric Opera House’ and he asked us to repeat it a few dozen times, I had my first tingling feeling---and not like those tingling feelings we women are used to experiencing while actually AT a Clay Aiken concert. In fact, as soon as it became apparent that our cabbie was as familiar with an ‘opera’ house as my friend and I were with a…well, let’s just say a different kind of house…I suggested that he let us out to find another cab whose driver might actually know of what we spoke.
“No…no…okay. I am driving taxi in this city for many years…I have nothing of this place.” Ah…a man from ‘the islands’…mahn.
“You could call your company to get directions.”
“I find it…no problem.” I looked at my friend and we shared a silent understanding. We would NOT panic. “What state you come from?”
Eh? “Uh…Pennsylvania,” replied my polite buddy. “California,” I added, although as a former English teacher, I was painfully aware of the cabbie’s lack of transition between paragraphs of conversation.
“Ah, yes. I tought so. You lookin’ too good to be from Baltimore.”
I immediately relaxed. Obviously, this was a wise man, indeed. We’d be at our destination in a blink of a cat’s eye. My friend---I’ll call her Vivian---and I laughed and began chatting to pass the time.
The taxi slowed down as we approached a rather unsteady gentleman trying to make his way down the sidewalk. Mr. Island Man beeped the horn to get his attention and then automatically rolled down the window next to Vivian. “You tell him where!” Vivian found herself looking into a face who seemed to have seen more phantoms than operas and she valiantly tried to pronounce “Lyric Opera House” in as many ways as is humanly possible. However, it didn’t take long to determine that this particular critic had no idea what an opera was. I’m not even sure about a house.
“That’s not going to work,” I said, getting a bit more concerned. “Why don’t you call your company?”
“I drive in Baltimore many years and never…”
“Yes, exactly. You know, I really think it would be best if you just let us out and we’ll hail another cab. Surely someone knows where this place is. It’s…”
“No, ok. I know where this man said. I know.”
And we sallied forth according to the directions given by our phantom man on the street. Now at this early point in our adventure, Vivian and I were still smiling and shaking our heads with humor at our ‘fun’ cabbie.
Oh, the innocence! The ignorance! The…
Holy crap. With a single turn, our taxi began cruising past establishment after establishment of unoriginal names. I say unoriginal since each storefront had ‘XXX’ on its marquee. There was an abundance of burly men framing doorways and interesting pictures of curvy women, women obviously unconcerned with the frigid temperatures since they were barely clad.
“Oh, I really don’t think the Lyric Opera House is on this street.”
I was proud of my contribution to the puzzle and felt confident in its validity. But our cabbie was resolute. Again the windows rolled down automatically and he leaned over to call to one of the leather-jacket wearing fireplugs in the doorway of…
Club P ussycat.
“You say to him!”
While Vivian exchanged the usual with the man, I repeated, “I’m SURE this is NOT a street the opera house is on. Please, let’s go.”
My taxi mate and I were still able to chuckle at this point, and when she pointed out the irony of the feline nature of Club P ussycat and Clay’s aversion to all p ussycat things, well, we helped alleviate some of our growing anxiety with growing hysterical giggling.
Meanwhile, the man outside was talking in some English dialect that brought stevedores and waterfronts and cranes and filet knives to mind. Then our cabbie totally blew us both away.
“You can walk from here?”
Say what?
Vivian and I looked at each other and immediately blended our voices in lovely harmony to say, “NO! We’re NOT walking from HERE!”.
“Ok, this is truly ridiculous. Please just….move on. And when you get out of…here. Stop and let us out. If you’re not going to call your company and get…”
“My company is closed.”
All righty then.
“Arena?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You want this place for sports?”
Now at this question I began to think of the various sports I’d like to play with Clay, (tongue hockey comes to mind) but as the time was getting a bit tight, I didn’t venture there. So I tried being direct.
“No. It’s a place where people perform. We’re going to a concert. Stage. Production.” (Dare I say ‘work’?) “Singing. The Lyric Opera House. Opera House. Lyric Opera House.”
Of course, as any fool knows, it helps someone understand the unknown better if you say the same thing over and over louder each time…and as I’m no fool, I did that very thing.
Vivian helped me, too.
“Wait…here…you tell him!”
Ah, another unsuspecting (and unlikely) human GPS. This one hardly stopped long enough to interrupt Vivian’s cry of ‘Lyric Ope…” with his own clipped, ‘No English!’. Our stalwart cabbie didn’t linger and we were once again on our way….to somewhere.
“Ok,” I said. “I’ve had it. Please either call for directions or let us out. We’re going to miss our concert.”
“Company closed. I drive taxi in this city many years and…what’s it called again? Wait…” Another horn beep.
Oh, God.
A police car’s red lights were flashing, his car double parked on this street in a none-too-lovely area. Our cabbie didn’t seem to give a damn that the officer was in the middle of a conversation with some vagrants lined along the buildings there, no…not our Island Man! He beeped again and did his ‘rolling down the window’ thing, again telling us to ‘You tell him!’
But we refused this time. We had no desire to come between the arm of the law and its current targets. Nope. Not us. I DID, however, consider yelling to the officer to rescue us from our kidnapper since I still had no idea where he was taking us.
Time was not on our side and as I recognized the Hippodrome as we passed it again, I’m afraid I began to lose my patience. Besides, the meter was still running and we were doing circles around Baltimore…A glance at my watch confirmed that William Joseph was banging away on his piano keys by this time and Vivian and I were getting perturbed.
You don’t mess with us when we have fourth row seats at a Clay Aiken concert and the clock is ticking…know what I’m sayin’?
So I got on my cell phone to call directory assistance. While I was doing that, Mr. Cabbie decided to try another source. No doubt another unlikely fount of knowledge of all things remotely related to opera. This was really getting old…
Another turn when the driver decided to try another route to…a place he didn’t know. And…Lights! Camera! Action! It’s Hollywood in Baltimore! Yep, the streets of Baltimore were playing host to a movie set…complete with barricades, detours, lots of natives hoping to get caught on camera and necessitating our driver to find a different routes to this unknown destination and idle his taxi long, long minutes (Why doesn’t the meter idle while the cab does?) behind other rubbernecking drivers---those with passengers evidently not concerned that…
…We.Were.Late.To.A.Clay.Aiken.Concert.
This wasn’t funny anymore. I was starting to feel sorry for myself and Vivian and I were feeding each other’s indignation with mumblings and eyerolls of outrage and ire. So I made a snap decision.
“There! Pull into that Marriott and ask the valet or the doorman where the Lyric Opera House is. I’m sure THEY know!”
“You go to the hotel? Marriott?”
“YES! Pull in right there! This is absurd! We’ve passed the same landmarks again and again; the meter’s running and this ride is starting to cost as much as my concert ticket and…”
“I not take your money! You say this my fault? I just try to get you to…”
“No, we’re not saying it’s your fault. But we’re not getting anywhere this way---pulling up to people on the street who have no idea what an opera house IS, for crying out loud! Now, please! Just…pull in…”
He did. He surely did. Our Island Man driver pulled into the Marriott and a solicitous Marriott man in a lovely long red coat smiled and put a gloved hand on the door handle. I started to say, “No, we’re not getting out; we only want to know how to get to the Lyric Opera House…”
“Get them another taxi.”
Say what?
Our driver was telling the Marriott man to hail a different taxi for us! He was…telling us to get out! He was throwing us out of his taxi!
The nerve! The unmitigated GALL!. The Island BALLS of this man! After all he’d put us through? Now HE’S throwing US out?
Oh, Lord. Vivian and I were being tossed out of a taxi in Baltimore. Well, at least we were at a hotel.
I became aware of the nice Marriott man trying to clarify the truth with our…no, THE driver, “Are you saying you want me to put these ladies in a different taxi? You’re asking them to get out of your cab?”
“Yes! Yes! I don’t want their money…I just try to get them to their place. Not my fault!”
By this time Vivian and I were out of the warm environment of the Islands and were back in the absolutely frigid air of Baltimore. I had already tried “Lyric Opera House?” with the driver of the cab immediately behind us to no avail. The Marriott men were incredulous that we were actually being thrown out of a cab. I started to try the next cabbie in line but the nice Marriott Man said he’d take care of it.
“Anybody know how to get to the Lyric Opera House?” Ah…a general ‘all call’ to the drivers in the line of taxis idling in the semi-circle in front of a Marriott in Baltimore. How quaint.
The driver who dared accept a fare of two women who’d just been thrown out of a colleague’s vehicle turned out to be a very nice, pleasant young man who enjoyed our recap of our evening up to that point. He especially liked the Club kittycat part.
Yes…we made it to the Lyric Opera House just in time to find our seats and watch the curtain rise. There he was and he was so very good that night. I absolutely loved the Baltimore show.
I can’t say the same for Club P ussycat, though.
ETA: OMG! I'm dying here! I posted this and then realized that the Censor Guy was alive and kicking! All my "P ussycat" words had come out "kittycat".
I HAD to go back and fix them...reading "kittycat" in this report just didn't quite have the same effect, you know?
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