Matt and I just went into Statesville for some frozen yogurt. On the way home, a cab turned in front of us onto our road. We live in the s-t-i-c-k-s (definition of s-t-i-c-k-s here), so a cab is a very unusual sight. In fact, that was the first cab that I have ever seen in Statesville.
Our conversation as we followed said cab went something like this:
Matt: I hate to sound mean, but I bet that cab is going to that nasty-ass trailer park.
me: Why is that mean? Because you assume that it is picking up someone who lost their license? Picking up someone that is drunk? Bringing someone some more beer?
Matt: I’m pretty sure that cabs won’t bring you beer.
me: Oh, yeah, they will. We had one cab in West Jefferson that I remember growing up. Joe’s Cabs. And I remember hearing a story about somebody…shit, I can’t remember who…who would call Joe and say “Hey, Joe, would you go by the Backstreet and pick up some beer and bring it to me?”
Matt: And Joe would?
me: Well, hell yeah, for money.
Matt: Wow, he would deliver beer.
me: In New York City, that’s called “concierge service”.
Matt: What’s it called in Jefferson?
me: Joe’s Cabs.
The cab did turn into the nasty-ass trailer park*, but I don’t know if there was any beer delivery or not.
*Disclaimer: The trailer park is nasty-ass because it’s nasty-ass, not because there are trailers.