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.

*silence*

Matt:  Wow, he would deliver beer.

*silence*

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.