MY TWO CENTS WORTH OF...CHATTERBOXING

---

Almost every one of my report cards in primary school had the word "chatterbox" in the conduct section. I did then, and do to this day, talk a lot. I talk to pretty well every person I meet - in a store, on a bus, in an elevator, wherever...

---

Take taxi trips, for example.

There’s the time that my friend Sylvia, my sister Dixie and I were heading back, via taxi, to my girlfriend’s house for lunch after shopping downtown. We talked and laughed, sometimes hysterically, and we could tell that the driver was enjoying our stories; but when he suggested that he turn off the meter, pull into a drive-thru and we all eat together, we were gobsmacked (Newfoundland word for stunned). He honestly wanted to spend his lunch hour listening to us.

I sometimes regret not taking him up on his offer, but we had plans.

My husband, father and I were in London, England one time and took a taxi from the airport to our hotel. In the course of that ride, we got to know the driver, a delightful young man. We told him of our intention to go by cab to Canterbury in two days’ time, where we planned to surprise relatives by attending their fiftieth wedding anniversary celebrations.

He offered to give us a deal and be our chauffeur.

During the drive to Canterbury, we made arrangements for our taxi driver to pick us up several days later and take us to the airport.

On the way, he invited us to his wedding in August. He was dead serious. We said we’d try to get back.

He asked me if I used the Duty Free store at the terminal. When I said “yes,” he said to say hello to his sister, who worked there. During my visit with her, I mentioned that we’d been invited to the wedding. She asked, “What wedding?” When I replied, “Your brother’s,” she laughed and said she knew nothing of it, but it was high time, since her brother’s girlfriend had a bun in the oven.

I have learned a good deal about the mid-east situation from cab drivers on this island. I am not a student of political strife, I leave that up to my husband; but when the history of these peoples comes first hand, from a man who is working long hours to bring his family here to safety, I listen. Or when an immigrant driver takes a moment of pride to tell me how he works two jobs to educate his children, I listen.

These short, moving visits enrich my life so much.

I am older now. My speech is probably slower. My hearing isn’t what it used to be. But I continue to smile and address pretty well everyone I meet. Perhaps it’s the writer in me? Heaven knows I am not lonely.

But you can never have too many friends.

I think of the wonderful circle of friends that I do have, and they were all strangers once … even taxi drivers!

---

By Beverley Mallette . First Published in Island Gals Magazine . 2011 . Volume 1 . Issue 2

---