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I decided to post the challenge response here. Thought I shouldn't ignore the community.

Title: One taxi ride home

Challenge Response: Write a first-person story in which you use the first person pronoun (“I” or “me” or “my”) only two times; but keep the “I” somehow important to the narrative you’re constructing.

Words: 693 (the challenge was for 500 - 600)

Summary: Based on a true story. Not mine. Told in the first person. No real plot or point. Just a short story based on something that happened to someone I know.

Publish or Archive: Please let me know and credit me.

Author notes:

1.) The narrator is a participant in the events, and she is a little snotty and precious in real life. I have tried to present her realistically and have not written her just so the reader will like her. She is certainly not selfless. Despite that, we should be able to relate to her. I'm not sure this that contradicts the challenge.

2.) The character being observed is not meant to be considered in a good light. I'm not sure this that contradicts the challenge either!

3.) First person pronouns were used only two times (I believe). I used 'I' once and 'me' once.

4.) At the end, the tense changes from past to present. This is intentional. If it appears wrong somehow, I'd appreciate comments.

5.) Any and all comments or criticism appreciated.

~

Everyone loves a big night out. But usually it means catching a cab home, especially with public transport in this city. Taking a cab home would be fine – but what is with some of those sleazy taxi drivers?

It’s an individual thing whether people want to sit in the front or the back seat of the taxi. Many consider it almost un-Australian to elect the back seat. But being alone at night, and being a woman, I always like to be cautious. Also, this taxi looked a bit dodgy.

The air-conditioning inside was a pleasant change to the warm weather outside and the door closed with a soft thud. The driver was a white guy, probably in his late twenties, who looked in the back seat via the rear vision mirror, barely concealing a smirk.

“Where to, sweetheart?” he asked with a grin.

“Lonsdale Street, thanks.”

The ‘thanks’ was really meant for the Lord – for the blessing that home was close by.

He took off slower than a reasonable driver would. It was dark, and there were no other cars around. There was a possibility that he was trying to drain the meter for all it was worth, but it would have been preferable if he hadn’t been crawling along the main road slower than he really needed to drive.

“Bit early, ey?” he asked somewhat condescendingly.

Going home on a Friday evening at quarter to nine is an early night, even for a woman in her fifties. But, it had been a long week, the husband was already home and the pillow was calling from the bedroom.

He didn’t need all that information though, “It’s been a long day.”

The driver probably figured his passenger was a bit stuck up, especially with the one sentence answers. But it really had been a long day, and who wants to converse with a sleazy driver anyway?

“So not even a few drinks?” he glanced into the mirror again and smiled into the back, this time showing his teeth.

“I don’t drink.”

“You don’t drink?? Why’s that?”

Of course – another thing Australians consider a cardinal sin.

“I just don’t like to!” Normally when a woman in her fifties speaks in that tone to a man and opens her eyes wide to glare at him, he gets the point that he should shut up. But alas, this gentleman really did seem to be a few beers short of a six pack, so to speak.

“That’s crazy, sweetheart. Who doesn’t like to drink?”

Who calls a woman ‘sweatheart’!? What disrespect! He glanced in the mirror again at the well-deserved pause. The plan had been to ignore him but once you catch someone’s eye, it’s much more difficult to ignore someone.

“Well… I don’t.” What else can be said?

Finally he put his eyes back on the road, “Where on Lonsdale are you, love?”

What a relief, the street is not far away, “Just up to the end.”

A great way to tell someone that you’re eager to leave is to grab your purse, jingle your keys and take the money out. It’s satisfying to take off the seatbelt – even after such a short ride.

The driver turns around again and the street light reflected on his face. He seems older than he did a few minutes ago, but his teeth are yellowed. Definitely a smoker, “Five sixty, love.”

A ten dollar note will do.

“Keep the change.”

He smiles as though he’s been given a tip – he really believes he's done a good job.

The air is still warm and thick outside the cab, but the sound of heels against the pavement is comforting. He honks his horn for attention. Oh dear, maybe something was left behind in the cab? He winds the passenger window down so he can be heard.

“Great legs!” he says.

How dare he! Instinct says to give him the glare again and walk away. It’s time to go inside. Hopefully the husband is still awake.

Goodness me – the nerve of some taxi drivers. It sounds as though he has driven away. Unbelievable, he probably doesn't even realise he's a sleaze.