More Cab Driver Stories: Things That Make You Go, "Hmm..."

I don't like working the airport.  Uber has just about killed the legitimate taxi business in Pensacola, and the airport is always slow.  But I live right nearby, and when I'm bored I'll sometimes go hang out there just to get out of the house and watch airplanes take-off and land.

I was number one in the taxi queue at the hilariously named Pensacola International Airport, waiting on a fare when a Delta Air Lines customer service agent approached. She had an odd look on her face.  She was escorting a slim, pleasant-looking middle-aged woman who was holding a piece of paper in her hand. The woman looked confused and apprehensive. My cabdriver Spidey-sense began tingling. This could either be good or bad.

“Please...I've had stroke,” she said in halting English with a heavy accent that sounded like Russian.  

She handed me the paper. It said, “Hampton Inn, Pensacola Beach.” She asked if I knew where it was? I did. She asked how much the fare would be, and winced noticeably when I said it would be about thirty dollars.

I assured the Delta agent that I'd take good care of the woman. I loaded her in the car and we set off.

It's a good twenty-minute ride out to the beach, so I had time.  I always like to talk to my passengers and try to find out what brings them to dinky Pensacola, Florida? In this woman's case, because of her stroke and limited English, I made an extra effort to speak slowly and clearly.

"Vacation!” she said happily.

“Do you have family here?" I asked.  "Are you meeting anyone here?”

“No.”

No?

She said her name was Kate and she was from the Ukraine. She was supposed to be meeting a friend for her week's stay. Sadly, it turned out that her friend's plans had changed and she was no longer coming. So Kate was on her own. Her son, who lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico had brought her plane ticket from the Ukraine and paid for her hotel as well. I surmised that he probably had not given her a ton of spending money, judging by her reaction to the taxi fare.

Pensacola Beach is pretty remote. It's not near the city of Pensacola at all.  I suspect that the name "Pensacola" Beach was some Chamber of Commerce marketing gimmick.  It's just a small strip of land with some hotels and condos. It's not a huge tourist destination. It's not correct to call it “primitive,” but development has been limited. There are no grocery stores on the beach; only a couple of convenience stores. There are also no fast food restaurants. For those luxuries you have to cross the bridge and go up into the town of Gulf Breeze. It's too far to walk. Luckily the Hampton Inn provides breakfast. But, for Kate, all of her other meals would be in restaurants.

At her hotel, which is literally right on the beach I gave Kate my business card and told her as sincerely as I could to call me if she needed anything. I asked her to give me her son's name and number. I wanted to talk to him about his mom's predicament, and offer whatever help I could provide. Oddly, he never returned my call or text message. So his mom, who speaks limited English and has had a stroke, was pretty much on her own.

There are some things in this world that I do not understand.

Postscript: Kate did not call me back for a ride to the airport at the end of her stay.