Why Did I Let Him In?!?!

      As soon as Holden Caulfield entered my cab, he asked me if I knew what happened to the ducks in Central Park during winter. He seemed to be quite avid about the ducks, so the affable person that I was, told him that I thought they migrated to somewhere else. Instead, he rebuffed the idea, and he kept on asking me the same question over and over again. The conversation seemed interminable. So, I gave him my grimace look, and went on a tirade on how fish have it rougher than ducks.

     I might have demeaned myself a little too much, so I looked back at him to apologize; but the poor, irascible idiot just sat there whispering “ducks” over and over again. Now he starts to talk to some kind of imaginary friend (judging by the fact that there was no one in the cab). I believe the “imaginary friend’s” name was Allie. Seriously, a nineteen year old kid still having an imaginary friend, even I could tell that he was a recluse who needed a “doctor’s” attention.

     The weirdest and only phrase that I could remember him saying was: “Will you, Allie, help me embark on my journey to you?” I can’t believe that I was driving a disturbed, little boy. I asked him where his parents were; his response (in a four year old’s voice) was that he had no clue.

     Now he simulated to be some kind of James Bond character; some drunk guy who got shot with a pistol. He also pretended to have a gun, a first aid kit, and that he was king of the world. He held up his “gun” and pointed it at me. He told me to take him to Central Park instead of his house. He said he wanted to see the ducks. When is he ever going to stop thinking of ducks….

     The ride went on for what felt like an hour; an hour of insanity. So when I dropped him off at Central Park, the idiot that I was decided to wait for him because I felt too bad for him (and because he seriously needed help). When he came back, he looked dehydrated. The poor guy looked like he was dying of thirst; and at the same time, he was extremely wet. I told him to get dry, and that he might get pneumonia. He told me he felt like getting it-seriously, was he that crazy?

     I tried to take him back home as fast as I could. I made an endeavor to not yell at him, or to be so gruesome to the poor kid. When we finally got there, he paid me a fourth of the money that he owes me. I decided not to say anything because, judging by how demented the kid is, his folks wouldn’t even be able to afford his treatment.