A Taxi in Montana

I wrote this later in the evening after arriving in AZ. I have revised parts of it since it was first posted for clarity’s sake.

La Quinta Inn in Billings has no airport shuttle so they call and pay for a cab.  I get in the cab this am and discover that I will be sharing the cab.  It’s still dark as we trundle down all these side streets, ending up in a old middle class neighborhood.  No lights on in the house, and there is a car out front, and one in the drive.  So I wonder why someone would call a cab.

This blond gal comes out.  Her hands look 50, but her face is a hard 30 something.  Once she’s in she tells the driver she forgot – her car isn’t at home but up by the airport, so she needs to go there instead. Then she rummages around in her purse and discovers that her wallet isn’t there.  She hopes it’s in her car.  “it’s been a rough night” is her comment. The cab driver seems sympathetic. My tingling pastor-senses indicate the driver has helped this woman before.

While I am trying to avoid a stereo-typed conclusion about this blond lady, I’m not trying too hard to find alternative explanations for how she got from out by the airport to that little house without her car and wallet. Truthfully? I’m pretty sure I really don’t want to know.

Sharing a cab, with a woman of interesting circumstances, in Billings MT of all places.  Of course, it is MT, so maybe it shouldn’t raise an eyebrow. But still, I leave the cab desiring and praying Christ’s compassion for both these women. It’s been an odd way to start an unusual day.


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