Taxi ride

Work sent me to a meeting today at an IT consultancy out in the suburbs.

My taxi driver arrived in his gleaming Mercedes. I got in, leaned back on the black leather seats, and started to feel like somebody important.

I think it’s the first time I’ve actually been inside a car in Copenhagen and it really helps you see the city in a new light.

Cycling is the best way to explore and to get from A to B but there is something languorous, decadent almost, about a taxi journey.

We made our way through the city centre down long, wide boulevards I’ve never seen before, past museums I never knew existed, apartment buildings I’d kill to live in.

We passed cyclist after cyclist, their faces as blurred as the spokes on their wheels.

My driver pushed on, out to the motorway, and I felt my mind wander.

How had I arrived at this point in my life? How on earth could I be in a taxi in Copenhagen, on my way to interview a bunch of IT consultants about a project I knew next to nothing about?

I thought of all the people in the world’s important capitals, moving from place to place in taxis, trains and planes, meeting with one another, making small-talk, doing business, earning money, spending money.

I thought of all the people I’d seen in airports and in cabs, clutching briefcases, laptops, selling their expertise, gathering information; now I was inside this world.

My burgeoning sense of being someone, of feeling part of something, reached a crescendo. Life is what you can grab, I thought, and I had finally arrived at the trough!

The cab pulled up at my destination and I gave the driver one of our company’s taxi vouchers and got out.

I started towards the building, and realised, too late, I had forgotten to get the receipt that work had instructed me to remember at all costs.

Oh brave new world…!


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