George the taxi driver

In one of the sweetest and most beautiful acts of kindness that I have ever experienced, a taxi driver asked me if I needed a ride.



My 1.5 mile walk at 2am was fairly safe- in well lit areas and big streets where there were still lots of people milling about and dancers both seeking and leaving clubs and bars, through the safe part of town. There was one spot, just one little stretch that is a little iffy. I have to walk by Kelvingrove park, which during the day is a beautiful expansive park filled with dogs off the leash and children running around corners while their parents walked leisurely behinds or looked away. But at night, due mostly (I think) to the fact that there is not one light inside the park, it becomes dangerous. “Don’t walk through Kelvingrove at night” I was warned (many times, mostly by other Americans who had done their research before coming on crime hotspots). I wasn’t going to walk through it. I was going to walk next to it. Right by it. Because otherwise I would have had to go very far out of my way, and even though the street running beside it was the only poorly lit street in the West End, it wasn’t that long. And it wasn’t really that dangerous.

I had noticed that particular taxi driver a few meters back, when he was dropping off scantily clad and spikey heeled girls in front of a club. We had smiled at each other. He motioned for if I needed a ride, I shook my head no and kept walking.
As I walked onto the road that passed by Kelvingrove, doubling the roads former occupancy of one large man walking alone to two people, the taxi driver pulled up next to me.

“Hey, get in the car and let me drive you to the end of the street,” he said “I’m not picking you up, there’s no fee, I won’t charge anything. Just let me drive you past the park. To the end of the road.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, hop in.”
“Thank you.”

His name was George. George the taxi driver. He went on to tell me that he just wanted to make sure I was safe. “The other roads are fine,” he told me, “and you can always trust us taxi drivers. We’re a good breed. I’m not trying to scare you, but you always hear about things happening, particularly at the first of the school year.”

And then, at the end of the road, past Kelvingrove and in the light again, he dropped me off. I shook his hand and said thank you. And I am struck by this act of kindness, because that was his job, and there was no reason to not charge, and I was going away from where he would get work, and I was making a silly decision and yet he still went out of his way, for no other reason than I was a person and he wanted me to be safe, and he could make a difference. No big deal. It was spectacular to me.

He turned around.

We waved.

And I have been thinking about him, and this seemingly small gesture which is very, very big to me, and I wonder if I can be more like him. If I, like George, would go out of my way to love people in real life, not just in theory. In real ways, without anything in return- even if I have every right to expect something in return.

In ways that say, “No charge, I just want you to be safe.”





tl;dr version: I rode in a taxi.