Holy Roman Taxi Cab

Pay attention please, my dearly beloved Sweet Nuts, for I will now give you a mental picture of... the kind of... odd shit you don't see every day. You will probably scratch your head at what your mind's eye will be seeing, much like I did on my way home that morning. It caught me unaware, knocked the mental wind off my head, for I do not have the imagination for this level of shit. I kid you not. Having said that, I tip my hat to that Jesus loon, for I am now a reluctant fan. 

And this is the farthest thing from gross, too, so feel free to read aloud to your kids. Anyway.

Imagine green streaks along its Mazda frame.

I was lucky to have logged out of the phones two and a half hours earlier. We normally clock out at six in the morning, so you'd imagine how excited I was to get home at four. I'm lazy, Sweet Nuts, but that's not the point. And I was luckier, too, for I didn't have to wait for a cab. It was already waiting for me, parked on the curb outside the office, like a wonderful vision, my ride home. It was painted in the usual taxi-yellow with green streaks painted to highlight its Mazda form. The lamp that said TAXI was a beacon of soft halogen. Oh awesome heaven! 

I was hopping in slow motion in its general direction when I saw this white cross, this very large white cross erected a few inches away from the TAXI lamp. I paused. I said it was heaven sent, yes, but I was actually kidding. This yellow taxi cab, with green streaks along its Mazda frame, actually had a white cross installed on its roof. I am not kidding you, Sweet Nuts. My redemption from that day's shift had a large white cross a few inches away from the TAXI lamp. And I am not making this up. I swear on God's Vessel, which might as well be the same thing I was looking at, that I am not making this shit up. 

I cancelled the slow motion hop and switched to baby steps. I was curious. 

How could I have missed that, well, that little detail when it's about three feet high and two and a half feet wide? It was made of what could be wood that was four inches wide, and it was a few inches away from the TAXI lamp. But there it was, my dearly beloved Sweet Nuts, and it was as large as God's love. Its lower half, where Jesus' knee would have been, I suppose, was bathing in that halogen glow. This soft light revealed the words THE WORLD written in vertical, descending letters. It didn't take long for me to figure out the message that was painted on this very large cross installed on the roof of this cab. It said "FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD" along it's vertical torso. And it's horizontal length said "JESUS SAVES!" These letters were hand painted in a vivid blue, as blue as disbelief perhaps, to provide a startling contrast with its white background.

Meanwhile, the cab itself was an unmarked yellow with green paint along it's Mazda frame. It meant to take me home. But the obscenely large cross installed on it's roof meant to preach. 

I am usually lazy by default, my dearly beloved Sweet Nuts, and I hardly have the disposition to wait for another cab. My baby steps were cautious, though, as I proceeded to Manila's Next Popemobile. But then the driver stepped out, and I froze in my tracks. I was suddenly rooted in place, like a bush, and my head was burning with ideas like sprinting or brisk walking or walking on water. What is this that I am looking at now? 

He stepped out of his plate-numbered Popemobile, raised both his arms up at 45 degree angles to his shoulders, raised them above his head, and he is beckoning to me with his arms spread wide. He wasn't smiling. I am serious. 

He looked like an archangel in a bragging contest and they were measuring wingspan. His wings were This wide, and he is the object of what could be penis envy in angels. Anyway, he. Wait, no, "He" was wearing a white polo shirt, you know, with green sleeves. He looks like some mortal in his forties, I think, medium built with the complexion of varnished wood. The soft glow from the TAXI lamp defined his features. He had curly black hair. His face was stern and leathery, his eyes were beady, and he was sporting a moustache that was quite the rage with kidnappers in those action films in the 80s. He was now standing before the open door next to the driver's seat, and he was beckoning to me, his arms were stretched apart and raised at a 45 degree angle to each shoulder. The fingers on each of his palms looked like they were glued together like flippers. And it was the beckoning movement of each flipper that was very troubling to me. 

It doesn't stop there. Two of the upper buttons on his polo shirt were undone. And on his chest was this enormous crucifix. Yes, my dearly beloved Sweet Nuts, I seized the word "crucifix" because that is exactly the size of it. Imagine a copper cross the size of your thumb. Now, magnify that pendant by a hundred fold, and that will fix you with a proper estimate. Nope, the beckoning isn't stopping yet. 

It dawned on me that God's Plate Numbered Vessel was running on the essential oils of myrrh, frankincense, and some shabu. And it's herald has been sniffing plenty of exhaust fumes. 

He's giving my ass crack a stigmata of sorts on account of I could shit on the spot with this kind of crazy going on. However, I am far too cool for this loony Bible show, and you know that my dearly beloved Sweet Nuts. I maintained my safe distance and watched as he, no, "He" got back in his vessel, closed the door, and started his engine. I was actually relieved to see that yellow cab with it's green streaks move and accelerate. I noticed that the large white cross on its roof did not budge. It was then a little after four in the morning.

I noticed one of the security guards was looking at the same explosion of crazy. I was relieved. For a while there I though I was having one of those holy visitation things.