We are Limo of Borg

One of the little gems that occurred while we were in San Francisco. We decided to go kill the hour and a half before we had to leave for the airport wandering around Fisherman's Wharf. This isn't far from our hotel, but it's way too far for a broken foot. So RH and I decided we'd see if that cable car coming up the hill was headed there, or if it was the alternate line, and if not, we'd take a taxi.

Sure enough, it was the wrong line. As we're standing there, letting it pull away, this voice says, "Five dollars each to Fisherman's Wharf?" We turn around and this guy's got his head out the driver's window of a stretch limo. What are we going to do, say no?

So we pile in the back. And of course, the limo driver drives just like every cabbie in San Francisco, only with more style. There are some very Blues Brothers moments. Meanwhile, we're listening to him go on to somebody on his cell phone about getting to some city by a particular time to make sure he knows where the big client is and won't be late by virtue of getting lost. It was really quite entertaining.

We reached the top of one particular hill, nose pulled out into the intersection, and we're nose-to-flank with this silver Ford F-150, complete with flames on the side, that's sitting in the middle of the intersection because traffic in front of him is not moving. And I swear to you, the limo acquired the voice of Shaft as it edged forward a few inches, saying, "You do not intimidate me, muscle truck. I will make you move through the sheer power of cool."

We paid the driver ten bucks, and he took off to whatever he was really at Fisherman's Wharf for, and RH and I just looked at each other and broke down laughing.