Daisy

          It’s been several years now, and no one can figure out how to make one of these taxi apps for smart phones work properly. Each new developer promises efficiency and a smooth streamlining of the the grid, but here I am: alone in the parking lot of a gentleman’s club on an unusually cold August night in Atlanta, checking my email to see if this particular taxi service has confirmed my request for transport. I thumb up and down my screen, refreshing and refreshing, until I notice that my thumbing has synced itself with the thumping of the DJ’s bass that escapes the structure of the establishment. I buy the taxi service some time and check the score of the Braves game my friends and I left in the 7th inning. They’re in the 12th now. We missed a two run homer in the bottom of the 9th that forced extras. I’m sure they’d all rather be here, anyway.


Daisy’s dad is a lawyer at a big firm in Sandy Springs. Her mom is a paralegal at the same firm. She was at the Braves game too, but left early to come to work. I saw her for the first time about an hour ago, and the only reason I remember her name is because she took full advantage of her chosen motif. She wore a daisy themed outfit and brought a handful of flowers onto the stage, which figured in to the later part of her act.


         Now she’s sitting on the curb of the parking lot with me, bundled up in an oversized jacket, showing me this taxi app that she swears has worked for her before. She gives me her phone and I’m instructed to type in my current address along with the address of my desired destination. While I punch in the numbers, Daisy gets a text, which appears at the top of the screen. It’s from someone named “Dad” and it says “LaRoche solo HR. Bottom 15.” I read it to her and she tells me to write back “Damn. Don’t give up just yet.”
          I finish inputting all of my information and hand her phone back to her. Right then, the door to the club opens behind us. Daisy looks back to meet eyes with a man in a cheap suit. He nods to her and she pushes herself up from the curb. She tells me she’s got to get back to work and wishes me luck with the taxi. Just before she’s back through the door, Daisy’s phone rings and she answers it. She says something, then hangs up and looks at me. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.” She goes back inside.