The Happy Cab

Lately, my mood has been fairly negative. "Down in the dumps" would be an accurate assessment. I've been moody and broody and snappy and, last week, I angrily asked Conor if he ever showers. It was a mean thing to say.

I left my apartment in a huff a few days ago. I kicked a rock. I glared at an old man walking his schnauzer. I glared at the schnauzer. I spit at the ground. Twice.

Why am I so angry?

The reasons are many, with uncertainty being the main one. Impatience is another. I've bombed a few interviews recently. Also, I strained my pectoralis minor and I can't work out for a month so all the progress I've made this summer is gone. Poof. Why have goals if progress can be erased so easily? WHY EVEN DO THINGS IN LIFE, GUYS?

I'm having a hard time staying focused as I don't know whether I'm staying or going and if I'm going, where am I going, and if I'm staying, what, why? The feeling is similar to that of a decent backup point-guard a few days before the trade deadline. My mind is being pulled every which way.

When I reached Belmont and Broadway, I hailed a cab. From the outside, it was a normal looking cab. Yellow. Dice in the mirror. An ad for "The Admiral's Club" on the roof of the car. But the vibe changed upon getting in.

"Hello, and welcome to the HAPPY CAB!"

The driver was a chubby, African-American man with a bald head and a white mustache. He was smiling. A lot. His cheery demeanor was appalling to my bad mood. I had just exited my dark cavern of pessimism and I was being blasted by the full force of this positivity sun.

"Hi..." I said.

"Hello, young man! This is the HAPPY CAB!" he repeated. "And I am the HAPPY CAB operator."

I considered jumping out of the car.

He turned around to study my face, grinning as he did so. Dude was the personification of this emoji:

"Now where are you off to today?" he asked, punctuating the question with another large smile.

"720 South Michigan." I said, trying to avoid his gaze. "Please."

"You got it! And, once again, welcome to the HAPPY CAB!"

He gingerly pressed down on the accelerator, as if he were coaxing a skittish horse to giddy up, and we cruised away.

Bob Marley was crooning through the speakers at a comfortable volume. Not too loud. Not too quiet.

"Is my music too loud for you, young man?" he asked.

"No, this is good."

"Glad to hear it. I like to listen to a little reggae rock while I work. It puts me in a good mood. Because this is the HAPPY CAB!"

He laughed as if he had just told a hilarious joke. I forced an awkward smile. A chimp baring his teeth.

We hopped onto Lake Shore Drive, the comfortable reggae rock and driver's careful maneuvering trying hard to put me in a good mood. I was resisting, but the fact that a full-grown man would give himself the title "Operator of the HAPPY CAB" threw me off guard. Which made it easier for the HAPPY CAB to break down my "down in the dumps" defenses.

As I stared out at Lake Michigan, the HAPPY CAB driver looked at me in the rearview mirror.

"Any big plans for today?" he asked.

"Not really. My sisters just left so I'm probably going to take it easy."

"That's good, that's good. It's important in life to take it easy. Gotta be HAPPY!"

He chuckled to himself.

"Yeah."

The HAPPY CAB operator drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and sang along to the reggae rock.

"Where did your sisters leave to?"

"Back to Texas."

"Are they from there?"

"Yeah. My whole family lives there. In Houston," I explained. "I was born there."

"I was actually in Texas for a few months. In San Antonio. I joined the Air Force and that's where they sent us for training."

"Ah."

"But that was a long time ago," he said quietly. "A long, long time ago."

We rode along in silence for a few minutes.

I tried to figure out what his deal was. Nobody's that happy. He had to be forcing it. Maybe his doctor told him he had to control his temper. Maybe he had high blood pressure. Maybe it was a social experiment. You know, one of those "Is happiness contagious?" type of things.

Exceedingly happy people are strange to me. Not that I'm never happy, but I tend to be more private with my happiness. If people aren't happy and they see that you're happy, it just pisses them off. Nobody cares about your happiness. Keep it to yourself.

But if you're not happy and you're faking it, that's even weirder. I know they say to "fake it till you make it," but you can't really fake your emotions. As much as you want, if you're in an unhappy marriage, no amount of reggae rock and forced smiles will make it a happy one.

But maybe he really was just that happy? All the time for no reason? That's the scariest thing. That's an indicator that there's something physiologically wrong. Your chemicals are out of balance or something. If you're angry all the time or anxious all the time, they give you medication for that. Extreme happiness is probably a psychological issue too. Right? Mania or something?

Then again, maybe the issue was with me. Maybe I'm so pessimistic and negative that I just can't accept an individual who is so happy. It doesn't compute with me. Maybe I'm the one who needs medication. Or religion. Or drugs.

Then a bus cut us off.

For a second, the facade disappeared. The HAPPY CAB driver tensed up, gripped the steering wheel as hard as he could and muttered "Mother..." before quickly regaining his composure.

"Have a HAPPY DAY!" he shouted as he waved to the bus. "HAVE. A. HAPPY. DAY."

He laughed like a crazy person, then forced a smile and slowly relaxed back into his seat.

"I try to say only nice things when bad things happen." he explained.

I said nothing.

There it was. The HAPPY CAB driver bottled up his emotions. Instead of reacting appropriately to negative situations, he would suppress his rage and instead pretend to be happy.

I went from curious to scared.

Consider this a PSA, Chicago. Right now, there's a ticking time bomb driving through the streets. At any moment, he's going to blow up in a fit of rage and God help you if you're in the HAPPY CAB when it happens. He might catch a red light and say "What a joyous day!" and then drive the HAPPY CAB straight into the lake.

I will say this though. I was in a slightly better mood after leaving the HAPPY CAB.

But that might have been because I'm still alive.

Oh, happy day.