The Midget Story

The Midget Story

“Sorry People of Size”

by Kevin Harrington

         The weather was perfect on Saturday night. People were walking around enjoying one of the few last days of summer. No one wants to take a cab when it’s this nice and business was slow. So I headed up to downtown crossing to look for a few stragglers. I took a left on Temple place, it was after eleven and a few folks were leaving the only two clubs on that street. A beautiful blonde, a magazine type, waved me down and I pulled over. The door opened and closed but she didn’t get in. I looked over at her and she waved me off. Must have changed her mind, I hesitated a second and drove off putting it out of my mind.
         I was deciding where to go next when a voice from the back seat told me to take it to the top of Beacon. My heart skipped and I hit the breaks and turned around but no one was there. “Are you deaf?” he said. “Take me to the top of Beacon!” I looked down and saw a midget in the back seat, person of size, little guy, whatever. He was well dressed shitfaced and obnoxious, just the way I like my little people.
         He must have been giving the Blonde a hard time and she wanted to get rid of her little problem. I turned the corner and she saw her solution. Stand in front of him, wave me down, open the door and throw him in. Problem solved.
         Slurring his words and smacking the door with his fist, he said: “Take me to the top of Beacon Street, don’t you understand English”. I was pissed and said, CLAM DOWN, and tell me exactly where you want to go. ”B-E-A-C-O-N andddddddd Mass Ave., okay DICKHEAD!,” he said arrogantly.
          My first impulse was to slam on the breaks pull him out and spike him into the ground like a lawn dart. But I kept my mouth shut and gave it the gas hoping I could get him there quick without killing him. It was short lived and he started up again.
         “Hey I got an idea,” he said. He was really slurring his words and squirming around in his seat like he couldn’t get comfortable. “Why don’t we pull over and you can fuck me up the ass,” he said this like it was a good idea and a perfectly normal part of a conversation. He might as well said, “Why don’t we get some Chinese food and discuss Dickens.” He caught me off guard and I knew better than to respond and I let it go.
         “No really, why don’t you fuck me, no one will ever know,” he said the last half of the sentence lower, almost a whisper, as if someone could hear him. ‘Fuck me, c’mon, fuck me, you know you want to,” he said it like I would just break down and say, “okay.”
         Admittedly my standard are low but c’mon, was there a nuclear holocaust and we were the only two left? At least I should draw a line on the wall and say you must be this tall to fuck me.
         It just got worst. “Fuck me, c’mon, fuck me,” he said it pleadingly as the air left his lungs like a deflated balloon. It was funny at first but he was really pissing me off. I could hear him hitting the seat with his fists and his little legs sounded like they were thrashing the air. I had enough and pulled over.
         I turned around and said, “Listen Tattoo, if you don’t want to start pumping those little fuckin’ legs of yours up Beacon Street I suggest you shut the fuck up,” and he did, for five seconds and then took up the fuck you rant again. He was like a kid that wanted a toy and you said’ “No,” and then took a tantrum.
         What could I do but ignore him; he hadn’t threatened me, as if he could, and I legally couldn’t throw him out of the cab. So I sucked it up, poor choice of words, and depressed the accelerated hard. My back went into the seat and I flew down Tremont. He stopped ranting and took a breather, probably planning his strategy to get me in the sack. All I could think about was telling this story later to my friends. They wouldn’t believe me at first but how do you make this shit up.
         “So did you fuck him?” one of them would say. “No I didn’t fuck him,” as I’d laugh too hard and spill a little beer. “C’mon, c’mon, no one would know and you still wouldn’t fuck him, I find that hard to believe,” as he would shake his head. “How about a blowjob, did you get some head, maybe just a---little?” At this everyone would laugh including me even though I wouldn’t want too. It would degenerate from there and go into little jokes. “You know, everyone needs a little love, a little tenderness, a little person that wants it in the ass. Just think, we could market this and have it on the shelves by Christmas, we’ll call it the, “Little Fucker.”
         Little fucker or not I was seriously thinking of calling the Police, just to cover myself. His behavior was beyond abusive and I didn’t have to take it. I still wanted to throw him out myself but I’m six feet, 250 pounds and I’d be asking for trouble if I did it on my own. If the cops saw me do it I can only hope someone would film the Rodney King beating I would get. Even a woman on crutches would come to the defense of a Midget.          
         It was a no win situation unless I could get him out of the cab when no one was looking. I’d grab his ankles and spin him around 3 times and throw him into the Commons where the packs of wild dogs that roam the city would get him. Sorry my imagination got the better of me for a second; there are no wild dogs in Boston. We do have a serious problem with Vampire Bats and Trolls and I can only hope they would like a snack. Good Eating with half the calories of a normal size person.
         I was approaching the Theatre District and was surprise that my little buddy still had his clothes on and his Sponge Bob undies weren’t down to his ankles. The light turned green and I took the right onto Boylston just as one of the theatres was getting out. People in Boston walk right into traffic and I pumped the brake in anticipation and slowed down to less than 10 miles an hour.
         My passenger spoke up calmly from the back seat and said; “If you’re not going to fuck me I’m out of ----.” He never finished the statement, I heard the back door open and close and that was it. My head snapped around and stopped as my eyes caught the passenger side mirror. Like a pro he bailed from the cab. The scene looked like you put a quarter in a machine at the old peep shows to watch a movie.
         The only way to explain it would be to equate it to a World War 2 picture where soldiers jumped out of planes. The light would go on and they would jump. My hand went up to my mouth and I hit the brakes. “Oh my God I killed a Midget,” I thought. He rolled a few times but got up and dusted himself off like he had done it a thousand times. Maybe that’s how he got out of paying for cabs and was known by all Cab drivers as, “The Amazing Jumping Midget.”
         Relief flooded over me that he seemed ok as he stood on the sidewalk for a second. He never looked back at me and I wasn’t about to chase him for a five dollar fair. All I was thinking now was what a relief it was that I hadn’t killed him. My door opened and a couple got in and told me where to go. There was no way that they hadn’t seen what happened but it didn’t seem to have fazed them. I guess launching Midgets out of cabs is so widespread in Boston that no one thinks twice about it anymore.
         He strolled into the Commons and out of my life. Good riddance and to the Trolls and Bats in the Park, Bon Appetite.

The End