HYPOTHETICALLY, wouldn’t you think:

  • that if you take a cab home from the bar;
  • and you are the only girl in the cab with three drunk and happy boys–one current boyfriend, one Bad Idea past-tense, and one ex-Roommate;
  • and you happen to be the one to sit in the front seat;
  • and the boys in the backseat are clearly, obviously drunk and loud and fun, but only because you know them, really;
  • and you are trying, because you are a Virgo [thus self-controlled, ideally, and hating when people know you are drunk or otherwise not Total-Control-Girl] and also attempting to re-prove that you are not a bad person to possibly unconvinced person people in the backseat, to maintain a semblance of normal conversation with the cab driver;
  • and the boys are so obviously fucked up that the cab driver asks if they have some weed they’ll share with him;
  • and they say no, sadly, they have no weed on them;
  • and then one of them adds, helpfully (in his head), that he thinks there may be weed at the destination we’re approaching;
  • and the cab driver is then, against the better instincts of the usually-smart girl in the front seat, invited up to the destination to partake of illegal substances;
  • and upon entering the destination, the cab driver decides he’s not happy with the illegal parking of the cab, and needs to go immediately;
  • and the way-too-friendly-and-drunk boys give him weed To Go;

that your cab ride should be–I’m not saying free–but perhaps, not full price?

Yeah, you would think.