My mind raced through the multitude of vulgar terms I could use. My extensive knowledge of Chinese profanity was about to put to good use.

The taxi driver had made a wrong turn. I knew I was in trouble when he called dispatch for directions. Why do I always get the hacks with wet ink still on their driver licenses?

Zhu tou. (pig head) was the first one that came to mind. A common used term, it is usually directed against me, by small children, with the adjective stupid added for good measure.

I considered my stock insults: All would involve the driver’s sister, mother, or grandmother, a foreign resident of China, and part of his anatomy.

Tian wo de pi yen (lick my ass eye – you get the picture) was the newest addition to my insultive arsenal. My tentative trial of the phrase on Mrs. Stevo garnered expected and humorous results. She often laments my Chinese vocabulary, saying if I put as much energy into learning useful things I would be fluent. It’s not easy to learn Chinese.

Driving me home should have been an easy task. The wrong turn had ended our progress in a traffic snarl. The ambulance in the next lane, air horn blaring and lights a’flashing, was also stymied by the gridlock.

After my insult, the father of all insults, I would throw some money at the moron behind the wheel and jump out of the conveyance he piloted. I could find another cab, post traffic jam.

I’m not usually angry. It had been a long, evil week. I was tired. Mrs. Stevo was at home, and might have news of the secret.

Your sister….

Your mother and sister…

I grabbed for my stack ‘o’ cash. The driver shifted and reached into his pocket. He was quicker on the draw.

He looked over his shoulder, an open pack of cigarettes in his left hand. It was an apology, a sign of friendship, and camaraderie. He looked tired, but his face held a smile.

I smiled back, took the proffered cancer stick and said, “Xie xie.”

He was in the same boat as me. He didn’t know the city, I could tell by his accent he was from the north. It was raining, the streets were mayhem, and there was a foreigner in his cab that smelled of floral-scented massage oil. His night was as bad as mine. No, worse.

It’s not all about me. That’s easy for all of us to forget. Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, etc.

I forgot about the insults, ate the smoke, and enjoyed the rest of the stop-and-start journey.