The Hindustan Ambassador. Recently rated the world's [i]best[/i] car by To-Gear. It was certainly a choice that no one expected. Most people drooled over the sporty cards, and overlooked the utilitarian such as taxi-cars. Under-the-hood, however, it was a different story. ‘Classy’, ‘reliable’ and ‘indestructible’ were all words used to describe this vehicle. To bad the company was hitting hard times, a dramatic drop in sales, it might be the car's last year in production...

So, maybe someone at Hindustan paid off someone at Top-Gear...

Her employer was Indian, however, a prosperous businessman with a taste for classic and unique cars. He provided a car-service for the other gazillionaires in the city. 

It frustrated the hell out of Rodge that they would not let her under the hood. She had applied as a mechanic, but, the man interview her didn’t need a mechanic, he needed drivers… he didn’t typically hire women, however, the company was just getting over some sort of lawsuit and needed a token-minority-female employee for the sake of their image. That, and the man seemed to appreciate her… personality… both of them.

[i]Ew.[/i]

Today she was assigned to pick up a couple from the airport. She got an early start, knowing that traffic would definitely be a problem. She dressed quickly, black slacks and overcoat, white blouse, tie, [i]ugh[/i]. She was strict with her hair, pulling it back into a bun. The hair fought her, fraying, but eventually surrendered her her skilled hands. [i]‘I’ll have to get it straightened again soon...’[/i] In the mirror she noticed that the jet-black hair was beginning to pale at the roots. [i]‘I’ll need to dye it again as well...’[/i] Her stiff hat hid the root-problem for the moment. No makeup, no jewelry, no breakfast. Tar-black coffee. Out the door and on the road…

So, back to work. The car was black as her hair with the company logo tastefully printed on the back. It was a 2003 Ambassador Classic. 4-door, plenty of luggage and legroom, manual 5-speed gearbox, top speed only 86 mph, and [i](we-promise-only-theoretical)[/i] accelerations 0- 60 in 14.5 seconds,1/4 mile drag time of 19.7 seconds.

Now, the couple. She had to do the whole shebang, stand in the airport with a printed sign, drag the luggage out, pack up the car. She liked driving, and this was a much less frantic pace than a street-taxi gig. She could live without the customer service, yet, she had only made better tips at that bar in Vegas… Between this and her other two jobs, she would be comfortable in this city. Or so she hoped.

She made it a point to drive smooth and steady. She didn’t want the couple behind her to spill their champagne after-all. They chattered in a romance language she didn’t know, she had fur on her collar and he had thick rings on his fingers, she in periwinkle and he in navy, both with strawberry comb-overs. 

She was staring off, Rodge was bored, she was day-dreaming about the ‘69 Mercury Cyclone that had rolled into the garage yesterday…

She slammed on her breaks as someone darted across the sidewalk and across the road. Her hat fell off her head, her breath was caught in her lungs, she had nearly [i]hit[/i] him...

“Shit.” She wiggled the stick-shift and cringed at the sound the engine made.

“What on earth!” The woman in the back seat swooned. “Watch where your going!"

“Sorry ‘mam.” Rodge was back in gear and driving smoothly again. “Someone ran out into the road.”

“Who?” the man demanded. “We pay good money for a smooth ride, you’ve ruined my suit.”

Rodge only rolled her eyes. Of course it was the man, and not the woman, complaining about the state of his cloths. 

Yet, his question seemed justified. For as Rodge looked about, she didn't see anyone. There was no way he could have run off that fast... 

She shrugged, she had somewhere better to be. She gritted her teeth and hoped that the couple would not file a complaint. The company expected inhuman perfection from it’s driving staff. 

They hadn’t lost all their champagne, and tittered to each other a bit more quietly for the remainder of the ride.

She dropped them off at a classy hotel, passed their things off to the bell-hop. She speed off a bit-faster-than-necessary, glad to leave them behind. 

She wasn’t allowed to smoke in the car, and didn’t have another assignment until 5. After that, the diner would be expecting her. She checked her watch 4:00…

She parked in an empty lot under the bridge and produced her paper and tobacco bag from her inside coat pocket. She rolled her own tobacco, it’s aroma and taste were much more pleasant than normal cigarettes. She blamed her grandfather for this preference, it’s how [i]he[/i] smoked. 

She checked her watch again. [i]I still have time to kill, but I could use another coffee… [/i]

She slid into the drivers seat, she left the door open, one foot still outside as she finished her cigarette and adjusted her mirrors...