A Minute of Chit-Chat with Vera Bak
In this short story-essay, the author discusses the importance of cultivating the joy of conversation in our daily lives and reflects on the fact that the days when we used to have casual conversations with the taxi drivers at the nearest taxi stand—who were known to the whole family—are fading away.
Illustration by chatGPT
- It’s time for another “A Minute of Chit-Chat with Vera Bak,” and I’d like to say hi to Gerônimo, my favorite taxi driver at the stand over by Bourbon. He’s a really great guy, Gerônimo. “Big hug, my friend.”
The topic of our conversation today, my dear listener, is a reflection on yet another habit we’re losing these days: chatting with the taxi driver at your regular spot. In my case, this is a habit I inherited from my mother, who would engage in delightful, long conversations with any taxi driver she met, regardless of their age, educational background, or ethnicity. Over the years, she became known to all the drivers at the taxi stand. Some spoke to her respectfully, as if she were their own mother. They’d alternate between a confessional tone and discussions of the weather, the latest political news, and complaints about their children. Others were more forward and would immediately go on the offensive with that lovely lady—retired, with her own home and a steady income. I believe that, as the years have gone by, it’s now my turn to fall into this stereotype. Mr. Gerônimo, I’m sure, began our conversation full of mischief the day we met. It’s the force of habit (theirs), if you know what I mean...
That morning, I had gone to Bourbon to take care of some business, and on my way out, I decided to catch a taxi at the stand right across the street. I ended up having to wait in the light rain for my turn while the man in a wheelchair in front of me struggled to get into a small car with his wheelchair and grocery bags.
- Wow, that man is a hero. I have the utmost admiration for people who don’t give up in the face of life’s difficulties.” And here I was, walking with my head down, complaining about the bad weather! - I remarked to the driver as soon as I settled into the back seat.
- Yeah, I get passengers like that—they’re quite a bit older but still very independent, taking care of their own lives. Look, not even the bad weather stopped that gentleman from doing his grocery shopping.
- Yeah, they say this weather will last a few more days. And another cold snap is forecast for next week!
- Cold, rainy weather is good for people who make doughnuts. Do you make doughnuts? – Just then, the taxi stopped at a red light, and the driver turned to look me in the eye. Two light blue eyes were staring right at me, framed by rosy cheeks and snow-white hair. He had the good-natured, slightly mischievous air of someone who grew up in the countryside and spent his childhood tossing corn to the chickens that scratched around freely near the house.
I returned his smile while quickly gauging the intent behind his question. “If I say yes, he’ll invite himself over for an afternoon snack at my house,” was my conclusion. But since I’ve been frankly uninterested in casual encounters of this sort ever since my hormones went through a major crisis during menopause, I replied:
- No, I’m not good in the kitchen. What I really like is crafts.
- What do you like to do?
- I like to paint boxes, embroider felt scraps, and sew.
- And do you do that to earn money?
Once again, I found myself reflecting on what he was saying. He seemed to have classified me as low-income, since I looked a bit disheveled.
Although I’d dyed and had my hair cut that morning, I was dressed very casually. I was wearing the sweatpants in which my dog had torn a small hole with her teeth, which I’d later covered with the initial of my name. It’s true, I’d never been vain. But now that I was getting older, my self-esteem had hit rock bottom. This idea that women become invisible after forty had become an excuse for me to neglect myself.
- No - I replied - I do it to SPEND my income. Actually, I spend quite a bit of money on supplies. Since I’ve never thought my work was good enough to be sold, I end up giving all the pieces my friends compliment me on to them.
- You might be setting the bar too high. If you put your work up for sale, you’d definitely find a buyer.
Once again, the conversation petered out. He seemed to be looking for a new topic, but to no avail. If I wasn’t the “housewife” type, what was I?
- Besides enjoying crafts, I also write. I publish my writing on a blog.
And so the conversation continued. He asked me what kind of writing I did, who my favorite foreign and Brazilian authors were, how I created my characters, if writing was very tiring, if I used AI in my writing, and what languages I spoke. It had been a long time since a man had made such an effort to learn about the topics that interest me. In fact, no man, no woman, no family—nothing. I realized that the conversations I have are growing further and further from my interests every day. It feels like I’m just listening. And now that the presidential election is approaching—when any topic can spark a deep rift with friends or family—life seems to have turned into an Uber Comfort in “silent mode.” On the rare occasions when we do talk, it’s to discuss the thousand and one ways to spend money—preferably on beautiful, unnecessary things.
- Mr. Gerônimo, it was a pleasure to meet you.
- Likewise, Mrs. Vera. By the way, I wanted to say—if you don’t mind—that you have a very beautiful voice. It reminds me of Íris Lettieri’s voice, the woman who used to announce the flights at the airport.
- Attention, passengers. Taxi Gaúcha, bound for the Historic Center with a stop in the Auxiliadora neighborhood; disembarking begins at the rear door. Passengers, this is the final call.
- Ha ha ha. It was a pleasure to have you as a passenger. I hope we’ll meet again soon. ‘Au revoir!’
- ‘Magnifique,’ Mr. Gerônimo. I’ll remember our conversation fondly and hope that our dear listeners continue to have the time and enthusiasm needed to cultivate the habit of chatting with taxi drivers. And if Mr. Gerônimo is listening to me right now, I’d like to send him a hug and promise that the next time we meet, I’ll announce—loud and clear so you can hear me from your taxi— the boarding of all the passengers before me.
And have a good trip!