What Friends Are For

I transferred into a cab as my friend, S, started to breakdown my wheelchair.

It was cold and snowing.

“I think my friend could use a hand with the chair,” I said to the driver who had remained in his seat. “Will you please help her put it in the trunk?”

“Nope,” he said. “That’s what she’s here for.”

“Really? I thought she was here because we just went to the movies, and she enjoys my company.”

He glared at me in the rearview.

“How nice for you.”

I didn’t tip him.