Earlier today, someone reminded me of the time a rat ran across my foot in a car while in New Delhi. Dug up the post from that time …
November 15, 2006 —
Last Wednesday in New Delhi, a friend and I stepped out of the Imperial Hotel after lunch. As we waited for my driver to pull the car around, we noticed two classic cars parked on the right-hand side of the driveway.
Anything “nice” stands out in India as if it were neon on a dark night, so we walk over and look at these vehicles. One was a metallic blue Jaguar roadster from sometime in the mid-to late-40’s with the top off and in great condition. The other was a black 1951 Jaguar Saloon touring car – with the huge hood and very high roof.
As we inspect the cars, a man (we assume, the owner) asks if we like them. We ask a few questions, which he answers patiently. We don’t offer our names nor he his. So this is both a complete stranger, and a nameless one in a country far from home.
“Would you like a ride in the Saloon?”
I don’t think twice — “Yes! That would be great!”
Later, it occurs I would probably be an easy kidnap victim — it would go something like this:
Kidnapper: “Hey — you wanna put this hood over your head and ride in the trunk of that car?”
Me: “Wow, yes! That sounds fun.”
Anyway … this trait is either born of supreme confidence in my ability to handle anything … or stupidity. Who knows or cares …
That’s irrelevant, by the way …
So we hop into the giant black car for a ride. We cruise along, admiring the woodwork, leather and mechanics of the car’s interior as we ride. Our nameless friend is a bit odd (did I mention he had amber-colored eyes?) — he doesn’t say much, just drives.
I’m sitting in the front seat with my feet stretched out on the enormous floorboards. There’s a seam in the floor vinyl covering a hole that enters the engine compartment. This seam is halfway between the passenger side floorboard and the driver’s side floorboard.
All that to say — the stranger brakes a little hard at a stop light. When he does this, out of the engine compartment, through the seam in the vinyl comes a rat … a real-live, medium-sized (maybe 6 – 8 inches plus tail) rat. He runs across the floorboard, over my foot and under the seat.
I remain calm, and try to be polite. (With a happy tone): “Oh look, a little mouse.” (I figure that’s more polite than shouting “A RAT!!”)
My friend is sitting in the back and can see the rat’s face peeking out from under the seat. My friend moves his feet up onto the seat.
The driver is not embarrassed. He laughs: “Hahaha, it must have been too hot in the engine compartment.”
We get back to the Imperial, thank the stranger (still never knowing his name nor him ours) get out of the ratmobile and into my car.
