Sybil was running late. She had a flight to catch to Cleveland. She was hardly enthusiastic about going, about what she needed to do once she landed, but none-the-less her bags were packed. She had booked a flight. Everything was set. She just couldn’t seem to get out the door in time, guaranteeing that she would miss the flight either on a technicality, such as arriving too late to be allowed to board, or literally. Either way would be fine with her. She could scan her ticket, express her frustration and be done with it. However, something odd happened after she hailed a cab and climbed in. She became ferocious, a bit of a caged tiger in the back seat. Maybe it was inspired by the woman cab driver who timidly merged onto the highway and then stuck like white on rice to the pokey right lane. Sybil, caged in the back seat, screamed out instructions, narrating moment by moment what the cab driver should be doing now. Sybil knew somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain that she was making matters worse. But she continued bullying her way to the airport. When they pulled up to the curb, Sybil was about to launch into a hearty apology and hand the cab driver a fat tip, when the woman embraced her, thanking Sybil for teaching her how to drive on a highway, something she had never done before. And with that, Sybil, thinking about fate and fishing, sailed past security.