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Let me tell you about the worst 50 dollars ever spent. They weren't mine, but the money is the only measure of time I have. I could say an hour, but to me it felt like an eternity. Or 30 seconds. Ever notice how things can take so long to happen, but when they do happen, you feel like you had no time to prepare? You're caught by surprise, don't know what you could have done.
These fifty dollars, they were spent on a cab ride, and throughout the entire thing, I was thinking 'I hope the flight it delayed. Maybe the storm is too bad to fly in.' It was a Friday, the 13th. I remember feeling superstitious for the day. Like something bad was going to happen.
While sitting in the back of the cab, the 6 suitcases surrounding me, I felt a silence. Anything I said felt so loud, so heard by everyone. I felt watched. Maybe just insecure about my ability to choke back tears. I numbed myself for a while, knowing I wouldn't be able to hold it at 'goodbye' anyway.
The cab-driver was slow, and sort of an ass. He didn't help much with the suitcases, just watched us put them all in, all a couple of ounces from fifty pounds. He was mindless in his driving; frankly, he made it apparent that he didn't want to be working that early in the morning. I didn't spare his feelings. I had too many of my own.
As he drove, all three of us were very silent. I heard some classical music (ever notice how ab drivers always have classical music playing?) I contemplated asking him to turn it up, nervous that my father would be annoyed because he liked it "quiet in the morning." I knew because it was classical, though, that he wouldn't mind so much. I asked the driver if he could 'turn the music up, it's too quiet for me' hoping that the latter statement wouldn't dispel how uncomfortable I really felt. He hardly turned it up, but it was enough for my father to recognize what it was immediately. He's very intelligent, you see, sort of Mensa-type brainiac. My uncle is the same; they seem very similar.
By the time we arrived at the airport, the cab fare had risen to 45 dollars; I didn't want to get out. I didn't want to unload the 5 suitcases and one big box which contained a brand new Martin. But I did. At least, I helped, still keeping these strange feelings in my gut. A man helped take our suitcases to the front so we didn't have to lug them around through the long line. My father tipped him.
Waiting in the check-in line was one of the worst points. There was a wonderful elderly couple in front of us from Manchester. We had some small talk; my father talked about football with the man, while I talked about Liverpool to the woman. They were lovely. However, all I wanted was to hold onto my father, tell him not to leave. 'Don't go, don't go, don't go' was all that ran through my head as I told the old woman what I planned to do after my summer vacation.
He left, though. Few tears erupted as he left, but they were worth a million dollars each. I spent 5 million dollars of tears, after which he told me to 'go, I can't do this anymore.' I suppose he meant the leaving. It wasn't the first time.
I couple million dollars spill as I write this now.

Worst fifty dollars spent in a cab ride. And they weren't even mine.