Monday
-Alex Farr

    It's a funny thing, driving a cab.  You do it, but you don't think about it.  You're better off if you don't think about it too much.  But people keep asking... "I bet you've got a lot of stories...".

    Well, not at first I didn't.  I drive in Oakland, CA.  The dayshift is largely old ladies... going to the beauty shops, and the doctor's offices... but there're plenty of lunatics that slip through... Yeah, I guess I've collected some stories over the years.  But, is it anything that the public wants to hear?  It's not usually Hollywood style happy endings... It's usually gritty bits of weirdness... and if people really enjoyed that sort of stuff, then we'd all be down in the trenches, rolling along the avenues in cabs, risking our lives in search of amusing anecdotes... despite the fact that any city police force's Intro. Course for a new cab driver points out that it is the most dangerous job in the country.  Period.  More dangerous than being a cop, or a fireman, or even a fucking 7-11 night manager.  It is the most dangerous job in the country.

    That's not to say it doesn't have its share of amusements.
 
 

    Of course, not all the weirdness is terribly hard on the nerves.  There was one morning I remember, back a couple of years ago.  I wish I had more mornings like that...

    I got a call to pick someone up at one of the apartment buildings around Piedmont Ave. (nice neighborhood).     I pulled up, and buzzed the buzzer, and out came a little punk rock girl.  Well, she wasn't so little, but she had the torn fishnets, and the black skirt, and the boots, and all the rest.

    "Howdy." I said, feeling like I'd just run into kin.

    "Hey," she answers.

    We punks, we don't talk much at first.

    "You mind if I sit up front?" she goes on to ask.

    I'm thinking, 'What the hell?  She doesn't look like she's gonna try to mug me... And, even if she's gonna try, I think I could kick her ass..."

    Sometimes I get cocky out there on the road.  One of these days it's gonna get me killed.

    So I say "What the hell, knock yourself out.", and unlock the door.

    Turns out she wants to go to the top of Solano, in Albany. (Another very nice neighborhood. At least, in comparison with West Oakland)

    I'm thinking, 'Ok, no problem. Nice fare, nice neighborhood, yada yada yada'... and I start off on my way.

    I haven't even made the freeway, when she starts unlacing her boots.

    I notice it out of the corner of my eye, she's sitting right next to me after all, but I don't bother to say anyhing.

     Next thing I know, it's off with the fishnets.

     "Uhh..."

     "Ohh, yeah... they're on backwards. You don't mind if I change them, do you?" she says.

     "Uhh," I answer, remembering that I'm a very sophisticated, cosmopolitan punk... "No, no sweat..."

     So she takes the things off, and I can't help but watch from the corner of my eye.  I mean, I'm human... and, as I'm glancing over, I notice that she's hiked the skirt during the procedure, and she's just leaving it hiked while she tries to sort out which way the fishnets are supposed to go.

     I catch an eye full.  I've seen legs and panties like that before, and I've vowed never to go back.

     Luckily for me, at about that point I was coming up on the 580/80 interchange... and that's enough to keep your attention, especially if you're in the mood to try to make the interchange without slowing down below 45.

     I kept my eyes forward, and tried to push the flashbacks of many a drunken night in my past pushed way back... way way back in my mind.

     "So," she suddenly says, "you ever go to the Pub?"

     It seemed like an innocent enough question.  Without thinking, I half turned to look at her as I answered, only to notice that she had her leg up, her foot resting on the dash, and her skirt completely hiked, as she slowly pulled her fishnet down over her leg.

     "I've been there..." I answered, quickly looking away.  "But only once or twice. I don't like bars that don't serve whisky."

     "You don't like a good Guiness?" she asked, as if she was hearing heresy.

     "No, it's not that..." I began to correct her, but then quickly thought better of it. "It's just that I'm full before I've even had one, and what kind of drinking is that?  No, I need whisky. Or, maybe some rum."

     "It is kind of filling, I'll give you that..."

     I couldn't see how she was gonna deny it... she looked like she'd been filled out pretty widely by the stuff.

     "But, it's so delicious..."

     I don't know if she waited until I turned, or if she just had my timing down, or what, but as I half turned to check my rearview mirror I caught a glimpse of her licking her lips.

     "We should go out for a pint sometime..." she suggested.

     It was a shame, to see a girl throwing herself at me like that, and to not find myself even remotely interested.

     I just cocked a little half smile "We'll see, I've been pretty busy lately..." was all I could bring myself to say.

     The saddest part, I was thinking, as I dropped her off, and took her money- was that she was doing it wrong.  If a lady's going to throw herself at a man, then she ought to at least know that the secret is to make herself very convenient.  You don't try to convince a man who isn't interested to meet you at 'your' bar, you find out which bar he goes to and you show up there.

     She must've been used to dealing with really desperate men.

     She was still young though.  She'd learn.

     Or maybe she just liked desperate men, who'd come running, so to speak, as soon as she made it obvious that she'd make herself available.

     I'd gotten past that part of my youth though.

     Not to say I didn't wonder, despite myself, whether I'd made the right choice later in the day.

 
    I guess I was still thinking about it later that week though, cause I found myself telling the story to another driver I knew while we waited around at a taxi stand for fares.

     "Ohh yeah, I know who you're talking about.  She did the same thing to me, man.  Couple of months ago." dude told me, "I turned her down though. I decided I wasn't gonna cheat on my wife anymore."

     We just laughed.

 
    "Poor girl..."

     "Don't worry about her man, I'm sure she'll get laid by someone." he assured me, "maybe one of the sikhs..."

     I couldn't help wondering if a sikh was allowed to take off his turban to fuck a punk... but dude was Ethiopian, and he didn't know, and neither one of us had the nerve to ask.

     "No, really," he kept insisting, "You should ask one."

     "Yeah, and have him thinking I'm asking for my own benefit."

     "Hey, I hear they're really good in bed, man..." he said, laughing at me.

     "Yeah, I'll tell whoever I ask that you really wanted to know about that..."

 

    Of course, looking back on it, I guess she wasn't so bad.  Especially after I picked up this one broad, along West MacArthur...
    "Hey," she asked, "do you date?"

     "Uhh, not so much..." I answered, having long since learned a hooker's opening line.

     "That's too bad, cause you're cute."

     "Uhh, thanks..." I answered, looking back in the rearview to see her slumped awkwardly in the seat.

     "You know, I'll tell you what.  Anytime you wanna come by, I'll give you a freebie.  I'm just over there, staying... at the... Westwind. Room 23."

     "Uhh, I'll keep that in mind."

     "You do that. You're cute. Anytime."

     "Anytime..." I echoed.

     It was enough to make me feel for some of the girls I'd come on to in various bars over the years.  Almost.

 
    Then again, maybe I should've stopped by... just to check out what tricks a pro might have up her sleeves.

    Then, of course, there was the time I took a call at an old folks home downtown. I pulled up, and out from the front door comes a lady running, yelling "Hello, here I am!" in one of those scratchy Carol Channing voices.

    "Here I am, just a second, sweetie. Just a second..." she goes on, and on, as she climbs in.

    "So, where to?..." I ask, as usual.

    "Here, have some candy young man..." she croaks at me, pulling a handful of candy out of her bra to hand me.

    It was all individually wrapped.

    Warm, but individually wrapped.

    I started the meter, and had me some sweet tarts to begin with.

    "So, where to?..." I repeated.

    "Me, ohh, I'm sorry sweetie, I'm not going far. Just to the bank at 20^th and Broadway... But I need you to wait for me!"

    "No problem, just give me a little something to hold onto while you're inside..." I assured her.

    "What?" she croaked again. "You think I'm gonna run out on ya?" she croaked again. "Here, here's some money! I got money." she goes on, throwing a wad of ones through the open window of the cab's shield. "Is that enough? Here, have some more..." she says, throwing a few more bills through the shield once she's fished them out of her bra.

    "Yeah... ok, that'll do." I answer, wondering if she's insane or just senile.

    "Ok then, just go on up to Broadway..." she starts, then suddenly she barks out "Ohh shit, I forgot my teeth! I left the house without my goddamned teeth! Shit!, I hate it when I leave the house without my teeth! I knew I left the house without my underwear, but I can't believe I forgot my goddamned teeth! Shit!"

    "Uhh, you wanna go back for your teeth?" I asked nicely.

    I really didn't want to think about the underwear thing.

    "No. Shit. The hell with my teeth! Just take me to the bank."

    So I got her to the bank. And I waited for her there. The thought crossed my mind to run for my life, of course. But she'd given me something like 10 bucks, and the meter was only at $4.

    Suddenly I hear her croaking "Here I am! I'm here, just a minute. Oohh, I'll be there in a second..."

    I crouched down as low in my seat as I could manage, and just braced for her to come back.

    "Ohh, thank you for waiting... you're such a sweet boy. Here, you need more money? Here you go." she said, and started throwing more bills through the shield.

    It wasn't just ones anymore either. There were a couple of fives and a ten in there this time.

    Apparently many of the drivers before me hadn't had the courage to stick it out.

    "Ohh, thank you so much! You're such a sweet boy. And so cute too." she went on for the whole drive back to her old folks home.

    "Christ, I can't believe I forgot my goddamned teeth! My underwear, hell, I knew I didn't have any underwear... but my goddamned teeth!"

    "Did you want some more candy, sweetie?"

    "Uhh, no, I'm good... thanks." I answered, ducking and crouching and leaning desperately to avoid the new handful of candy she'd fished out of her bra.

    "Are you sure sweetie?" she croaked again, as I pulled up in front of her old-folks-home.

    I'd made record time getting her back. I'd had to run two yellow lights to get there. Well, one of them might've technically been red.

    "Yeah, I'm sure." I answered, with a certainty that I couldn't recall the equal of.

    "Ohh, well... ok then. Here, here's some more money. Thanks again, doll. What's your name? I'll call for you the next time."

    "Uhh," I hesitated. I considered telling her my name was Mustafa... but then my eye caught the new 10 she'd thrown through the shield.

    "My name's Alex."

    "I'll see you later..." she croaked, winking at me.

    "Yeah..." I muttered, "Just please remember your underwear and teeth..."

    I doubt she heard me though, she'd already started croaking something at some poor old man coming out of the door of the home.

    What the hell was I supposed to do? I just shrugged, picked up the new ten she'd tossed me, popped a warm bite-sized Snickers into my mouth, and tried to ignore how dirty I suddenly felt.

 

 

  The Old Waybills

  there's No Place Like Home...

You gotta be shitting me Alex