 Thursday, I think 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. Now I know it's starting to seem like most
of the lunatics I see actually call for their cabs. I guess it's just
because Oakland doesn't have much in the way of people flagging down cabs
on the streets... though that does happen too. Occasionally. Anyway, I took the order. I cruised over, and, as usual, I got a guy coming out and saying "Hold on a minute, I got some stuff I gotta load into the car..." It was a lazy, sunny afternoon, and I'd just come from the nearest cabstand... and I wasn't in any hurry to go back and wait behind the six cabs that were there when I'd left. So I popped the trunk, and got out to stretch my legs. I'd parked behind a Jag with a 'for sale' sign on it, and it just so happened that my personal, ex-cop car was up for smog testing in a couple of months. I'm one of those people who's never actually owned a car that could pass a smog test with less than 2 days of tinkering and tweaking by a mechanic beforehand... so I had my eyes open for other possibilities. The thought of picking up a car with a little class crosses my mind every once in a while. It usually just passes though, though. This particular Jag was for sale for $900 dollars. It was tempting. I could come up with $900. Sure, something had to be wrong with it... but in this neighborhood there was always the possibility that it was just something that would run maybe $300, and whoever it belonged to just didn't have the money... Of course, with my luck it wold be problems with passing smog. It was probably a gross polluter... The window was down though. I could open her up, climb in... Luckily, Dude came out before I succumbed to the temptation. He had a computer hard drive under one arm, and a fax/phone in the other hand. Being a gentleman, and realizing that a man with a hard drive and a fax may actually be willing to tip, I gave him a hand. "Cool, thanks, I just have a couple more things..." said the guy with a smile. "No problem..." I answered, nodding. As he headed back into the house, I wandered back around and turned on the meter. He seemed cool enough, but business is business. As he came out the second time, this time with a monitor in his arms, he was followed by a woman. She only followed as far as a step out the door though, where she stopped and yelled "Yeah, that's right... you get out of my house, faggot! That's why you can't get it up, cause you a faggot! You no good faggot! You probably wanna suck the cab driver's dick too!..." Dude just rolled his eyes, shrugged it off, and said to me "Just ignore her. She's just mad she ain't gonna get no more money out of me..." "Money?", she suddenly yelled out, "You ain't got no money, faggot! Hell, you probably gonna suck the driver's dick to pay the fare! You hear that driver?, you better watch out! He gonna suck your dick!" It was too much for Dude. He turned around and yelled back "Yo, why don't you shut your mouth, bitch?" "Shut my mouth?! Whadda you gonna do about it, faggot? You like to suck young boys cocks?! You ain't no man ! You ain't gonna do nothin'!" He just stared at her for a second. He seemed to be getting one of those Clint Eastwood tics around the eye... but then he took a deep breath, and turned to me. "Man, I gotta get out of here or I'm gonna kill her..." I could see his point. Unfortunately, the poor bastard had one more load of stuff inside... I stood and watched and lit a cigarette as he went back inside. I felt sorry for him, but I wasn't gonna risk losing my temper with the bitch and hitting her myself... she was that annoying. As I stood and waited, she tried to explain to me that she'd caught him trying to molest her son... how I'd better watch out or he'd jump on me and try to rape me... and that he was a cock-sucker in general. I just stared at her, and tried to keep from telling her that if he was, it was probably because it was a better alternative than having anything to do with her skanky ass... Dude was in a hurry now... but as he came out, she rushed him... "Ohh no, you ain't taking that!" They wrestled on the porch for a second... and Dude lost whatever it was that she was so intent on keeping for herself. He got away with some cords, a keyboard, and what looked like a ZIP drive though. He just tossed it all in the trunk, and breathlessly said "Fuck it, let's just get out of here." "I hear that..." was all I could say. We were gone in under 30 seconds. "Yeah, that's right!... Get the hell out of here, faggot!" she yelled after us. "Can you believe that bitch?" he muttered, between deep breaths. Now, I usually try to refrain from making judgements where disputes involving my fares are concerned. Fares involved in disputes often want a cab driver to play Red Cross, and do charity work for them... which is all well and nice, but it doesn't pay the bills. Which means I usually just keep my eyes open and try to stay neutral when these scenes flare up... but in this case, the way Dude had kept his cool had convinced me he was on the level. Out in the neighborhoods, I'd long since noticed that people who're trying to pull some shit usually cover it with long winded, top of the lung shouting about how they were right... about how the world was wrong, and trying to wrong them... This guy was just quietly trying to ignore her as she went through all the usual crap of the routine. "No," I answered "I can't. So... where you wanna get away to?" For once, I might've actually considered giving a guy a break... and the irony is, the people that I end up judging as deserving are the ones who won't ask. I guess they're the ones that feel like they've been fucked over, and don't like it, and don't want to fuck anyone else over. I can relate to those people. Mostly. "Mmmm, I guess I gotta pawn my stuff. You know somewhere I can pawn that stuff?" "The only place I know is down on 35 th and E. 14th... unless you know someplace closer..." I told him. "No, that sounds good... Hey, partner, you think you could wait while I pawn it, and then take me to the bus station?" "No problem." It was the least I could do. So, as I hopped on the freeway, he told me something of his story. It could've made HBO. He'd been with that woman, off and on, for nearly 10 years. He'd given her, over the years, somewhere between 10 and 20 thousand dollars, which she'd blown on crack, crank, blow, weed, and booze... not to mention to buy the house I'd picked him up at. Only thing is, the house was in the woman's sister's name, and they didn't want him anywhere near the place. Apparently, the sister was on section 8, which meant that she could qualify for some ultra-cheap government loan to buy a house... so Dude's woman had gotten the money from him, turned around and given to the sister, who'd used it to pay the downpayment for the house... which was thus in the sister's name. So now the sister lived there, and did under the table babysitting work, while collecting welfare money to use to pay off the ultra-cheap loan, and keep the house. Meanwhile, Dude's woman, who apparently worked in some office or other of the Oakland City bureaucracy (probably Housing & Urban Development, from where she can arrange to get her sister the inside track on any grants, loans, or other such programs), and she and her son (not by Dude) lived in the house too... and since the welfare paid for the rent, Dude's woman could spend her money on crack, crank, blow, weed, and booze for herself and her sister... And when Dude made the mistake of buying her jewelry, engagement rings, what have you... well they could pawn those too. And, when Dude got pissed about it... well this Woman was apparently a computer jockey in whatever office it was that she worked in, and she figured out how to hack into Dude's email... and she sent out emails to everyone he knew, from his account, telling them all that he liked to molest little boys... that he was on crack... and all sorts of other shit. And, when that didn't shut him up, she apparently called the cops and lied that he'd beaten her up... and had him tossed in jail. And, as if all that wasn't enough, a couple of years back she apparently stabbed him. He'd gone into the hospital... and he'd lost one of his kidneys in the deal. And, as if that wasn't enough, apparently the Jag out front of the house belonged to Dude, and when he'd started talking about getting the hell out of there, his Woman had gotten hold of the keys, torn out half the wiring, and broken the key off in the ignition. Then she forged his name on the pink slip, and signed the car over to herself... and now she was selling it out from under him. To raise money for more crack, crank, blow, weed, and booze. "Holy shit!" I was thinking to myself, once I'd gotten him to the pawn shop. I'd had to double park on E. 14th , which is a VERY major boulevard, right before a bus stop, to wait for him. Cars were honking, people were yelling about what an asshole I was as they finally managed to cut into traffic to get around me, even the fucking bus drivers stopped as they pulled by me, their doors open, to lecture me about blocking traffic. "Yeah, so fucking what?! You do it every day, so shut the fuck up!" I told the condescending, self-righteous bus driver. If they didn't leave the ass ends of their busses blocking traffic at every stop, just for their own convenience, I might've had some sympathy. Hell, if they didn't want to get out of the flow of traffic to stop, they could let me use their fucking bus zone to pull over, and everybody would be happy! Only there are sheriffs around town whose whole job is to hand out $250 tickets to people who get in the way of bus driver's who don't actually pull out of traffic into the bus zones anyway. So fuck him... And besides, if even half of what this guy had told me was true... He'd earned a shorter walk. He came out a couple of times to reassure me he hadn't taken off or anything. He just had to wait while the pawnshop guys tested everything to make sure it worked... "No problem..." I assured him, occasionally flipping someone off as they cursed me for an asshole and threatened to beat the living shit out of me. Eventually he got it all sorted out, and we were off to the bus station downtown. He had something like 5 hours to kill before the bus left... but he was out of that woman's house. He'd lost shitloads dealing with her, but he was ready to just walk away. Hell, he'd be a fool to go back... I collected the fare, and agreed. "Yeah, you'd be a fool to go back." Then I popped the trunk, gave him back the backpack loaded with the last of his personal possessions, which he'd left while he was inside the pawnshop... and wished him luck. After all, I wasn't gonna let him out of the cab for 15-20 minutes at a time without some collateral.
You gotta be shitting me Alex... |