Thursday-
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.
So, I was sitting at MacArthur BART. It was a slow day, and since I was driving a cab that was getting only about 6 miles to the gallon... which, at $1.899/ gallon, all straight out of my pocket, works out to be a day when I'm not much into just cruising around, enjoying the sun, the girls dressed for a sunny day, and watching my gas gauge plummet faster than Yahoo's stocks... So, I was sitting at MacArthur BART. Of course, so were a bunch of other cabs. And, anyone who's been reading my past rants will recall (Un-neighborhood watch) that there's a technical little law, in Oakland at least, prohibiting 'solicitation outside of a cabstand'. Well, I got busted. For anyone who hasn't read 'Un-neighborhood watch', well... no, in this particular case 'solicitation' doesn't mean offering sex for money. Not to say that being a cabbie isn't a whole lot like being a whore... In fact, I can't think of any other job that comes as close to being a cabbie as being a whore. The cab companies are little better than pimps, taking a piece of our action in exchange for handling the 'setting' for our work. While all the fees they pay are like kick-backs to the 'system', and the cops on the street are always out hassling us for yet more money. And, meanwhile, we're all out there, working the streets, or occasionally taking calls, looking to give a ride for a couple of bucks... Occasionally our 'riders', our fares, try to run out without paying up; or they get violent; they insist that they deserve a discount... and everyone treats us like scum, until they need us that is... and then its "hey baby, good to see you... what took you so long?" So anyway, I got busted. Solicitation is basically this. If there're 4 designated cab stands, like at Mac Arthur BART, and you're the fifth cab in the line-up, then you're soliciting. I was fifth in the line-up, and that merited a $200+ ticket. (Actually, the cop who wrote me up, he wasn't even sure how much the ticket runs. I get to wait for notice in the mail. I can't wait. And, no, his saying "I'm sorry", when he heard I was driving a cab getting 4 mpg & couldn't afford to just keep moving, it wasn't any sort of consolation.) The ticket's bad enough, but whenever the Oakland Taxi Detail pops one of us scumbag cabbies for anything, they give the cab an inspection. They don't care about things like whether the cab runs right, and they don't bother to inspect the brakes, or even ask about them... they check to see if the hubcaps match, and if there're any nicks in the paint. So, when they noticed that the back tires were different sized, and that one of the back doors of my cab didn't close completely unless you slammed it... well they took the cab off the streets. Which meant that they made me drive it back to the yard. Immediately. So, what about the $15 worth of gas that I'd paid for that was still in the tank? Well, the mechanics are using that up, taking the out of service cab to pick up coffee for themselves... "You're welcome..." So, I can't help wondering, what the fuck's the big goddammed deal if 5 cabs sit at the BART? I mean, if we overload the fucking place, we're the ones that're losing money. Right? What kind of capitalist country are we running here, anyway? When a businessman can't make his own decisions about when and where to market his service?... I mean, who the fuck does the city council think they are, that they can decide for me where I should sit or go?, I'm the one whose financial well-being, or lack thereof, hangs in the balance. I'm the one who's been working the streets professionally for years now. If I judge that there's no more business to be had elsewhere either, who the fuck are they to tell me that it's too bad, I can't just sit, conserve the gas that I have to pay for, and wait out the slow spell?... It ain't like the city's gonna kick down a little something for me in order to keep me moving around and serving the city's transportation needs. And they sure as hell ain't gonna guarantee a minimum wage to help a driver through a slow spell. But the city council has all the armed thugs on their payroll (ok, maybe not all the armed thugs... but enough), and they have the mandate of the people to extort money from the people. Ok, I'm sorry. I don't usually like rants like this. Political rants tend to make me a bit queasy. I suppose it was all the Hunter S. Thompson I was reading while I was soliciting... Forget about everything I've just said. Let's just accept that the city is right. Their legislation is the only way to ensure that those scumbag cabbies keep serving the city. Which is really the only thing any of us is good for. The only reason we're not all just rounded up and deported, or shot, or at the very least lobotomized and locked up... in the name of public safety. The important thing is that there be cabs everywhere a person looks. Available with a wave of the hand. And if no one feels like waving and paying them... well then let 'em starve. Who gives a shit anyway? And, why aren't there more of 'em out there anyway? Dodging between the thugs in black & blue uniforms, and the ones with the baggy pants? We need more legislation! Everyone with an accent should be forced to drive a cab! And all those ugly punk rockers too... and everyone on welfare too! Yeah, put 'em all behind a wheel! Oops, I'm doing it again. Sorry about that. So anyway, I got busted. And I drove my piece of shit cab back so the mechanics could use it for coffee runs. And I took another cab out (once you go in for the day, you don't have the option of cashing out early... you pay the full lease no matter what... so when the pimps in the office foist an even shittier cab on you, you take it). The new cab was fresh from inspection. It was shiny. Even the goddamn floors were shiny. That didn't mean that the transmission worked quite right, or that I could hear the dispatcher over the static of the radio. I didn't even care to look and see if there was a jack to go with the spare tire. The thing about going back out onto the streets after getting busted is that you're really not in a very good mood. Not very good at all. I barely said a word to a fare for the rest of the day. "Where you going?", and that was about it... except to tell them how much money they owed me. And, well, I really wasn't much in the mood to put any gas in the fucking car. I don't think I ever got it over a quarter tank. Not even when the dispatcher called me to give me an order going to SFO. She had to call me on the phone. I couldn't hear her over the dispatch radio. Of course, she could've just forgotten about me, and given the order to someone else. But, she knew I'd been busted, and she seemed to feel sorry for me. And besides, if I didn't make any money, how was she gonna get any 'tip' money from me. And besides, it was nearly 3pm, and most likely no other driver would take the order, since coming back to the East Bay from SFO at that time of day takes at least an hour... and that's all dead time... meaning I don't make a dime on it, I just burn gas sitting in bumper to bumper traffic. Whoopy! But I was looking for a chance to get out of town, and I took it. "So, how're you doing today?" asked the nice lady, as she came out of the high rent high-rise with a big smile on her face and several pieces of luggage in tow. "Don't ask." "Ok..." So I loaded her crap into the sparkling trunk. (that was another thing I got written up for by the cops, the trunk needed to be cleaned... it still had some needles left in it from a Christmas tree I'd loaded in for some lady out in East Oakland... I guess I'm supposed to spring for a trunk vacuuming once a week or something- which means I'm gonna have to charge people a 'trunk vacuuming fee' of, say, $15 if they wanna put anything messy in my trunk... and if they don't like it, then they can fuck off. Kind of like the little old ladies who try to climb out of the car when I'm parked even a few inches over the red zone of a bus stop... I just gotta keep moving, and if they get dragged along the pavement for 20 yards because they're too clumsy to climb back in... well, it's better than getting another $250 'parking in a bus zone' ticket... and that's what insurance is for... and what the hell were they doing getting out of the car before I told them it was alright, anyway...) So, I loaded her luggage into my sparkling trunk, confirmed she wanted to go to SFO ( you can only trust dispatch so far...), and put the car into gear. As I climbed the on-ramp to the freeway, the gas guage needle dipped low enough to caress the 'E'. I just shrugged, and climbed up to about 60. It evened out at about 1/8 of a tank. It'd probably be enough. As long as the car got at least 10mpg. And there was maybe a reserve tank below the 'E'. What'd I know. I hadn't driven the fucking car for over a year. For all I knew, It got 2mpg... So I just lit a cigarette, and drove nice-and-easy. She gave me a tip, as I helped toss her shit out of my trunk onto the curb at the new International Terminal. So, I splurged and got $3 worth of the $1.999 gas at the first stop on the way back, and drove nice-and-easy all the way back. That's right, none of those sudden bursts of acceleration to cut people off and change lanes in the bumper to bumper traffic. I made it back, and went back to working the MacArthur BART stand. My second fare wanted to go to a convalescent hospital on MacArthur, between Harrison and Grand. There was a traffic light out along the way though, so we sat for maybe 15 minutes trying to get past Kaiser. It was more than I'd counted on, and going up the hill toward the Chetwood overpass, the car started sputtering. "Well, looks like I may have taken a bit too much of a gamble on my gas..." I warned my fare. She was a cute little Fillipina. She was young, and she looked fit. What the hell did I care?, I'd gotten her to within a long block of where she wanted to go... she could walk the rest of the way. It didn't come to that though. All my training and professionalism paid off... well, ok... I've never had any training, and if I had any professionalism, it never would've come to that. But, like a soldier in the Polish Army, an Oakland cab driver learns to improvise, adapt, and even occasionally even manages to 'overcome'. Which is what I did. I reached out with every bit of every sense I had, and I became 'one' with my cab. When it coughed and sputtered, I let off... when it seemed ok, I gave it a bit more. I nursed it a lot like I nurse myself on those mornings when I'm suffering a hangover and trying to chain smoke with a fever... and I crawled my way through the traffic... and I delivered her to where she wanted to go. And, most importantly, I collected her money. She even tipped me. Fuck if I know what she was thinking. Maybe she was dazzled by my prodigious display of driving chicanery. Or maybe she was just so relieved not to have to do any walking on her first ever visit to Oakland that she opened up her purse to show her gratitude. Or maybe she just felt sorry for me. I just had to make it 2 more blocks to get to a gas station. Through heavy traffic. As I rolled through the second light, the car died on me. Long hours of experience quickly kicked in, and I slid the car into neutral, preserving momentum and trying the engine again. By the time the cars behind me (and there were an awful lot of them) realized what was happening and started honking, the engine turned over for me. It ran smoothly for another 20 yards, enough to reach the drieway of the gas station, and then cut out again. 2 more tries, and I managed to get it running again, for just long enough to idle up to an open pump. I felt like a God. "$3 on 17, and a receipt." I told the guy in the bullet-proof kiosk, "And buzz the bathroom for me." A couple of minutes later, I was back on the road. An order came up on the dispatch radio, just barely audible over the static. I still had another hour of paid for time, so, rather than be sensible and just limp the piece of shit cab back to the cab-yard, I took the order. "Oakland Airport." answered Dude, once he'd climbed in. "Sure." I answered, not even bothering to look at the gas gauge. So I ran him out to the airport, and collected some more money, lit another cigarette, and headed back toward the Coliseum BART. The cabstand was full. "Shit shit shit shit..." I chanted to myself, trying to decide if I had the guts to risk another solicitation ticket the same day. I'd never seen the cops come around and hassle drivers around rush hour for solicitation, but then again, I'd been hassled here at the Coliseum BART for solicitation once before (see 'Un-neighborhood watch')... I'd managed to talk my way out of that ticket, but there was no way I'd pull it off again. I didn't have the guts. I had another cigarette. At that point death didn't scare me, and I was almost looking forward to the prospect of getting some of my money's worth back out of the state in the way of un-paid-for-by-me medical expenses... And, meanwhile, I headed on down the line toward Fruitvale BART. At Fruitvale BART there was actually a line of fares looking for taxis. For the first time, ever, the thought crossed my mind that maybe, just maybe, the fuckers on the city council really did earn their pay. I quickly dismissed it as a fluke though, and asked Dude where he was headed. "56th & Bancroft." "No sweat..." And then, dispatch came on again. There was somebody looking for a cab just off Fairfax and Foothill... maybe 4 blocks from where I was dropping off. I was back in the 'zone'. Luck was with me again. Dude wanted to stop at a liquor store first though. 'No sweat,' I figured, 'the fuck's at Foothill & Fairfax can wait...' Only thing was, Dude had lived in San Diego for too long, so he didn't want to deal with any of the Mexican run stores around Fruitvale... It's not an uncommon sort of syndrome... A person deals with 'too many' Mexicans, and there're an awful lot of 'em in San Diego, and he/she either gets to know and love them, or gets to know and hate 'em. I'd seen it before, blacks in Oakland having to deal with 'too many' Arabs running liquor stores (no one who hasn't been to the Middle East, or who doesn't have Middle Eastern blood, even thinks to make the distinction between Iranians, and Arabs... let alone between Ethiopians, Syrians, Lebanese, etc. ...), liberal white folk dealing with 'too many' black folk by living in Oakland, etc. I'd seen it before, so I didn't say too much about it... despite the fact that I really love Mexico. So, instead, we went poking around along Bancroft, looking for a liquor store in the more predominantly black nieghborhoods. There weren't many businesses still operating around there though. The first couple that we found didn't have beer either, which Dude blamed on their being 'Mexican markets, too'. The third try was the charm though, and because I was such a cool cat, he gave me one of his MGDs and a bag of pork rinds. And a $5 tip. If I'd been more professional, I'd've gone a couple of blocks out of my way and spent some of that on more gas before picking up the next fare. If I'd been smart, I wouldn't've even've bothered to go... I'd've just left them hanging in the breeze, like so many fares do to the cabs they call. But, no. I figured they were probably just headed back to the Fruitvale BART. And, they weren't too far out of my way to give it a shot... and I'd probably have enough gas to pull it off. Dude, once he finally came out, with his 2 little girls, decided he wanted to go to 107th Ave. & 'C' St. We made it as far as 73rd Ave. & E. 14th. The meter was at $9, but I just told Dude he could give me $5, and he could flag himself down another cab, or, if he couldn't find one, I'd take him the rest of the way once I'd hiked my way to a gas station with the little gas can I found in the trunk (a minor miracle that the mechanics hadn't stolen the thing)... and I wouldn't even charge him for the down time while I went to get gas. "$5, man... this is an inconvenience... and I helped you push the car around that corner out of the way of traffic... how about you make it $4?..." He was right, more or less, so I figured 'what the hell', and gave him back $16 change from the $20 he handed me. I found another cab within a block, and flagged him down. For myself. I didn't wanna have to walk all the way to Bancroft, just because I was too much of an idiot to stop for gas... He was a Friendly driver. Which wasn't to say he was friendly, instead he was severe and self-righteous just like most all of the Nigerian drivers around town are. But he didn't run the meter on me, and he wouldn't take the $5 I offered him either. "No, take your $5, and if you ever see me in that position, you stop to help me." "Right on..." was all I said. Hell, I do that sort of shit anyway... I can't even count on one hand all the times I've swung by to give a driver a jump, or taken them to get some gas, or rescued them so they wouldn't have to sit and wait an hour for the company tow-truck to make the 10 minute drive to rescue them... It was odd to experience reciprocation though. Stunning really. As we stopped across the red light from where my cab was dead in the water, I noticed a Porsche with its hazards on parked behind. It was like something out of a recurring bad dream I have. Something goes wrong with my car, and I go to get gas or call a tow truck or whatever, and when I get back, the car's been stripped. No, really... I have that dream a lot. Too much time in Oakland maybe... Before we could get through the light, the Porsche raced off. By the time the light turned green, I had my story for the company half straight... I'd tell them it just died on me. I wasn't sure if it was the gas or not, and when I got back with some gas, it was like 'this'... And, if the car was stripped, well, hell... they couldn't prove it was my fault... What the fuck did I care then? It wasn't my car. When I got back though, the car hadn't been touched. The guys in the Porsche hadn't even stolen the MGD that I'd left on the seat, despite the windows all being open. Not that I'd've cared if they would've. It wasn't whiskey... So I waved to my Friendly Nigerian rescuer, and I poured as much of the $1.42 worth of gas that I'd managed to get into the can into the tank as I could, and I headed back toward the cab-yard. Of course, on the way, I had to pass back by the Coliseum BART. And, there weren't any cabs at the stand. I just thank the Gods that there weren't any people standing there looking for a cab. The way I felt, I might well have stopped for them, dragged their asses by a gas station to wait while I got gas, assuming I figured they were going far enough that I couldn't get away with not getting more gas... and then I might've eventually gotten around to taking them where they wanted to go. The Oakland cab driving industry is no place for professional behavior. Hell, even after the cost of gas, and the discount, I made $2.58 off that last poor soul and his 2 little girls...
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