 Poetic Justice Strikes -Alex Farr It's amazing, everytime I think that the cab business can't get any worse, it does. Steadily, worse and worse. I'm almost sick of all the reading I'm doing. I'm afraid I'm actually gonna run out of books worth reading, and then what am I gonna do? Of course, a cabbie still has to maintain some dignity. Put the fares in their place, from time to time... or else it's all over, and we might as well all start working retail. About a week or two ago I discovered that I'm not the only cabbie who thinks that way. I was just leaving from dropping someone off at the airport, a $30 dollar fare, with a little tip... and I was trying to think lucky. It's a great fare to get, but when you've waited an hour and a half at a cabstand to find it, and you're liable to wait another hour for the next fare, which is liable to be only $5, you start gambling a little more to see if you can't speed up the process. Well, I do anyway. So that's why I took the fare at 98th Ave and Holly from dispatch. It's a nasty neighborhood, but 98th is a fast moving boulevard, of sorts, and it runs right into the airport. Maybe I'd get lucky, it might even be some little old lady wanting to go to one of the hospitals clear on the other side of town... so I ran my little heart and cylinders out to get there. It was a section 8, HUD apartment complex. The scum of the city (5 times in 6 anyway). And, to make matters worse, I remembered driving somebody to the complex once before, and losing him when he hopped a fence and cut through a neighborhood park to get out of paying. Of course, there was the off chance that whoever came out would be willing to pay up-front, so I wouldn't have to tell him or her to fuck off. And I really could've used the money. Any money... So I honked, and tried to cajole dispatch into calling... and in no time, up rolls another cab. A quick conference confrimed our mutual suspicion. Dude was one of the cute ones, the ones that call several companies at the same time, and then take whatever cab shows up first. A neat trick to speed up your cab service, except that all the other cabs that don't make it are fucked out of any time that they've invested. And, the irony, is that we all know about the practice, as drivers... and in response most of us have developed our own cute little counter-tricks. My favorite is to take the call, and then just continue to wait at the cab stand if I have any doubts... or even just a funny feeling. Once I get a fare from the cabstand, assuming it doesn't take too long, and assuming it goes in even vaguely the same direction, then I go pick up the dispatch call after I've dropped off. That way, no matter what, I've at least gotten the one paying fare. Cute, huh? If the people actually call back, wondering where their cab is (which, in and around the nieghborhood of 98th, happens maybe 1 time in 4), then I will consider going right away. Or maybe not. It's a zen game of 'do you feel lucky, punk?', which I occasionally even win. And then there are the fine afternoons like the one in this story. "He called the both of us?" mutters the Veterans driver, "Forget it, I'm leaving...", and he does so. I just nodded, and then, over my right shoulder, I spotted the young gangsta (or playuh, or wannabe, or what have you), sauntering up the drive toward my cab... with just the hint of a smirk. Once the Veterans Cab was around the short corner in his direction, I just went ahead and pulled casually away in the other. With more than just a hint of a smirk. "Hey, I'm right here. Here!" the young man was calling out, soon yelling... waving his hand back and forth over his head, jumping up and down... I had to stop at the light at the far end of the block. I couldn't help wondering if he'd have the determination to make a run for it. I wasn't sure, if he was that desperate, if I'd be able to make myself turn him away. I did need the money, after all. And seeing him run a half a long block would've been satisfying in itself, too. It never came up. He took two steps in my direction by the time the light changed. Apparently he thought he was dealing with a McDonald's employee with a middle manager breathing down his neck... and thought I'd be coming back as soon as I realized my mistake. I just reached an arm out my window, waved back at him, and drove away. I ran into that Veterans driver about 10 minutes later, back at the BART train cabstand. He was happy to hear I'd left him too. We laughed and bullshitted about it for the next 45 minutes, until I finally got another fare. Justice isn't always cheap, I guess.the New Waybills there's No Place Like Home... You gotta be shitting me Alex |