Yet More Shiny Toothed Amusements
-Alex Farr
 

    It was yet another holiday season, yet another time of giving... Only, somehow out here on the streets, it seems to be more like the time of taking, than giving (though I suppose that depends on which side of the short change you stand...). And, with that in mind, I give you yet another holiday season story.

    It was mid-November, and, being California, sunny and warm.  I was sitting, bored, at a cabstand... reading one of the less good books I'd found at the local half-price used bookstore, an s-f piece of crap from the mid sixties that ran me 35 cents. I don't remember what it was, and it doesn't really matter... it was something I could afford. Something to do. I was bored, remember?

    Suddenly, I catch sight of a bouncy young African American gentleman sort of bunny-hopping his way across the Fruitvale BART station parking lot in my direction. But, they often do that, so I don't really pay him much attention... until he actually opens the door, hops in, and tells me "Yo, dawg... let's bounce. 27th and Foothill."

    While his ultra-hip demeanor is certainly intriguing, it's really not the sort of intrigue he's probably hoping for. Or, maybe it is. It's hard to be sure. Especially speaking as a more-than-a-little-bit-of-a-punk myself. So, I put my paperwork back into my book to mark my page (gods forbid I should have to read any of my crappy book more than once...) and give a quick glance into the rearview to asses my new customer.

    I'm greeted with a view of a mouth full of gold teeth, and the rest of the usual uniform of the gangsta wannabe. Hmm...

    "Yeah, you got it partner... I'll just need five bucks up-front."  I respond, not even bothering yet to reach for the ignition.

    "What?" answers my young ghetto hipster.

    "Five bucks. I just need five bucks up front, and I'd be happy to take you."  I repeat, for the benefit of the educationally dis-advantaged. (Remember, I had done some teaching in Oakland schools... and this kid was obviously one of their products... or maybe even should've been in school at that very moment.)

    "Yo, what? Just because I'm black I gotta pay you?"

    For the moment, I decided not to correct him on his grammar or sentence structure. Hell, I wasn't being paid to educate the fool... although I wasn't gonna drive him either, unless I was sure I was gonna be paid for it. "Well, no..." I answered, not feeling like explaining, quite yet, my theory about the new cab-fare-jumping sport... "It's because you got gold teeth and the whole "playuh" thing going on... and I'm not in the mood to be played. So, five bucks, up-front..."

    It was as far as I got in my explanation. The little fuck was absolutely livid. "What??!! Just because I'm black I gotta pay?? Yo, man... fuck you. I'll get another cab, and fuck you!!" he bellowed, and climbed back out of the cab, and slammed the door shut like I cared if he broke it... and he stormed his way to the next cab in the line.

    There were at least four more behind me. November isn't necessarily a busy month for us any more. My guess is that turkey prices had gone up as quickly as our rents... though I wouldn't know about that for sure... since the best I can afford is another chicken.

    Luckily I'm not too particular about my holiday festivities, as long as there's whiskey to be had.

    In any case, this particular day I was in for a show. As I watched him storm his way to the cab behind me, I realized who it was driving the cab. Now, I don't know his name... though I've been bullshitting with him for a couple of years now at that same cabstand... somehow the Indian drivers have a way of speaking even less comprehensibly when telling their names than when just trying to bullshit in a foreign (for them) language. Their talent for pronouncing what must be a 10 syllable name in 3 syllables worth of breath can be mind boggling... but in this case I knew that Dude (as I refer to most other drivers collectively, or 284, if I wanna be more specific in this case)... Dude was even less tolerant of the sort of attitude this kid was throwing around than I am.

    Sure enough, as I watched in the rearview, I saw the kid climb into the cab... and then, when Dude wasn't immediately underway (because, as I knew, he wouldn't be immediately swayed by the obvious argument that I was an asshole... knowing me, and knowing that I was usually only an asshole when it was called for)... I got to watch the young gangsta wannabe that also wanted to be treated with Middle Class understanding and respect gesticulate madly, in a ( I knew in advance) vain attempt to convince a guy I knew that I was a horrendous, racist asshole.

    If I could've read his lips, it would've gone something like this (though it's really not necessary, since one thing I've learned as a washed-out sub. is that the ignorant of a neighborhood mostly all speak in nearly identically vague terms, relating vaguely identical ideas thereby, since without a large enough vocabulary people don't seem to be able to actually formulate precise enough thoughts to actually come up with any original thoughts)... "Yo, that muthah fuckin racist mothah fuckah... he won' take me where I'm goin'... the white cracker mother fuckuh... Man, he's just a racist asshole bitch! You know, I just gotta get to 27th and Foothill man... fuck that muthuh fuckuh, I wanna ride with you, man. He's an asshole."

    Of course, that's just a guess. The 'Muthuh fuckuh's could've come out as 'cock suckuh's, or 'faggit ass bitch'es... and there were probably a couple more 'bitch'es inserted here and there... but that was most likely the gist.

    The funny part, for me, was watching the gesticulations, knowing what he was saying, more or less... and most of all, knowing the reaction of my Indian buddy. 284's got even less tolerance for the ghetto attitudes around town than me... And, sure enough, next thing I saw was the poor little ghetto wannabe, with his gold teeth of stature, throwing a bill through 284's open shield window at him... in frustrated rage at how little respect he was getting in... his community.

    Even the ghetto intellectuals I've run across seem to think the community BELONGS to them, just because they rent there. It's a curious phenomena. Maybe it's just an Oakland thing, legacy of the Black Panthers and the Black Muslims, I don't know... but it's a very real issue... in their minds at least.

    Indian cab drivers don't buy into it though. So, while I giggled in the car ahead, my friend behind casually picked up the bill, handed it back to the young self-important gold-toothed dude... and obviously suggested he try his luck elsewhere. In fact, he'd explained his philosophy on the matter of the hot headed ghetto youth to me so many times, I could even hear his exact words, in his exact accent  "My friend, I don' have to take you anywhere... Here, take your money an' fin' anot'er cab."

    Needless to say, the poor young kid, with all that money invested in dental gold, didn't take it well.  He jumped out of 284, and huffed his way back across the parking lot, screaming at the top of his lungs "Wha'? A fucking black man can' ge' no fuckin' cab?? Won' no one take a black man 'less he pays??!! You racist bitches!... Fuck you all y'all!!"

    I couldn't help smirking... and, since my windows were nearly all the way down, it being an Oakland November, I just called back out to him "Yo, man... I just wanted five bucks up front..."

    He was too full of righteous indignation to answer me though. He just stormed away across the parking lot, to show us all by walking where he wanted to go.

    I was in the middle of wondering whether he expected McDonald's to give him his food before paying, too... when a nice little Mexican woman came up to my door.

    "Excuse, please. Can you take me to Foothill and 28?" she asked, looking hopeful.

    The attitude was all the difference. "Why sure, hop in..."  I answered... and off we went.

    She hadn't told me what to do, she'd asked. And she hadn't gone out of her way to look like a tough, only to act indignant at the way it left her being treated... it's all in how the fare carries him/her self...  hell, other cab drivers often ask ME for deposits, since us punks can't be trusted, generally, either... but I give them because that's the business, and since it just comes with the territory of my neurotic carryovers of my youth.

    Of course, the funniest part was that Dude's racial histrionics, and my not playing along, had only cost me about 2 minutes of my time... before I found a fare headed to nearly the exact same place. Usually I have to suffer small financial dings in order to put the assholes in their place, but sometimes it's no more than a spot of amusement...

    Sometimes my job is alright...



 the New Waybills

 there's No Place Like Home...

You gotta be shitting me Alex