Taxi Vignettes

I don't scare easily, after all I am a taxi driver. I do spend a good deal of time in or around airports though, and there is a new fear or caution that lurks in the back of my mind.

I was at SFO in the baggage claim area for American Airlines when I noticed a man staring at my Yellow Cab badge. He set a black bag down at my feet and said, "I'll be back." (Without the accent) as he turned and sprinted up the stairs.

The man didn't look like a cold-blooded terrorist. He was tall, thin, a dressed in blue jeans and t-shirt 30ish good-looking black man. After what were only a few minutes that felt longer, he returned; removed his backpack and placed it next to the bag. Again he went upstairs.

I did not appreciate being an unwilling accomplice to a possibly explosive situation, but he didn't look like a bad guy. Did he?

I had just about had it with the guy, and was about to walk away when he reappeared.
Digging into the backpack, he pulled out a small black computer. He set it on a chair, grabbed his other stuff and walked around the corner leaving me to go up in flames.

No loud boom and I didn't vaporize. Suddenly standing next to me, he said in a soft nearly inaudible voice, "Thanks" as he left for the last time with his final possession.

Why hadn't I said something to begin with? Why didn't I tell him, "Sorry, but you can't do that." I need to get over being polite, because the next time might be...might be the last time.

Last night at 8:04pm I was just about to do a bad, bad thing - eat. Parked well into the drive-thru lane at an In-N-Out Burger, getting the $2.15 ready, the cab began to shake. Something was very wrong. Stuck in a drive-thru up near SFO...the trouble I would be in!!! I would miss the flight that was due in soon. Even worse, I would have totally messed up the burger orders. Boy, was I glad when I realized it was ONLY an earthquake.*

*The Calaveras Fault produced this magnitude-5.6 quake. It did no serious damage if you don't count the damage done to our shaky sense of safety.

Body Worlds 2 & The Three Pound Gem exhibit is in San José at The Museum of Innovation. I was asked by the Body Worlds people to do a pick up at SFO. The three men would be coming to California from Germany, and only one of the three gentlemen spoke a a bit of English.

At 7:30pm there I was at SFO, standing at the bottom of the escalator holding a sign with the three names, waiting for my customers. My imagination was conjuring up a vision of Albert Einsteins, so when two young guys resembling rock stars pointed at the sign, I thought they must be pointing to someone behind me. They indicated who they were by pointing to their names. The third guy? Somehow they managed to convey that their co-traveler was coming in later.

I directed them to carousel number two and excused myself. The lady in the baggage claim office entered the third guy's name into her computer and told me "Yes" he would be in at 10:30pm.

What, oh what, was I going to do with two young guys that had no idea how far away (40-miles) San Jose was. Standing in baggage claim with their bags on a cart, while I was making eating motions I asked if they were hungry.

Big smiles. One said, "Hamburgers?" I said, "Yes, hamburgers." The other one said, "McDonald's?" I said, "IN-N-OUT." I made like I was turning a steering wheel and said, "Let's drive." They echoed, "Let's drive!"

It took only about 20 minutes for them to order and scarf down two burgers each. Back in the taxi I suggested we go to a store. I heard, "A salon?" Oh dear. I drove them over to the nearest Longs. As soon as I pulled up, they bound out of the cab. I'm not sure what kind of 'salon' they were referring to, but Longs was a hit.

One of the fellows took off to the food isle, as the other guy started acting like a monkey. It hit me - he wanted deodorant.

With only thirty minutes left, I was waiting in a parking lot with two Germans, a bag of Otis Spunkmeyer's premium muffins, Evian bottled water, and deodorant. I had
reconciled myself for a long thirty minutes when I heard the cellophane rattle of the muffin wrapper. Ah for crumbs sake! I started the cab - I wanted to get the guy that got hung up, and get back to San Jose!

I got the three German lads to the hotel in San Jose at almost midnight. I found out the next day they would be setting up the bodies of Body Worlds.

I was in a turn lane at the airport waiting for the cement truck in front of me to go. I needed to get into the passenger pick up area of terminal C, but the guy wasn't turning even though he could have done so safely several times. I was just about to lay on the horn, when he jumped down. Walking back to me holding a clipboard, I figured he was going to let me in on some mechanical problem, he came up to my window. Mr.Cement pointed to a piece of paper and asked, "Do you know the way to terminal B?" I wanted to ask him if I looked like I wouldn't know. The thing is a humongous piece of 'how could anyone miss it' construction, but I just said, "Sure."

As I was explaining the route, I could see the panic expressed on his face, I knew he was lost. Plan B - He jumped at my suggestion to escort him over to the new terminal. It was not an easy task to pull ourselves back into traffic. I worried that his big truck might not fit under some of the obstacles we would encounter, so it took ingenuity on my part to get the big guy there without major damage to his truck or a structure. We went places we had no business going.

When we came up to a traffic light, that is only used for the work trucks, I motioned for him to stop. I was blocking traffic but I had to get one of the hard hats over to me. After some horn honking a guy finally came over. "Hi, I have a cement truck for you." The man almost kissed the hood of my cab saying, "We have been waiting for it, thanks." He manually switched the light to green and pointed the cement truck though. The trucker gave ma a thank you toot- toot.

I took my good deed points and got myself back for my incoming customers as fast as the speed limit would allow.

After I had helped my fare up to the curbside check-in at the San Francisco airport, I was walking back to the taxi when I spotted them. Them being music cases. The kind of cases that say, "real band."

The real band was Spearhead. I asked Michael Franti where their next performance would be, and he said that they were off to Asheville, North Carolina.

This morning the couple in the backseat were discussing what they were going to do when they arrived in Mexico. I tuned them out and listened to the dispatcher giving some driver heck about not wanting the call that he had been given.

We were still miles away from the airport, I was doing my best to maneuver through traffic safely, the dispatcher had gotten over his rant, and I began to tune back in to the couple's conversation.

The woman was asking her husband a question and his reply was, "What?". She then repeated the question. Every time she either asked a question or made a statement, his reply was the same thing. What-What-What. She acted as if this was a normal response. She didn't seem to be gritting her teeth or pulling her hair out, but I was.

It was driving me crazy. I thought just maybe if I asked her some questions, she would stop talking to Mr.What until we got to the airport. I asked things like, "Where are you and your husband going, and what is the weather like there?". We were on the airport grounds, but I still needed about three more minutes to get them to American Airlines. I hate to ask women if they work, because all women work, but I was running out of material. I asked, "Do you work?".

What happened next made me really glad this long strange trip was at its end. I had asked her the question about her working. She said that because her husband was a dentist she could afford to stay home. At first I just thought how nice for them. Then it hit me! Crikey, a dentist that couldn't hear. I started thinking about being in the chair with all that dental equipment in my mouth, and this guy asking me a question.

I heard, "Cabbie, Cabbie!". "What?". I had almost driven past American.

The man in the back seat of my taxi was so interesting to talk with I hated to see the trip come to an end. On the ride up to San Francisco airport we talked about his business, a shoe company, based in China. I asked a lot of questions about his life in Shanghai, air pollution, and the Internet. I asked if he felt the "freedom" when he was in California. After a long pause, "Yes, I do." He told me that everything that was sent on his computer, personal or at work, was filtered. I told him that my government, the U.S. Department of State, had paid a visit or two to my site. I didn't mind because they were just doing their job. I told him if I posted a story about the "Big Box" they would most likely pay me another visit. After he paid for the trip, he asked for my card saying, "On my next trip to America I will bring you some yellow Crocs." I hope he does 'cause I have been wanting some of those funny looking shoes.

Last night at the San Francisco Airport, my passengers (they were returning from Hawaii) and I were up on parking level 5 with two carts stacked high with three large bags, two large duffel bags, two small bags and little carry-on stuff and a computer bag. As I was starting to open up the back of the taxi, and wondering how all this sh-t was going to fit, the woman says, "Is that Tommy Lee?"

Around noon, on Monday the 6th of February, I was at Norman Y. Mineta San Jose International Airport, better known as San Jose Airport, to pick up one of my taxi customers. I was feeling unusually nervous. My fare? NFL Ref Bill Leavy.

I knew he had several pieces of luggage so I found a cart and met him inside baggage claim. As we waited by the carousal, I asked him a few noncontroversial questions about the game.

"What did you do at half time?"

"We (the refs) sat in a room. I didn't go out and watch Mick."

"Did you get to keep the coin used for the toss?"

"No, the NFL keeps it."

"Do you have your Super Bowl Ring yet?"

"No, but it will come."

I was at the Norman Y. Mineta San Jose International Airport to pick up a taxi customer. (I'll just call him Justice Smith) Mr. Smith is a retired California State Supreme Court Justice. I had never met him before so I was holding up 'the sign' with his name like the Limo guys do.

While I waited a man wearing a long overcoat and dark shades, walked by me and very quietly whispered, "Smith." He then came back and asked, “Would that be Edward Smith?” I told him, "Well, yes it would be." He said, “The Justice?” "Yes", I told him that Justice Smith was indeed the person I was there to pick up.

Mr. Overcoat said he would wait there with me for he wished to speak with the Justice. Oh, that was just great. Me and my big mouth! I'm thinking who is this guy? Is he friend or foe? What might he be concealing under that coat, and why the dark glasses at night?

We stood there until he slowly reached into his coat and came out with a...a pen. Asking, "May I?” he took my sign, wrote a note on it; turned and left.

Eventually a man comming down the escalator saw my sign and gave me a wave of acknowledgement. I quickly introduce myself to the Justice and we begin to walk out to the taxi stand.

Getting up my nerve I told him about the mystery man, and handed him the note. As I was making up some lame apology, he smiled and assured me everything was fine.

Once settled in the taxi, the Justice filled me in. Mr. Scoppettone was a dear friend of his, and an accomplished artist. He lives on a 24-acre estate, in the mountains above Santa Cruz, California. Alfred Hitchcock formerly owned the acreage, which may help explain why the artist has an air of mystery about him.

Today I was at the airport to pick up one of my regular riders a National Football League Ref. (They are getting ready for next season.)

I am parked in the taxi area and I can hear some very loud music coming from up in the near by parking garage. Suddenly this little short guy, who is not as tall as I am, (I'm 5' 4") starts climbing the stairs screaming in a very loud shrill voice. SHUT UP!!! SHUT UP!!! and some things that were totally unintelligible. The loud music stopped.

A few minutes later he came back down and walked out to a white car parked illegally at the exit booth. I thought he was just not happy about the music and was leaving. But he started to walk towards us screaming again and I'm thinking where is that cop when you need one thoughts. He walked past us and out of sight but he could be heard still yelling and yelling.

I'm wishing Bill, the ref, would hurry and get out to the taxi so we could get out of there, when I see an airport maintenance truck coming. I flagged him over and told him about the screamer. Soon two cops were at his (the screamers) car and then the screamer appeared. My customer came out to the taxi so I didn't get to see how it was resolved.

I met Michael at the airport. I knew there must be something going on with him. He told me he was going to be on TV. On an ABC Special about internet dating; that a woman had tied him up. He had casts around both wrists. I didn't find out about the red cape, or hat with feather. He also had a plastic sword that he used as a wand to blow bubbles with. I hope for Michaels sake there will be a show.

Mauricio Jr. was born in the Philippines 75 years ago. At the airport he collects baggage carts that are left around the taxi stand and parking lots. He always seems in a good mood, and happy to help. Yesterday I had a group of people that came in with a lot of heavy bags. There he was to help me get the carts pushed out to the taxi. I know he wasn't always a cart return man. The next time we talk I'll have to get the rest of the story. I asked him if I could take his picture and do a story on the computer about him. He was delighted. He said, "My spirit will travel the world!"