Taxi Vignettes

Cab Yard Sign -- instructing the dispatcher and phone people how to clock in.

The time call was for 11:30pm, so I pulled up to the country club at 10:50pm. I had never been there before and I wasn't sure what to expect in the way of parking. Valet parking was set up and several young men were waiting to assist. A black limo had just pulled up and the driver was looking in the trunk. A huge charter bus was parked on one side so I found a spot to park along the curb to the other.

As I was checking out my cab to make sure the back seats looked clean and no debris had been left about on the floor, the limo driver was rolling out a red carpet. He then scattered it with red rose petals. He began to go through musical selections: At Last - by Etta James, and then . ... Can I just have one a more moondance with you, my love Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love ...Moondance by Van Morrison, and several others. He finally settled on Moondance. Made me happy!

Guests began to come out and set the Valet-boys scurrying for cars. I heard it before I saw it...A really beautiful silver Porsche. The Valet got out, took one look at the owner and refused to give him the keys. They talked for a bit before the owner went back into the club.

The first call of the morning was in Willow Glen, where it is not uncommon to find a small 2 bedroom home, built in the first half of the 20th century, go for over $1,000,000.

The cute door of the million dollar cottage opened and bags began to appear on the front steps; then the door closed. I could tell that I would be the one expected to get all four bags into the cab.

The bags were all loaded when once again the door opened. Out came four casual, but well dressed women looking to be in their upper 40s. Each was holding a large colorful tote bag, big straw hat, and a small white cup of coffee.

Between yawning and complaining about the early hour (6:45am) the women giggled about going to Mexico the entire 20 minute ride to the airport.

Curbside in front of Frontier Air, they stood searching through their tote bags for the cab fare, as I dragged their luggage out of the back. They did eventually give me $30. Not bad considering it only ran $23.

This morning I did a 4:45am pick up. By 5:45am I was a hundred dollars richer, so I figured while I was in Starbucks I might as well help out old Paul.

Along the side of the case it reads: At the end of the end--It's the start of a journey--To a much better place--And a much better place--Would have to be special--No reason to cry. On the day that I die--I'd like bells to be rung--And songs that were sung--To be hung out like blankets in...

memory almost full

As a taxi driver I must sometimes put on a different hat. My public personality shifts from ride to ride. I must be able to change my personae to identify with the passenger and the situation.

The call was at the Left Bank. A chic little place located at Santana Row. It is billed as an authentic Parisian-style brasserie, though I think the guys I picked up there were only interested in the bar. Santana Row has many topnotch restaurants, but the guys wanted to have dinner at Steamer's Grillhouse in Los Gatos.

After reading a post on Cabhack Confessions* I thought back to a customer who liked to ride with Yellow Cab. I would try my best not to pick him up. I even heard that other drivers would suggest that he might prefer another cab company.

One afternoon he pulled a fast one. He was at a bar on the other side of town and I was the unlucky driver that got the call.

This guy was in a wheelchair and he was so plastered he couldn't turn his wheels. He asked if I could push him to the cab. Taxi drivers are instructed to give assistance to the handicapped, but I knew his game. I guess he had forgotten that we had been though this 'poor guy can't turn the wheels trick' when the cab driver is a woman routine. He would lean back so far so that his head would rest on the woman's chest.

I stood as far behind the chair as possible and I bent over with my head down. I managed to get the old f_rt home with my body untouched, but getting paid was not as easy. He would open his wallet, look at the money inside, and then close it back up.

After what should have been an easy call, taking up no more than 15-minutes, I found myself driving away a good 40-minutes later with only a $10 bill in my pocket. Reaffirming what all cabbies know: Drunks were put on earth to louse up our lives.

* Post on Cabhack Confessions

I live in the Willow Glen neighborhood of central San Jose, California. It is located southwest of Downtown San Jose.

One of the local weekly newspapers is the Willow Glen Resident. The paper keeps me up to date on the shopping district, upcoming events, and my neighbors. I was contacted by reporter, Mayra Flores De Marcotte, asking if I would be willing to be the topic of her next story. We chose a day for her ride along in my taxi.

I picked up Mayra, and we were ready to hit the streets. I logged the taxi into Willow Glen, which is zone-210. We drove around the tree lined streets, while Mayra asked me questions.

The taxi's computer began to click--click--click, signaling a possible call, then it beeped. We had a call, but it was too far away from Willow Glen to go for. I hit the reject button, and we continued the interview.

Finally a call came in, close enough to take. The address was off of Pearl Ave. It looked like an apartment complex, but it was actually some type of care facility. I couldn't find the correct building number, so I had to get out and check with the office. I was told in very broken English--off of Branham, go in off of Branham. I have been driving cab long enough to know that was all the information I was likely to receive.

Back in the taxi, I told Mayra that we would have to backtrack, and find it somewhere off of Branham Lane. This call was taking much too long to locate, and I could feel the tightness starting to creep across my back. I had to guess which side street to take. Thankfully, I picked the one that brought us to some buildings in the same style, and color of those back off of Pearl Ave.

As we turned into a parking lot I saw a woman, holding a phone, waving at me. She had a man with her. She gave me an address, and a few instructions, for he spoke very little English. I asked her what was with the complex, why was it closed off down the center, forcing me to drive all the way around. She said that drivers looking for a shortcut would race through, so it was fenced off. Irritated as I was, I managed to get the man to his Doctor appointment in time. It was a decent paying trip, so it turned out okay.

I pulled into the nearest Starbucks on Blossom Hill Road. I told Mayra that I had a Starbucks gift card, given to me by one of my regular riders, that she could use to buy us coffee.

We sat zoned into 610, Los Gatos, talking and sipping our drinks. I was just about to suggest that we head back to Willow Glen when I heard the telling clicks and then the beep. The call, from Los Gatos Hospital, took us to downtown San Jose.

So far I had only booked $50. Not very good, but that is the taxi business. It is the luck of the draw and timing, mixed with gut feelings that make up a cabbies day. We headed off to the airport because I had a "personal" due in soon.

Having Mayra ride along was a mixed bag. Even though it was an interesting day, it was odd having the press taking down my words.

A few days later I got a call from the photographer, Vicky, could she ride along and take photos to accompany the story? Eek!!

This afternoon I was downtown parked in a freight loading zone waiting for my fare. It was a time call and I was there about fifteen minutes too early, and I was bored.

Section 10.48.030--Standing in freight curb loading zone: No person shall stop, stand, or park a vehicle for any purpose or length of time other than for the expeditious unloading and delivery or pick-up and loading of passengers or materials...So, I had one eye out for a particular Meter Maid who, shall we say, doesn't appreciate my creative parking.

I saw a row of those free-newspaper boxes, and figured I had time to get out of the cab and grab a couple. I was halfway through the "Metro" when I noticed a lady walking towards me, so I put it down on the seat next to me.

After I had dropped her off, I pulled over under a shade tree and resumed my reading. I was thumbing through the Metro when I noticed a section titled: The Best of Willow Glen.

The last two weeks have been excruciating. My taxi had been outfitted with a type of contact paper advertising the San Jose Grand Prix (Champ Car race). The company that I work for (Yellow Cab) was one of the Grand Prix sponsors, so they asked if I would let them use my taxi for the race weekend. The kind of "ask" that only has one answer... yes.

I was put in a Crown Victoria Police Interceptor with a 4.6L 250-hp SEFI V8 with overhead cam engine. It had a big ole' push bar on the front making the hood seem about 12 feet long. It was a cool car but the driver's seat must have been holding up some big ass cop in its life as a police car, because it was broken beyond repair. No matter what pillow I tried, I could not get comfortable.

My next job should have been a simple one. My taxi permit, which is issued by the police, was due to expire on the 25th of July. To receive a new permit I would have to show an up-to-date drug test and an '06 business licence. I had neither. The drug tests are random and somehow I had not been called in to take one. I got the paperwork, drank a gallon of water and I was off to the lab. As for the business licence, City Hall had cashed the check that I had sent them a good month earlier but they couldn't seem to get the licence back to me.

By the 26th I was getting nervous because we only get a 3-day grace period to get the permit. So, I called Joe, one of our many managers, at the cab yard. Joe said that he would get back to me, and later that morning he called with instructions.

I have a regular rider who is with Homeland Security and he called an asked if I would pick him up this morning at the Greyhound bus station. When the bus came in from L.A. I didn't ask where he had been or how his trip was.

In the past Mr. H. Security would puff away at a cigarette before he would get in the cab and then again as soon as we were at his destination. This time he did not light up. Good news or bad?

I was almost to turn into my driveway when my phone played a little tune. It was the ring set for incoming calls from my regular riders. I really did not want to answer, but I did hoping they just wanted to make an appointment for sometime in the future. It was Mr. Smith asking if I could meet him at his office and give him a ride to his hotel near the airport. Mr. Smith lives in Arizona but often gets called to the Bay Area for work. I told him I would be right over.

It was 5:00pm and traffic was horrid. As I approached the red light at Meridian a big Sheriff's bus was sideways taking up both lanes. I knew it would take some fancy maneuverings to get the bus facing in the right direction so I got in the left turn lane. A change of route; I would be taking the side streets.

I was going through neighborhood streets doing my best not to be late. I was on a side street and was making a right turn on Campbell Av. when something at one of the homes caught my attention. I noticed about seven large black vehicles parked with the drivers standing near the curb all in a huddle. On the front porch was a small table draped with a black cloth attended to by men in suits. Late as I was, I made a u-turn and asked the two women standing on the opposite side of the street what was going on. "Governor Schwarzenegger is coming!" Dang! I had to go pick up Mr.Smith and get him across town and then drive all the way back in commute traffic.

Being first up is like getting ready to go out on the stage. I never know just when my cue will be. The wait for the doorman to wave me in. It--it could come at any minute or seem never coming. I dare not close my eyes. Have to look alert; have to be ready!

Will the other actor, the customer, be a man or a woman?

The script this morning called for two men and two women. The props included: four large bags, a box and a number of smaller pieces. Their line: "To the airport!"

At the airport: Check the meter ($13.25) Unload the luggage, as the customers look for their marks on the sidewalk. Take folded money. My line: "Thank you."

As driving away: Unfold money and count. My next line: "Oh! $14.00! What? They didn't ask for the quarters!"

Note: The Prop Department needs to give the cast more spending cash.
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I had a fare in my Yellow Cab taxi when my phone rang. I really hate to be talking on the phone while driving especially; with a customer in the cab. But, when I saw the caller's name on the display I said, "Sorry, I have to take this call."

The call was from one of my regular riders. He was saying, "Hi, Joann I'll need you to pick me up Wednesday morning. I'm going to the Super Bowl!!!" It was referee Bill Leavy #127 and he will be the head ref this year. He lives in the Willow Glen area of San José, California. When I told my fare in the back seat (an older grey-haired senior citizen) about the call she squealed and said, "Some of the girls are getting together for a Super Bowl Party at our retirement home. Wait till I tell them I rode in the taxi that will take the referee to the airport for the big game! I feel like I know him!"

Should be a great game

I deleted comment #9 on my last post. My blog had been read and it was determined that I sorely needed further education. My life could be so much better if I called the phone number. "They" would get that degree for me and I could get a job that would be worthwhile.

In the film NIGHT ON EARTH a Hollywood agent (Gena Rowlands) realizes that her taxi driver (Winona Ryder) would be the perfect starlet for her next movie. The cabbie is asked to be in this movie and told that all the wealth and fame she could ever want would be hers. The driver lets the agent know that she just couldn't do that. A movie career would interfere with her desire to have her own auto repair shop someday.

OK. I would take the movie offer but the moral of this story is that one takes their happiness where they find it.

There are times when my job can be almost unbearable. The traffic, the crazy drivers make me long to live in a one stop sign town!

Then something like running across this group makes it all fun again. I was taking their photo when the fellow asked my name. The group broke out in song and dance. I only understood two words in their Spanish song: COCA-COLA and Joann. They gave me a free T-shirt and a can of Lime Coke.

My job does have its perks!

Yesterday, after I dropped Grace off at her home, I needed to get to the airport fast. It was almost 4:30pm and traffic was bad. I thought I would take short cut #3 that cuts through the back of the little mexican market. As I went around the corner and in to the parking lot... a lovely Rolls Royce. When I saw the plate, 1 POUPON, I thought of the television ad where the man in the limousine asks "Pardon me, do you have any GREY POUPON?" Just then a very attractive, and charming man came up to the Rolls. I asked, " Is that like the commercial, and can I take a picture of it?" He said, "Yes." By then I had two cars behind me. He said, "Hold on." From the car he gets a bottle of GREY POUPON !!! And poses for me. By then I had a parade of cars in back of my taxi, and I had to get to the port, so I told him thanks and drove off without learning his name!

I'm taking care of two cats, Chloe and Echo, while their owners are in Hawaii. They both get a little food from a can, some dry food, and fresh water every day. I also clean the litter box. The other day, because I had just brought the empty trash can up to their house, I thought why throw the cat poop into it. I just threw the bag in my taxi thinking because I live in an apartment building I could get rid of it there.

The next morning I'm picking up a taxi fare and as I open the back of the cab SURPRISE the plastic bag of cat litter. I had forgotten to toss it the night before !

From now on it has been making it to my dumpster.