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I had the worst customer ever today. She wanted to go to Laguardia airport from SoHo over the Williamsburg Bridge. I told her there was an accident on that bridge, and we might want to take another way. She said whatever route I thought was the fastest was good. Then all of the sudden she wanted to hear 1010Wins. She told me she was listening to it before she left and they didn't mention the accident. So I turned all the radio station traffic reports up so she could hear, and none spoke about the bridge. 1010Wins in particular even said that all the bridges were clear. She called me a liar and refused to pay the toll.
I blew up at her yelling about how I saw the accident with my own eyes, how it is insulting to be called a liar, and how the extra money shes paying for the toll isn't going in my pocket, so I wasn't scamming her. What a fuckin' bitch, cunt, motherfucker! (No I didn't use any of that language.) She expressed that she was disapointed with our route, but she wasn't giving it a fair chance. I turned up the radio once again to all the stations, and there it was, Brooklyn bound side of the Williamsburg Bridge, she didn't care.
She said, "I still can't believe we got into a shouting match"
I said, "It is very insulting that you called me a liar! I just saved you from a big mess!"
Fucking bitch, I hope she drowns in her own stupidity. She did pay the toll, she had to, because she used a credit card, no tip, fuck if I care. So if anyone sees a dumb blonde bitch in SoHo who is a nurse, and pretends to know New York City, kill her for me. The fare came to $29.15 including the toll, and took exactly 20 minutes. Seriously if I get one more idiot customer I'm quitting, seriously, I can't take this bullshit.
-Situation number three: In the previous situation a cabbie would receive a double-parking ticket for waiting in a moving lane without picking up or dropping off people. However, if a cab dropped off a fare and still received a double-parking ticket, would this be fair? The answer to this question depends on small technicalities, but here’s my story: After an earlier nasty customer and the added waste of time I spent going to the airport and waiting there, soggy day turned sour post, I looked for an easy ride, something short, preferably not involving Manhattan, and I was really excited to get just that. The Short Ride
She was an unusual fare. She hailed me, but then directed me to meet her at her house down the street, where I’d meet her and she’d load the car. In the normal hustle and bustle of New York madness, I might have expressed to her that I didn’t have the abundance of time to load and unload a car no matter how short the ride, but since the last thing I wanted was another obnoxious rider in busy Manhattan traffic, I thought of this ride as a blessing. I pulled to the curb of the address O.J. Simpson style -- crooked that is -- and waited for her to find me. It was a quiet street with Manhattan’s skyline in sight, but its sounds and congestion were so far away. When she got there we started carrying down her things from upstairs. Eventually we loaded the trunk. One exception was a long bamboo stick which was placed across the back seat and protruded through a rear window.
“My roommate just left, and she left all this mess behind,“ she said. She then pulled on the front right door latch assuming it would be unlocked, since the back had that long bamboo across the seat, but then upon finding it locked she feared she’d overstepped her boundary with the New York taxi driver.
“Can I ride in the front?”
I couldn't unlock the door fast enough and I told her it wasn't a problem while I moved my bag -- filled with nothing -- under the cup holders. She sat down, and laid, each arm against its respective armrest.
"I'm sorry, I'm used to... where I'm from we all just hop in the front when we hail taxis," she said.
I pulled the U-turn, turned on the meter, and drove the short distance to the thrift store. She pulled out a ten-dollar bill, handed it to me, and told me with a struggle of colloquialism, it was “for my trouble.” She had an unusual comfort about her, like she’d ridden in dozens of taxis before; only she had a totally different association with them from riding in other parts of the world. It was as if she trusted cab drivers; it was as if the cab felt more like home to her than her own house. I can’t explain exactly what makes me assume all of that, but I am a pretty good judge of people’s comfort and discomfort, the way they carry themselves. Sensing all of this I tried to desperately keep her talking, to figure out anything more I could about this odd person who was actually comfortable in a yellow cab.
“So, are you… new to uhh... this neighborhood?” I wanted to ask what country she was from, but she seemed too settled to be a fresh American. Besides, I know nothing of foreign countries. My geography knowledge expands from midtown to Queens, and I dabble in the Boogie-Down and the Island of Shaolin.
“Oh I’ve been here for 3 years, or 4,” she replied. “It’s a great neighborhood-“
“Oh yeah,” I said, “Its convenience to the city, its proximity to Manhattan, is just so good if you have a car."
“It’s a very quiet neighborhood, really nice, the best neighborhood I’ve been to in New York yet, and the N train is right here,” she said.
And so we were on to small talk, and although I made sure we continued the small talk, I wished I hadn’t. So it turned out she’d been to a few more neighborhoods in New York, been in the city for 5 years or so, and came from some country I already don’t remember where. Pointless, all of it; the ride took less than 2 minutes and we had to find a parking spot. Instantly 3 separate parking spots opened, and instantly there was a car waiting behind each one to park.
It was useless, so we double-parked in front of the thrift store. We immediately got somebody from the store to help unpack the car, and the 3 of us got the car empty faster than you can say, hey I’m walkin’ here, well, not that fast, but it was record time I tell ya. A man inside his PT Cruiser was waiting patiently for it all to end so he could get out of his parking space, I was impressed. But equally unimpressive was the guy waiting to take his spot when he left, he kept leaning on his horn. I acknowledged the man in the PT Cruiser with a smile for his tolerance, and glared back at the black Pontiac with yellow Jersey plates, pressing his horn as if it were the greatest musical instrument ever.
As I got in my cab to leave, my customer came back and leaned in on the passenger-side door, telling me she still owed me for the ride.
“Nope, I got your ten right here,” I said. What I really wanted to say was: The ride is done, I can’t stay here forever, and really a ten is more than enough. But I didn’t want to be rude. I’d had it with rudeness. Besides, anymore moments with her might give me more clues as to what was up with her, and maybe with more time I could get her number. There. I said it. I said it in my head, not out loud of course.
She then says, “No, the ten was for your help. Now I have to pay for the ride." Then I'm handed a business card, “Here. This will change your life forever.” Modern Buddhism, it said, in an all lowercase, rounded European type-font. I wasn’t sure whether this was a graphic design group or a religious group of which she was a part.
Before I could think, I dug through my bag like a nervous school boy. “Wait, I’ve got to give you my business car-“, my business cards were all torn and tattered at the corners, with faded black ink coloring, and a photograph I took dating back 2 or 3 years now.
I was too ashamed to even carry my cards with me, so she’ll never find out about this blog and read this entry. Nor will she be able to send me an email in Helvetica. As if that disappointment wasn’t enough—
The Ticket
BEEP. The ticketing agent for the neighborhood had just run her scanner across my registration and I was now getting a ticket for double-parking. My customer was still leaning into the car. She dug through her bag and handed me a handful of change. I don’t care for change, but to keep her spirits good, I took it. The change didn’t even cover the fare. Now all that good energy had gone out the window, and I had to go back to Mr. Angry Cabbie in my conversation with the ticket agent. Ticket agent- “Could you move up, so that the guy behind you can leave?” Me- “Why should I? You're already gonna give me the ticket.” Agent- “I see. So you're going to be a jerk to him because he’s honking his horn. I see.” Me- “Well actually I like that guy a lot. He’s being very patient. It’s the guy behind him who’s being an asshole.” I eventually moved up, out of courtesy for the guy behind me, because the ticket agent was taking way too long to punch up the ticket on her electro gizmo. However, I didn’t move up enough because I didn’t want to create an impression that I was evading the ticket, and the little PT Cruiser still didn’t see enough space to get out of his spot. I tried to come up with a quick explanation as to why this ticket was unjustified: “I couldn’t just leave. My customer was leaning into my window. What am I supposed to do kill her?” Ticket agent- “You’re blocking traffic. Listen to all those people honking at you.” I smirked in response. This was nothing new. I’m driving a big yellow taxi, and being a nuisance to unsuspecting drivers is my job. If you ask me, people who honk their horns more than four times per minute within the span of three or more successive minutes should pay the maximum fine: 350 dollars. When people honk at me I give them the brakes; I brake for horns. People need to learn that horns after a certain point are just obnoxious. Imagine hearing people’s horns for 12 successive hours.
So my customer had finally gone away, the ticketing agent was finished with me, and traffic was delayed twice as long as it would have been, had I not been ticketed. There it went, my whole day, I thought, all my profit, taken by the department of finance.
I took one more small fare in Queens, driving her around the block while she grabbed her purse or something; then drove her another three blocks to her destination. That was it. I arrived at the garage in disgust, thinking nice guys finish last, that I should never go out of my way to help someone with tons of stuff again. I counted out my profit for the day, it was $114, and the parking ticket: $115. Oh bitter fate, cruel irony, how you mock me!! Total profit: negative one dollar. Not Guilty!
The dispatchers heard my bitter cries and gave me a call that night. They told me to explain my situation to their in-house lawyer. The lawyer told me my chances were better than most people's to win because: - I had been in the car while receiving the ticket
- I had turned the meter off after the ticket was received
Thus, it was proven, when I appeared for my hearing with a copy of my GPS trip record, that the ride was finished after the ticket was issued. My fare was still paying me the fare while I was being ticketed. Case Dismissed!!!!! Oh I could hug this judge!!
-Situation number two: There is a particular taxi line with such high volume some days it doubles to two lines; one line in the parking lane, and the other in an otherwise moving lane. And on this second line when taxis stop at the intersection while the light is green to wait for their spot on the line at the other end of the intersection they sometimes get a ticket for double parking I assume. I have seen this twice and fortunately I was never precisely at the intersection while the cop was there. Once I saw a cop walking towards me from behind while flipping open the ticket book. The whole line was able to clear out before anybody received a ticket. Avoiding a ticket is three parts hyper-awareness and one part luck, maybe two parts luck. From this I decided to always stop before the intersection when waiting for a chance at a passenger, then to proceed slowly to the intersection and look for ticketing agents. Stay tuned for #3 which is way better...
I can’t write enough about tickets, and it’s now been more than a year since I’ve received a moving violation! There have been some close calls of course and I still get a few parking tickets, but mostly, I’ve stayed clear of the thin yellow slip demanding we pay our due, or go to trial and then pay our due. Getting tickets is kind of reminiscent of getting scolded for running in the hallway as a child: it is inevitable. Neither now nor then could I prove my innocence, the system has no tolerance for back talk young man. But sometimes there are days when I win one, and those days will live forever in the depths of my jigsaw puzzle of a brain. -Situation one: Once after dropping some one off at a LaGuardia Terminal, I unknowingly crossed a solid white line. A Port Authority Officer was waiting for me so I pulled to the shoulder and after he told me what I had done wrong, I acted as genuine and apologetic as I could, while trying to maintain confidence and clarity of voice. After I gave him my license, he told me he’d give me a break, a BREAK!? Can you imagine? He asked me if I might know where he could find a taxi that completely evaded the pull over and accelerated right past him. I told him about the 4 airport hold lots, “But when I leave the airport,” I said, “I just drive back to the city to avoid the waiting time.” “So basically he could be anywhere-“ He asked, or ascertained. I looked straight ahead, trying to hide my pride for the fugitive cabbie, then turned to the officer “Yeah, I guess so.” “Don’t worry, I’ll get him,” he said, as if somehow we were in this together. He then turned to the limousine behind me and signaled him for a pull over now that he’d finished with me.
Situation #2 tomorrow, then #3 the next day.
Tickets are one of the ultimate factors in driving with such regularity. With time and experience, a taxi driver eventually knows where every odd rule and regulation exists and when and where these specific rules are enforced. The streets are infected with signs prohibiting turns during specific times, on specific days, and even for specific vehicles. The difficulty lies in reading the specifics which are of course in small print. By the time one finally reads the entire sign they are already at the intersection.
My 3rd ticket of my big yellow driving career, was for making the left on 7th Avenue from 34th Street, where lefts were prohibited everyday except for buses, but I thought the sign said except Sunday. The officer told me the day was Saturday, I needed a calendar badly.
The police liked me a lot during my 1st year of driving big yellow:
In my first week I got a double ticket after picking up a passenger at the 7th Avenue entrance of Penn Station and trying to take her back uptown. Following the advice of taxi school, I wanted to take her to Madison Avenue as directly as possible, so I ever so carefully signaled with my arm, crossed all four or five lanes and made the left at 32nd Street, where the police have a daily ticketing party. I let my passenger out telling her she’d be better off taking another taxi. I got one ticket for improper lane change, and another for something similar, which totaled to five points. That left me with only 1 point left before my license would be suspended, A fine gift from the NYPD to congratulate me on becoming one of New York’s craziest. It took an awful long time for them to give me the tickets, and once that was done, I waited a little longer; I thought I should get my hack license back, and I was really worried that my license was confiscated or something. It turned out that these clever busy bees forgot to return my license to me. When I got my hack license returned I continued with my day slowly and safely, but not without a new debt to the City of New York of about 300 dollars.
By the grace of God and/or our traffic points system, and some legal help, I never did get my license suspended; despite getting more tickets. Here is how it works if you care to follow:
Within an 18 month span if you get 6 points on your license you will have your licenses suspended. The suspension lasts 6 months I believe, but if during a period of 18 months you get 10 points, your license will be revoked. If you are due for a license renewal during the same period in which your licenses are suspended, than you might as well surrender to the lords of taxi and say good riddance. On every ticket there is a box to check for guilty and one for not guilty, and on all but one I checked not guilty. The city then sets up a hearing date and notifies you to come down to Rector Street and testify at a certain time and day. Preceding the hearing, you can go down to Rector Street and postpone your date for later. During all of this stall time you are not gaining points on your license as you are innocent until proven guilty. The garage helped me push back my hearing dates even further, and so did a lawyer I hired. The lawyer fee is about 100 bucks per ticket, I know, I know, but we have to remember the points are the enemy, not the fees. The first hearing I attended was for that left turn, my argument was that I couldn’t see the sign due to the bus in front of me blocking the overhead sign. The hearing was quicker than my breakfast; I lost. After that case, I turned to the traffic lawyer who handled every ticket after. Unfortunately she only got one ticket dismissed: her specialty, the 32nd street turn, my 1st, or, 2nd ticket. With careful management of postponing traffic hearings and taking defensive driving courses, I managed to always stay below the 6 point mark. Every 9 months you can take a defensive driving course, which will take 2 points off your point accruement, although they word it so that they don’t have to take those points off, but they do. The city didn’t let me off that easy though. Despite having an adequate license, I then got charged an assessment fee of around 300 dollars by the State, because my record, which doesn’t erase points, is at around 10 or 12. I was on the borderline of that suspension though for my 1st full year or 2, and it was that fear that finally taught me how to avoid getting tickets. While my license was due for renewal, some computer (or person) at the Department of Motor Vehicles didn't take the 2 points off and rendered my drivers license suspended for a few days before I straightened that out. There are many lessons on how to drive big yellow in New York City, here are 4 key points to remember:
-Avoid Penn-Station, particularly the main entrance at 7th Avenue. - When dropping off passengers and approaching the station from 6th Avenue, first ask if they’d prefer getting dropped off at 31st Street as it may be faster.
- If they’d rather get dropped off right in front, then take 33rd Street, but when it becomes clear that it would be faster for your fare to walk to the station, ask them if they are in a hurry, and advise them it’d be faster for them to walk from there.
- When approaching on 7th Avenue from the north, turn the meter off when you pass the taxi line, then after passing the main entrance, pull to the curbside after the intersection. If you are stuck in traffic and your passengers are rushing to get out, tell them you will let them off after the light, and that you don’t want to get a ticket for dropping off in the middle of the street.
-Avoid Grand Central Station; make your drop-offs quick and your pick-ups quicker, and safe of course. - Do not pick-up fares when you are within sight of the taxi line unless you are at the front of the taxi line itself.
-At intersections, be weary of pedestrians while turning, this is a quick ticket for an unsympathetic officer. - The police with the badges and the guns are the ones that give you tickets.
- The traffic police, who help traffic flow at congested intersections, actually encourage aggressive driving, and view cabbies as role models for other drivers. Traffic police want traffic to flow, while the officers tend to slow it down.
-There are 20,000 police officers in New York City, while there are probably 10, maybe 20 Taxi and Limousine Commission officers. Therefore your priority should be to follow the rules of the road. The T&LC’s laws are less important.
After that mid shift blog post on Saturday things didn't go as smoothly as I thought. There were positives, it was the middle of the day, or late morning, so not too many people were sleepy anymore, though there was a couple from Germany who flagged me down and went a few blocks in the Lower East Side, they seemed kinda out of it, a bit tipsy like they were coming off booze or other drugs, and that was strange being it was then approaching mid-day; they behaved themselves. Also, it wasn't raining buckets anymore so I didn't have to deal with floods.
Still it just didn't work out financially as well as I'd hoped. I felt that there was a pretty good amount of demand for taxis, but it just wasn't extremely profitable for some odd reason. There were a few hours with nobody though, and that isn't good when you have such a high premium for the lease and the gas.
The real cap on the day though was when I pulled up across from the Downtown Marriot. There was no line, so I figured I'd wait. I pulled to the side of 12th Avenue, a.k.a. The West Side Highway, when another empty taxi pulled up next to me and stops right there! The nerve, as if he couldn't wait behind me! And he was unnecessarily blocking a somewhat functional lane! Infuriating!
If I had a cooler head I would have brought it to his attention that I too was waiting for a fare, I assumed he knew this already. I mean why the hell would I be there? I dunno, maybe I was waiting for the bus, in my taxicab, yeah.
I didn't want any confrontation and my shift had only 45 minutes left, so I pulled out in front of him over the curb and out to head back to the garage and call it a day. Only my tire didn't withstand my rage, I never saw a tire so flat before, damn I killed it!! So I had to wait for my friendly attendant at the garage to drive over and bail me out again with a tire change, how agonizing, and embarrassing.
And that's how my shift ended. I believe I was driving the same cab 3 weeks ago when I tackled a big glass bottle with that same tire. The bottle shattered into a thousand chunks, exploding so loudly it echoed through the whole block. The chunks of glass flew up and then came down upon the car like a biblical plague. It was astonishing that 3 weeks ago the tire didn't deflate, but this time the damaged tire couldn't take anymore punishment. When I got my 1st flat about a year ago I documented a little more: here.
Like so many weekends this summer, the Sunday felt like a cake walk in comparison. BTW, the West Indian parade I told you about on Saturday was actually on Monday, sorry for that misinformation.
Ahh saturday, and what a saturday! I think I'm up 70 bucks even after the gas and lease price are deducted. But I went through a red light with a camera somewhere in the middle of my pre-dawn shift half. --or-- maybe I didn't, wink, wink. So I may loose a few more dollars on that shcmutz.
It was raining softly and then heavily all night, and only now has it stopped at 10 am. I think I drove through more then 10 floods, thank my lucky stars, or whomever it's popular to thank nowadays, that the car rides with a high ground clearance.
I had two rides to the Bronx. The first one, I wasn't sure if he wanted the Bronx or not, then he fell asleep of course, he asked for heat in the car, why do you want heat in the car anyway? so then I had to take a big detour to get righted to the Bronx, he was a good guy though, pulled one of those credit card things where he tipped me a cent. Last week somebody tipped 3 cents, that's alright, this time I deserved it I guess.
Right after I got another ride back to the Bronx from Harlem. I didn't want to get lost again. Obviously I don't know the Bronx very well. He told me Bruckner to exit 12, and from the to Bronx river.
"Bronx River... Parkway?"
"No, just Bronx, Bronx River."
Why can't people be more clear? The exits were rising in numbers and we were at about #44. This guy was going pretty far, and I didn't want to be taking him far, in the wrong direction, he fell asleep too. You'd be surprised how many people fall asleep back there. So I took my foot off the gas on the highway and had to nock on the plexiglass, about, 20 times, he awoke twice only to shut down again. He finally arose to tell me that yes it was exit 12, to drive straight, and to trust him... and to get out of the slow lane and start passing people.
Who does that? And it wasn't exactly a matter of trust, I just didn't want to screw over two people in a row by taking them off course.
"There have been a lot of accidents today," I mutter. I think he heard me.
He fell half asleep again, and sure enough the exits started going down. He asked me if my name was Jewish Russian, which I found interesting because my father from which my last name is from was just talking about the name recently and how he and his father aren't sure where the name is from. Details, details, anyway I told him, Earnest or Emit, something with an E, that while I am Jewish, the last name comes from my Christian side, and we have no idea where it comes from. seriously my heritage is spread pretty thin all over the Northern Atlantic region of Europe and probably even America.
Anyway, Emit turned out to be really cool, paid in cash too, he's the custodian of uh.. somewhere or other. I came back to more floods under the Triborough Bridge. I had a bunch more shortys (short trips that is) and here I am, having a cup of coffee. If your reading this and the day is young, you can go to Brooklyn and see the West Indian parades and such, over by the Brooklyn Museum.
well enjoy your weekend-
Installment #1
It was about 3 weeks ago when luck or taxi demand was taking a nose dive. It started to rain, but despite such weather I couldn't find a passenger for, well, for too long considering the conditions. When I finally got a guy, he wanted to go to LaGuardia Airport, which under rainy conditions sucks usually. Theory being, rain brings more customers, airport takes you away from customers.
I still considered it fortunate to have a longer ride, since I wasn't doing well in Manhattan, until the BQE went from 3 lanes to a 1 lane merge. I listened to all the traffic reports on my way to the Expressway, but of course there was no mention of such stupidity! I began to worry about how slow just one line of cars would be, so I got off at the last exit before the merge. As I left the highway I saw the one lane split into two and move sluggishly yet progressively. Now having exited I was up a creek with a weak paddle.
I tried as hard as I could not to make the same mistakes I did over a year ago when I opted for the streets instead of the highway at the very same exit, but it was no use. I was engulfed with sarcastic oohs and ahhs from my passenger as we took 50 minutes to get to LaGuardia from pick-up to drop.
The fare ended with a Credit Card Transaction, and no tip entered, but at least the semi improvised route added ten bucks. Still it ate all my time, and all my time ate all my money. I am all for giving the customer the best route possible, and that was why I tried so hard, but his sarcasm led me to believe he wouldn't tip, and paying with a credit card takes 5% of the fee out of my wallet. If he were nicer, I would've offered to turn off the meter at 25 dollars, but when I apologized for taking such a backwards route, he started with the sarcasm.
Having realized that I completely ruined my day by having such an untimely fare and having my nerves worn down a bit in the process, I decided to try my luck with the taxi hold lots at the airport, but no such luck. And so after another wasted half hour, I decided the only thing I had left in me to do with my lack luster energy and limited time, was to drive back toward the city looking for Queens fares.
To be continued..
Yeah, so, I feel obligated to say that it wasn't bad on Saturday. I made good money, and as long as I make good money, then I'm all for it. The people of New York deserve a number of days like this. There was no motor vehicle traffic allowed on all of Manhattan's Laffayette Street, 4th Avenue, and Park Avenue to 72nd Street. Many health classes were offered for free, along with some sponsorship booths. All in all from what I heard, it was what a weekend morning should be, a nice mellow morning devoted to family and fitness.
the map I provided on the previous post and again here, clearly marked all the streets open to crosstown traffic. And each intersection was well regulated and everyone stopped when the lights went green for cars.
The bad streets:
Sure there were slow downs by a minute or two at major streets like 23rd, 34th, 35th, 37th, and 57th streets, but there were other streets to cross at (35th was bad, but it wasn't even a street to cross Park Avenue). These traffic tie ups weren't really such an issue, because the 30's going west are always bad, and should always be avoided. Seriously though, the crosstown traffic, traffic in general on Saturday was virtually non-existent until about noon, and so I only had about an hour where I needed to really apply some critical thinking about which cross-streets to use. How was SoHo you ask? Stay away from SoHo, but you know that already, you should always keep away from that Parking lot. 5th Avenue slowed to a chunky jam, towards the end of the cyclovia, noonish.
The Good Streets:
23rd wasn't all that bad, and key streets where everything flowed smoother than a Keystone Light, that's right stick your Pabst, were: - 50th Street
- 49th Street
- 53rd and 54th were probably pretty good bets to place too. Also 36th worked well, and worked as a good escape plan when 5th Avenue got jammy.
I don't remember too many problems heading west crossing the park at 66th Street, or at 10 am and earlier crossing 9th Street. 23rd wasn't great but it was worth the wait compared to the chaos of crosstown traffic in the 30's. Houston was alright, I had a brain fart with a customer there, attempting to take him east on either Spring Street or Grand, but firstly neither of these streets crossed through Laffayette, and secondly, the traffic was more frozen than that water I left in the freezer too long. Seriously Houston was alright. SoHo, not so good.
In Conclusion:
Bike on you lovely cyclers, let my people ride. I know you all scoff in my general direction, but don't judge a book by the yellow cover. I was an avid biker, and I still plan to ride regularly. I once was independently contracted by Transportation Alternatives to deliver their pamphlets for a couple of months. I rode my bike to every bicycle shop in Manhattan carrying about 40 pounds of reading material on a milk crate sitting on my bike rack above my rear tire. Man, working that gig I sweated more than a... well, you get the idea.
Notes during shift:
I took a couple home after the bars closed, up to 99nth and Madison Avenue. After going around Mount Sinai Hospital to head back downtown on 5th Avenue I saw this thing-
The size of a cat, but it walked like an untamed savvy creature of the night. Its tail dragged on the ground rather than sticking upwards like a cat's. I thought Maybe it was an opossum, or some other disgusting gigantic version of an urban rat.
5th Avenue Raccoon Turns out it was a raccoon. I was so excited to take a close picture, I almost drove into the parked cars to get it. This is officially the most high class wild animal I've ever seen, living in Central Park and searching for grub from one of the finest hospitals in New York, and crossing 5th Avenue no less, to have a pre-dawn snack.
Stranger things have happened when it comes to spotting wildlife in New York.
There are several Red Tailed Hawks who moved on up to the 5th Avenue rooftops along the park, as well as other neighborhoods with both tall buildings and a relative abundance of greenery. The Hawk has been very successful here, perching itself in trees and sky-rises watching the ground for weak squirrels to prey upon.
But even stranger is the wild turkey. It is best not to look for the wild turkey, you're not going to find it. However, in a less populated section of Central Park I heard it squawking like a fire alarm, never saw it though. And along the unkempt greenery along the Harlem River Drive in Washington Heights as I rode my bike through the overgrown trail, a large bird flew from my right side to my left. I had no clue what it was, and I'm gonna go with the turkey. Perhaps your thinking that I'm kinda dumb, because turkeys don't fly, or, at least, they don't fly too far. But this is New York City, where everyone who moves here, including turkey, needs to adapt to the harsh environment. The New York Times has an article of a wild turkey that visits an apartment regularly on the 28th floor!, this was a while ago, and I don't ride my bike as much now, so I don't know what the turkey situation is anymore.
Hey, so funny how it works. Turned out okay yesterday. The weirdest ride I got yesterday was a couple looking for specific motel/hotels . I took them from 125th and Broadway to a HoJo's in the Bronx, yeah I know, they still exist? Then when that one turned out 'no vacancy' they asked to go back over the Macomb's Damn Bridge to a motel, yes, an actual MOTEL in MANHATTAN! the ride was very efficient at 14.50 and they gave me a 20 and told me to keep the change. It was a very lucky ride to get 20 dollars and still be in Manhattan. Plus I learned a lot from that ride. I now may have more knowledge on how to go crosstown to Yankee Stadium, and if anybody wants a cheap motel, I could mention that place.
I saw a raccoon today crossing 5th avenue. I got a blurry picture I'll show you later.
This shit sucks! Guess what everybody, I've gone 3 hours without a fare! Like an idiot I waited at a hotel, for an hour, and right when I was number two, it took another fricken' hour, I was boxed in, but there was no way I was wasting anymore time, while the limo drivers took everyone and we watched!!
Some jerk had the nerve to tell me that I should get off the waiting line, because he made 80 bucks in the time I waited. I guess I should have given him a fucking prize. You win some and you lose some. I am pretty sure when he has a bad day, I'll be making a boatload of cash. The world always balances out, that's my philosophy.
I should really switch to nights. It was all good till' the sun came up. I have a lot on my plate right now. I am starting to think about going back to school to study urban planning, and also a few friends and I are planning to form a wedding photography company. It all requires money, which I'm kind of short on.
NW Corner of Driggs Street and Manhattan Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn
Brooklyn was always the cool borough in New York City, but lately the influx of money, coupled with so much real-estate being turned over in hopes of much larger profits has been shocking. This particular corner is one of the best examples of the gentrification in Williamsburg. On one corner a brick building with peeling paint holds a sign that appears to be older than the average age of the neighborhood population. Around noon, the establishment is full of patrons eating and drinking out in front. By night at the northeast corner, people chat with cigarettes in hand while their drinks grow less robust inside. And of course, at the southeast corner, people watch it all from their new apartment's floor to ceiling windows. Once again, the coolness of a neighborhood is attempting to bring in people who pay to be cool, and yet rather than living in such a lifestyle, they seclude themselves in private fortresses.
SE Corner of Driggs Street and Manhattan Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn
It was getting past late, and on to early, in other words, it was morning. I hadn't realized until I stopped at my favorite pick-up dinner, that the sun had already been progressing upwards in the sky. Everybody had gone home already for the most part, but I lucked out and got a fare all the way to Far Rockaway, Queens, or somewhere in the area.
When you get this far out to the limits of New York's borders, things start changing, and it doesn't look like the New York so many are familiar with. The Rockaways are a set of neighborhoods on a finger peninsula, on one side of the peninsula, the lower New York Bay, pretty much the Atlantic Ocean. On the other side is the smaller Jamaica Bay, where I have visited a bunch of times to look at wildlife.
Averne, Queens
A smooth dark freshly paved road surrounded by new, I'm assuming affordable, houses. Seemingly miles from civilization, but not a mile away, the elevated subway line:
Averne, Queens
However, it wasn't running that day, the subway doesn't always run as predicted here.
Averne, Queens
On either end of the main road, the salt water is only steps away, and the breeze is strong. The Housing, affordable, due to the inconvenience of travel.
Holland, Queens
Broad Channel is a small patch of houses on stilts in between the Rockaways and Howard Beach. A lot of fishing here.
Broad Channel, Queens
Cross Bay Bridge, Jamaica Bay, Queens
Starbucks, Howard Beach, Queens
This Starbucks Coffee house may look common to you, but for this New Yorker, to see a Starbucks in its own suburban house with parking on either side is super rare. So with such easy parking I had to stop, go to the restroom of course, and then order the smallest coffee I could.
South Conduit Boulevard, Ozone Park, Queens
Yes folks, still making my way back to Manhattan, and not a building in sight.
Van Wyck Expressway, Jamaica, Queens
So the lack of train service to the Rockaways, meant at least one person's route to JFK Airport was derailed. This is what he told me when he got in my cab at Columbus Circle, so I got a quick trip to JFK, thanks to the unreliable Metropolitan Transit Authority. In all truth, the subway system is way better than it was, but there is always room for improvement. Above the Van Wyck is a monorail designed to transfer from both the 'A' line, and the 'E' line and bring people to the airport for a fee of another 3 bucks I think. The problem with this, is that people going to the airport would much rather a direct transit, without any transfers.
Midtown
A long while back I had this customer:
He came in, and sank in to the usual back-seat corner.
"9th and 30th street." I don't remember where exactly, but that's a good example. Then he told me this.
"Where'd Alan go?"
"What?" I said, after I looked back and saw him staring right at me.
"Where'd.. Alan... GO?"
"Uhh.. I don't know... What you're talking about sir?" I didn't know weather I should laugh, cry, or shit my pants.
There was a long pause, about a minute. He looked at me, slumped further in his seat and said, "Fair enough."
I guess I won this round of, am I crazy or just messing with ya.
This day was the day of the bicycle tour across all 5 boroughs of the city. Needless to say it confuses things quite a bit. All of 6th Avenue gets closed for 4 hours and nobody can cross it, making it a Berlin Wall of bicycles separating east Manhattan from west. Then traffic tie-ups occur throughout the city until 4 or 5 pm.
The positive though is on a silent morning between 6 and 7 the day of the event, I get to drive side by side with the herds of bicyclists and some sort of natural feeling of power takes over as if I were riding with the wild buffalo. I do have a picture, but its blurry and doesn't do the feeling justice. The first time this occurred it was about 9 years ago, before I drove a taxi. I just wanted to go on a drive to clear my head. It was the first time I came across the station that plays Indian (the country) meditation music, which I turned up, rolled the windows down, and the cold morning breeze blew through the car, the smell of all New York's rivers came to Broadway as I was surrounded by bicyclists at a solid 8 miles an hour.
Midtown
Kingsbridge Heights, The Bronx
I probably shouldn't tell you this, but on in entrance ramp to the Henry Hudson Parkway going back empty, I came around it too fast and by the time I realized, the taxi had already just about lost enough traction on the slick road. I proceeded through the last third of the ramp sideways before quickly regaining traction and bringing the car's nose and tail back in line. Wow, what a rush. No I don't have pictures, sheesh.
Greenwich Village
Just another day in the life: (I warn you this post is long)
Before I drove, I was up the night before helping my now ex-apartment-mate move out, and after an hour or so of down time I took a midnight local bus into Brooklyn from my Staten Island house. Two Hours later I was at the taxi garage in Long Island City, Queens, eating some fig bars I bought at the 24-hour convenience store. I was assigned a crisp Crown Vic’, so fresh a rubber band still kept the extra middle seatbelt neat, and a factory smell permeated from every seat. I got the car one to two hours earlier than usual, but I had to since I was taking mass transit all the way from Staten Island. Even during rush hour it takes more than an hour to get to Manhattan from Staten, and that’s when they don’t skimp on trains and buses. One thing about the 2008 Crown Victorias is they all have a tire pressure warning light in the dash. It is one more warning light constantly on. So since I was extra early and I didn’t really want to spend the time picking up drunks, or whomever, I looked around at each tire. They always look low to me, and so I spent a half hour filling my right rear tire to something closer to desirable. Into the night:Now that everything was in check I was out the back slowly, peering about and heading south to the usual course and courses. It was all going in slow motion for me that day; I guess that’s how I like it. Driving is very impulsive, and I wondered if my impulses were intentionally driving me away from business. Every time I wake up for a cab-driving day, I tell myself to take it easy. Every action from pouring cereal to brushing my teeth is done slowly and with care to emphasize a full day of careful routine. Some friends were just finishing their party in the farthest east of the Lower East Side and I thought about heading that way through the maze of small streets, but I saw droves of wonderers, zombies, silhouettes under the streetlights moving toward Delancey Street struggling with balance; I decided I’d continue with the routine path. The Brooklyn Hustle:My first rider worth note came after I hadn’t found many customers. Two hours had passed, and I had three small fares, as I wasn’t feeling ballsy enough to plunge into high demand spots. He tapped on my right side front window,
“Can you take me to Brooklyn?”
Hmm well since he asked, “Where in Brooklyn?” I asked, I’d have taken him anyway, but I wanted to know how far out he was going.
“Dean and (x).” He said.
“Dean and what? Where is that?”
“It’s 25 dollars, and it’s real close.” He said
Well I don’t turn down rides, and he was begging practically, I’ve heard ‘it’s real close’ before, a common line, but at 25 dollars, and uhhh, well if you saw him you’d know he wasn’t far out there. Errr, sorry. So he gets in and we head south and he tells me directions, and I’m feeling kinda lucky. It doesn’t seem far, and as usual I’m starting to figure out where he’s going, it was pretty familiar territory. He seems like a nice grateful person, just then the phone rings, he picks up:
“Hello? --- Oh no this is not the driver this is the passenger.--- I’m heading to Brooklyn. Well where are you?-- Yeah I’ll give you your phone back…for forty dollars- Okay we’re heading back right now.”
This guy had the gumption to ask for forty dollars to return a phone. I sounded concerned for the phone’s return, so he assumed correctly that I would want to return it as soon as possible. I pulled the car around right before the bridge, and luckily the police didn’t stop me for the U-turn. He told me that he would split the money with me, give me 20, Sweet!! Then we waited where I picked him up and dropped off the guys who lost the phone. There they came and paid forty. He gave me twenty and told me to restart the meter.
As we took Dean down to emptier parts we talked about Philadelphia and its up and coming jazz scene, and how Boston doesn’t have a damned thing, New York is incomparable he said,
“Best city in the world,”
meh, I love it, but I need to see other cities, I’m not in a committed relationship with this city. I tell him that we (New Yorkers) all move, but we tend to come back, when we’ve been spoiled by all the conveniences and entertainment the city has to offer. Anyway it turns out he’s a jazz manager or something, a musician as well, he recommends a man named Kenny Garrett. I have yet to hear the guy. The fare was 13 or 15 bucks, he paid and then gave me the other twenty, I had to help him find it though,
“It’s probably in your back pocket,” I said, presto there it was.
Sympathy for the cabbie:
I returned to Manhattan into the Lower East Side scramble, or what was left of it after 5 am. The bars close at 4, and so I made it through to SoHo without picking up. Then 5 Upper East Siders asked if I could take them. I didn’t know there were five of them, or maybe even 6, but what really agitated me was that 2 wanted to sit in the front passenger seat.
“You have so much room up there,” they remarked. “Don’t worry we’ll be fine.”
To which I replied, “ I am not worried about you, I am worried about getting a ticket for carrying too many people.”
The girlfriend of the couple to my right seemed to care actually. At one point when we passed 2 police cars, the girl bent down toward my side as if she was looking for something, err, like a lost cell phone. Me and the guy were both confused but when she got up after we passed the police, I thought that was a very kind gesture, but a little overkill. Anyway, they tipped nicely.
Waiting in the wrong places:
After all that good fortune I chose the wrong hotel and waited for an hour before getting a 6 dollar ride to CBS, the guy was really cool and apologized for being such a short ride, he gave me a ten.
Then I chose the Ship Terminal and waited for an hour and a half, landing a seven-dollar fare. That ship terminal is harder to figure out then life itself sometimes. Only lord knows what days bring airport fares.
Charity:
It was the middle of the day and had it not been for the ride to Fort Greene in Brooklyn that paid double, I’d have been stressed. Slow, slow, slow, it was one of our first sunny warm days in a while and nobody needed to get anywhere in a hurry. I was in Chelsea and as I turned to 7th Ave from 23rd slowly and wide, I checked all sidewalk territory and saw a disheveled woman hail with uncertainty, then the man next to her dressed business casual hail with authority again. He gave her a ten and she climbed in with his assistance. She took about 2 minutes to get inside, and then another eight seconds to find the handle on the door and pull it closed.
Not one alarm bell went off in my head, because plenty of ugly people hail cabs, plenty of times people need help from a friend to get in a cab. I sometimes assist them on their way out too; it’s part of the service of paying for a taxi and not a bus. It wasn’t until she opened her mouth that I began to wonder,
“FIFSTREET.. AND FIRSTAVinue,”
She said with such effort that the whole seat was probably covered in saliva. As I drove across town she didn’t look frontward with concern for time or even for the money on the meter, she only looked out her window enjoying what little time she had in the comfortable confines of this upper-middle class travel. She soon had to spoil her peaceful moment and lay down the spiel:
“I’m homeless, and I’m going to the 5th precinct to find a bathroom.”
Well that wasn’t exactly music to my ears. I feel it as my duty to oblige to anyone who asks for some change or a little discount on his or her ride, but for her I didn’t feel too guilty. Firstly she got in a cab, so by asking for expensive services and not paying for them with money she has, she’s stealing a ride, she’s stealing my time, which I pay for everytime I drive the car. It’s a plenty expensive city, but it was her decision to step in to a ride worth more than she may have wanted to pay. So yes, her statement sent my thoughts through a whole judge jury and executioner kind of mode, but whatever, we’d cross that bridge if we had too. I was still grateful though that she wasn’t complaining about the length of time it took to get across town, rather she kept asking if we were there yet like she was 50 going on 3 years of age.
BTW a construction crane? Another one? On 10th street for Christ sake!? Why doesn’t anybody tell me these things in advance?? So we continue around that mess and add about a few minutes and a few dollars to the meter.
We finally get there, to Second Avenue and 5th Street, after I explained that it would be silly to go around the block looking for a place she kept describing as over there while she wasn’t healthy enough to lift her arm to point well enough. Then she needed help getting out of the cab. And so I held her arm as she grabbed each of her store bags and slowly stepped entirely out of the taxi. She let her arm free of our arm and arm embrace and pulled her shirt slightly and fussed with her belt.
“I need some help! Can you help me with my belt.”
I thought about it, God knows why, for a second, while checking the seat for any left behind items or liquids.
“No,” I said, “I’m sorry I can’t help you there. I only can go so far.”
“Fine,” She said, as if she was testing me, finding what my limit was.
We continued to the sidewalk at an agonizingly slow pace, and when I tried to move faster and carry her along, she would scream as if her bones were pulled apart. She waddled her fragile ripened pear shaped body over to the curbside, mocking all notions of time's existence. Eventually we made it to the restaurant on the corner, the long journey of several feet had taken about 12 minutes. The restaurant waiter quickly came to the entrance with some garlic and some steaks (just kidding)
“She can’t come in here. Last week she used the bathroom and pissed all over the floor. And she didn’t buy anything,” he said.
“Oh, well she hasn’t even paid me yet, she’s probably not paying me either, despite me walking her from the cab.” I Said.
“Oh, see," He gestured with open palms at her, "She’s a mess. And she leaves everybody else to clean up after.”
Than she got her money out to pay; I suggested half price or even a little less, the meter was at 7.70. She gave me 3 singles which came from a wad of assorted United States currency larger than my own, my guess was she had about 40 bills in her hand, and of course we know she already obtained a ten. Like I said, she needs the money she has as it is tough to live in such a city, but I asked for one more dollar.
“Make that 4.” “and Thank you”
She asked for more help to walk her to the store she kept pointing to with no decipherable location. So we walked to a point where I finally figured out where she was going. We stopped at the edge of the curb by a parking meter so she could hold on to it as I left her screaming as if she broke a bone again.
“Why won’t you take me there!!”
The sign on the big yellow awning right down the street from the police station where they shot the façade for the hit tv show NYPD Blue, it read, LIQUOR STORE in red capitals. I had gone pretty far out of my way to accommodate her to such a point, so I felt justified, she had underpaid, and so in a sense, she had bought some included advice from some kid who otherwise had no right to tell her what to do. After all she wanted my help, so I might as well give her some.
“I am not taking you to the liquor store. You have all that money in your hand, and just to spend it on more booze would just waste it all away.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” came her voice, again sounding like an angsty teen.
But I continued, by underpaying she had every right to get an earful, “Where are you going to sleep? Why don’t you spend that money on a room and not a bottle? No I’m not helping you ruin your life ma’am.”
And with that I walked away.
“I NEED IT!!” she cried, “I NEED IT FOR THE PAIN!!”
Et-cetera:
Who sits in the cab next: some well groomed woman in a skirt sits down and gives specific directions, FDR to 34th then up First Avenue. If she ever knew, I thought, if she ever knew who sat in her place less than 15 minutes ago. I wondered how dry the seat was.
-Dropped her off, and picked up a couple, again with very specific directions, guy comments on the police motorcycles
“I’ve never seen those before, are those real?”
I thought they we’re new additions to the police toys for a minute, but then I noticed the Dodge Avenger car painted in traffic police colors yet marked as a regular police car, never mind the fact that the city doesn’t use Dodge Avengers and if anything, it would start purchasing Toyota Prius’ for the traffic division.
“Oh that’s right,” I said, “This is all for some movie. They were also filming by the Brooklyn Bridge.”
They didn’t seem to care anymore, I tend to dwindle on subjects long after the interest has left. Anyway he took a look at my trip sheet because he had indicated some interest suggesting he knew a lot about cabs. It turned out he owned a garage in Brooklyn. And name-dropped the owners names of my garage, how’s so and so, and also, his son, and then their buddy,for sanctity of the blog, I won’t say their names, but he knew them, he was a real deal owner of a Brooklyn garage. And I assume she was his wife, sitting, where the alcoholic was just 30 or so minutes ago. He told me to tell them he said hi, but my memory wasn't good enough to remember his name, nor did I feel it would help me to go out of my way to mention him.
After they got out in Chinatown, I pulled up one block further and sniffed the back seat, which still held its strong fresh from the factory smell.
And for shots of movie Crown Victoria taxis used for movies go to my shots: here, and: here at my flickr account.
It was another lovely Sunday morning, well, it was kinda slow once the sun came up, slower than usual. WCBS radio was adding to their traffic news coverage "Extended Pope traffic coverage," well I thought it was all hogwash and it could all be avoided anyway. This was the first time I decided to print out Gridlock Sam's traffic column, and the first sentence of the column said, "Don't drive if you don't have to this weekend." I barely noticed the Pope's presence on Saturday, he only stayed by the United Nations, and went to his hotel. I stayed west and downtown on Saturday and avoided the whole thing.
Sunday though was different. I waited at the Downtown Marriott as the sun rose while 10 minutes became a half-hour, and a half-hour grew past 1 hour of waiting. After this time I was first in line for the hotel only because the taxis in front had given up. I had some sort of odd feeling that it wasn't going to be any better anywhere else. The news reports were talking about road closures right where I was, and so I felt kind of special. I thought that I was in some enclosed Pope zone, and I wasn't even sure if I could leave.
Pope Mobile spotted: Downtown / Financial District (World Trade Center)
Well I got something out of it all, the Pope Mobile itself was towed past the taxi line and the hotel just before the gates were open at the World Trade Center site (A.K.A. Ground Zero). I was afraid to take a picture as it passed, fearing they'd lock me up and send me to Guantanamo. But then the doorman, the bellhop, and concierge as well as a few tourists whiped out their cellphones and aimed them simultaneously at the Pope Mobile in tow. Another 15 or 30 minutes passed and I got somebody up to Central Park, who told me the streets wouldn't be closed for another hour, he even had a sheet showing all the road closures in the area from the hotel.
So it was all under relative control after that; pick up tourists, hope they don't go to Ground Zero, than work up to New Yorkers at noon driving them home after errands, or lunch, or the gym. But I soon found myself in deja vu:
Upper East Side
Here I was having found a hotel to wait at, all of Park Avenue became blocked north of 63rd and I was between 62nd and 63rd. Again I wasn't sure if I could drive off or if I would be target practice for the roof snipers. The oddest situation went down where an old man came up to me and told me he wanted to go up to 86th street. I told him he was first on the list when I get a chance to drive north again. So we waited, we all waited, the neighbors, the hotel guests, the Cadillac Escalade Limousine Drivers, the decorated soldiers? We all waited for what we heard was to be merely 15 minutes from the polite doormen and the police both. 15 minutes turned to 30, et-cetera. The man asked if he could lean on my cab, and I took pictures of the waiting.
More simultaneous cellphones
The officers told me that chances are all Avenues at the moment were closed north of 63rd. "Wow this guy really messes with a town," said some random guy in shorts and a Hawaiian T-shirt, " He must think this city has no traffic at all." I looked back toward the hotel to see a sprinkling of hotel personnel all over. A man walked briskly but with a chipper disposition toward the street closure and asked one of the hotel guys this: "Hey who's manning the desk?" to which the reply was, "Nobody is." It was the culmination for me of the small town moment we were having. Hardly ever in New York City, and especially when working as a taxi driver do I hear or see evidence of something or somebody not being watched.
Just then the doorman asked me if I was available to take 2 people to Newark Airport, I really wanted to, but I had to talk between the doorman and the old guy who wanted to go uptown about how I couldn't go uptown anyway, and that once the streets opened north, an empty taxi-cab would be easy to find, and I asked the doorman if he'd help the man find a cab, and he obliged.
Being that it was such a strange day, I continued to watch as the Papal Motorcade drove by.
Eventually the Hawaiian shirt guy and his wife left in one of the Cadillac's. I returned to my cab to find the trunk packed and the people sitting waiting to be driven to Newark Airport, and but of course we made it in record time.
It was at 50th and 7th Avenue where I picked these two up. They were both dressed real nice, one wore a white leather jacket, both had their hair cut so short it was barely there. They walked with care not to scuff their shoes. I stopped and let them in. Instantly the guy on the left started to talk with high energy, animated and throwing in the N word at least once every sentence. "Yo N-gah, what was that?" the left said to the right, "It was like the N- was up in our face and.. where this n- come from?"
Right guy- “Yo I don't know man, I don't know," he reclined deep into the seat. "There was mad girls though-“
Left guy- "Really?"
Right guy- "Yeeaah, all these girls were all around us. They were trying to pull them off of us.”
Left- “He threw his chain on me son!"
“What?" said the right
Left- “Does it look bad?" He motions to his face and straightens his posture.
The right guy, takes a minute, and looks at the mark on his friend's face, searches for any other marks, but doesn't take too long to frighten his friend. "Nah, nah, you'll be alright, just ice it.”
We pass 45th on Broadway; vibrant lights shout and dance around the cab, clashing with our silence.
Left guy- “My ma though, she is gonna freak.”
My eyes darted to the rear-view mirror to see what this was about. I got a little tense to say the least when they came in with their language and the talk about violence, but it was becoming clear they were just kids who'd been the victim of some shit from some jerks way worse than they were. I hoped he knew he needed to ice that thing pronto. I mean maybe he should see a doctor or something.
They went on for a bit about how the guy came out of nowhere, and questioning what brought them into the situation. We were now at the north end of Washington Square Park. I stared at the traffic light reading it like a clock. The first red light in a trip always feels the longest. The guy on the left had taken a breath between words for a bit, the guy on the right was handling the night with more reserve and so our minds raced in our moment of stillness.
Hey cab driver," said the guy on the left, "What would you do if some guy started something with you?”
Well actually I've never been in a fight before," I said.
And the figurative wall between the passengers and me was broken; he had the green light to explain his story to me.
"No offense," he said, "But these white guys came out of nowhere and just started with us, throwing names and he was all up in my friend's face, so I stood in front of my friend and he threw his chain at me. I was like, what the fuck? You know?"
I: “Did you punch him back or something?” If it was I, I wouldn’t have done a damn thing, but I had to maintain a tough guy taxi driver image for these clients.
He: “I would’ve trashed him, but I didn’t want the police coming in, ya know, shit man that’d be the last thing I need. Yo I got mad butter on me son.”
Hmmmm, and thus a title for this post, apparently butter is convictions, warrants, previous whatever, whatever builds up a police record for an individual. Who knew?
I: “Did you come from the same club as them?”
He: “No I have no idea where they came from.”
I: “You know I think that whole area is bad. Sometimes there are places where you go and bad shit just happens... often.”
My statement was ignored. Getting told to avoid a spot wasn’t in their modus operandi. He continued talking to his friend who now had some moments of reprieve from this high-energy dialogue, and to me, whoever would listen really.
“Yo I was going to fight him son but shit I got mad butters, mad mad butter, and I figured I’d keep my cool.”
Now we were at Canal and Broadway, turning to soon approach the Manhattan Bridge and take a straight line through Brooklyn and hopefully not too far. Thoughts of pride, and respect circled in his head. He took some time to gather another sentence up. I might have glanced in the mirror again, and I might have seen a hint of the scar, but I couldn’t see the whole thing because the mirror was too small. The one with the adrenaline and the scar he looked kinda young, maybe 22 years, his eyes were wide open on an automatic human instinct to be fully aware incase anything else should turn un-expected. The other mostly because of how he carried himself seemed to be 26ish, and he held a responsibility to take his good friend home safely.
He started again, more softly trying to recollect, directing eye contact with his friend, “Where did they even come from though?”
Right- “I have, no idea.” Shaking his head and speaking at low decibel.
Left- “Do you know what we could’ve been doing to instigate it?”
Right- “Not a clue man, not a clue.”
Fortunately it wasn’t too far into the borough of BK, the fare was paid by credit as we sat adjacent to a fire hydrant. It might have been five minutes maybe even more that we sat, while the two agreed scar face, would be all right. He asked me how bad it was. I twisted and looked uninhibited through the partition and was taken aback at first. Parallel to his nose a red line ran from his swollen upper lip to just above his left eyebrow. I looked longer and harder, the scar though was barely in ‘scar’ territory, it wasn’t raised from the skin so it seemed that maybe it may swell up a bit and then disappear over time. So I told him it wasn’t that bad.
So after his friend finally left, we went on. I told him I’d take three dollars off his fare, because had I known the ride was to continue I wouldn’t have shut the meter off, which ads three dollars as a surcharge at the beginning of each ride at that time, I don’t think he followed. Then he told me he’d give me directions to his house, and I was following his directions until I realized his address was in the other direction, and as is quite common, his directions were completely backwards. I traveled a whole ten blocks or more east when his place was only a little bit south of the first drop off. I then shut off the meter, which was at seven, and turned around. Oh the poor guy was groaning as the sting was setting in and the adrenaline was wearing off. He was looking all around unfamiliar with where he was for most of the ride, until we were within walking distance.
“Stop right here,” he said quickly. And so I stopped, and waited, and waited some more. I was wondering how much time I should give this guy before I give him a quizzical look.
He-“So… How much is it?”
I-“Oh, oh yeah it’s uhh, seven, whatever.”
I thought he would’ve figured that out. He walked into his apartment tower at a medium pace. As I made my way back I thought perhaps the scar had caused more damage than at first we all believed.
And the moral of the story for me is, I shouldn’t go to Times Square empty before the sun is up. For you the moral of the story is similar, don’t party near Times Square, too many assholes. I have to get back to work now. I've been on my breakfast break for just over an hour. Sorry it took me so long to finish writing this.
Oh the summer is here, and we had a number of street fairs. The 8th Avenue street fair in Chelsea in addition to some construction on 17th Street jammed up all the westbound traffic in Chelsea and the Flatiron District, as well as northbound traffic on Park Avenue South and 6th Avenue. The eastbound traffic was a little crappy too. As usual there was traffic going west in the 30’s and cross-town in the early 50’s. There was some sort of event at Rockefeller Center, all these football fans of any team in general; no football jersey was the same. 5th Avenue was moving at turtle paces due to gridlock from various crossing streets. Also as usual, since the Pope was gone, the traffic update radio stations have gone back to only reporting traffic into and out of Manhattan, but not reporting on Manhattan traffic. Somebody should start a radio station, which updates on traffic conditions on the Island of Manhattan. Anyway I got pretty lucky. All cabbies know that the job is mainly about luck, and I got few rides going cross-town, which kill more time than a visit to the local post office. Early in the morning I had an hour-long gap between fares at one point, but since I picked up the cab an hour later, I was able to return it later, and dip into a time that had higher passenger demand. If it weren’t for the one airport fare and then a rare trip back into Manhattan from the airport soon after, it wouldn’t have been such a good day. The woman going to LaGuardia couldn’t find any identification, so she hoped the airport would accept an article in a magazine with her picture as proof. She was some singer, I asked her name, but it didn’t ring a bell. The traffic report said that due to a Mets game the Grand Central would be bad, but of course, it was way better than the cross-town traffic in Manhattan.
It was all going situation normal today before the sun came up, but I knew soon that all of midtown was going to shut down for the various pope locations today. I went to Greenwich Village to my usual coffee shop at 8 am. They always seem a little out of it over there, but what lacks in timely service and perhaps quality, more than makes up for in price and atmosphere. I don't know where else I can get a coffee with soy milk and a pumpernickel bagel with tofu spread for only 3.25 and every eleventh coffee is free. Sure a coffee can be had for as little as 75 cents, but I'm allergic to milk, so I need the fancy treatment. There is actually a health food store around the corner from Katz's in the Lower East Side that sells a coffee with soy milk for only a buck, but the place opens at 10 am, which is already too late for me. Anyway, the cashier forgot to take my money, so it was just sitting there while I waited for my bagel to be toasted. Eventually they realized the accident and took my money. Also eventually I got my bagel, and I returned to my car with a 65 dollar parking ticket, damn! I mis-read the freakin' sign, and it was no parking except sunday, I thought it was no parking monday through friday.
Than I waited an hour and a half at the ship terminal. They were doing the most crazy stuff there. The first ship started letting passengers out at street level where they were all crossing the highway and getting cabs there. Then the officials told us to loop around on the third level back to the first pier, gahhh. The fare wasn't so bad, they went to queens, it was a 22.50 fare and they gave me 30.
I suppose it could be much worse, I'll take a parking ticket any day, as punishment for taking it easy, instead of a moving violation as punishment for being a knuckle-head. I saw two instances where police pulled up behind taxicabs dropping people off and not pulling over in proper places. You can't have your car over the crosswalk and intersections when stopping. Worse though, I saw the police checking a man's pockets as he placed his hands on the roof of a taxi. Then he drew his hands behind his back to get handcuffed. I checked the driver-seat as I drove past. The seat was empty, engine running. The taxi driver was he, and he was being arrested.
oh what can I say, Popetastic, Popetacular!
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