10/27/09 Tues. 71 miles
10/28/09 Wed. 82 miles
10/29/09 Thurs. 68 miles
One of my brothers is coming to visit for 5 days so I’ve been working like a maniac for the past two weeks. I will be taking some much deserved time off while my brother is in town.
There hasn’t been much happening in the Hack lately in terms of crazy fares or silliness so I thought I’d share a cab story that involves me as a passenger.
Several years ago when I was a young lad I got drunk somewhere and took a cab ride home. The cab driver was one of those old timers. One of those New Orleans cab drivers who had been driving for 30 years or something to that effect. I have always been fascinated by these guys. It’s really no wonder I decided to start driving a cab. It’s mostly out of my admiration for how cool these old timers are.
Anyway, I was drunk and probably pretty inquisitive. I’m not sure how the conversation started but this man claimed that the movie Teen Wolf was actually about him. Judging from the amount of back hair that protruding out of his collar I found it feasible. He told me that he had driven some movie producers around and was telling them his life story and a few years later he saw it play out on the big screen as Teen Wolf. He assured me that he wasn’t a Werewolf, that was Hollywood bullshit, but the rest of it was eerily familiar. It was a good laugh.
He continued on to claim that he also was behind Forrest Gump. I called bullshit on that one but he wouldn’t back down. We arrived in front of my shotgun apartment on 7th & Constance and the cabbie continued.
“Listen Joe, this is all very fascinating but I want to get high. Do you want to come in and smoke a joint?” I asked him.
“Well, hmm. I haven’t done that in a long time. I am about to call it quits for the night, why not.”
So Joe the cabbie came in and continued with his story about how Hollywood executives exploited his life. I rolled a monster joint and we got high.
For a brief moment it all hit me. Here I was, a drunk 24 year, smoking a joint with a 60 year old cab driver in my apartment. What the hell was going on?
I started to get dizzy.
I stood up and said these exact words:
“Pardon me Mr. Joe. I have to go vomit, I’ll be right back.”
I stumbled my drunken ass to the bathroom and prayed to the porcelain god.
When I came back out Joe was still sitting on my couch smoking the joint.
“Well, I can see you probably want to…”
Puff Puff
“go to bed…”
Puff Puff
“so I’ll be leaving now,” Mr. Joe said politely and put the roach in the ashtray.
I let the cabbie out of my apartment and waved goodbye.
I woke up the next morning and asked myself; “Did I get high with a cabbie last night in my apartment?” I shared my silly story with friends & they laughed claiming, “Only you would invite a cabbie inside to smoke a joint.”
Two weeks pass and I called a cab to catch a show at the Shim Sham -now One Eyed Jack’s. Guess who picks me up? You got it. I climbed in the back seat and everything seamed familiar. Joe looked back at me and asked where he was taking me.
“Oh Shit,” I thought to myself.
“Didn’t I drive you a couple of weeks ago?” He asked.
“Yeah, yeah. We smoked a joint in my apartment. I have to apologize for getting so wasted,” I said somewhat embarrassed.
“Oh, no problem. I never got a chance to thank you for the high,” he replied.
“Don’t mention it. Was my pleasure.”
“Oh, I never got the chance to finish my story either.”
Joe dove right back into the story of how some Hollywood execs got the idea for Forrest Gump from him and his childhood.
He was so excited for the chance to re-tell his story that he forgot to turn the meter on. He didn’t realize this until we arrived at the Shim Sham.
“Oh, I never turned the meter on. Well, that was probably about a… You know what? This rides on me son.”
He still hadn’t finished the story so I sat with him at the corner of Toulouse & Chartres for a few minutes while he continued. Finally I realized that this story would continue on for an hour if I let it.
At his next pause I graciously thanked him and climbed out of the car. I met up with my friends in the front parlor of the bar.
“Guys, you’ll never guess who the cab driver was that picked me up!”
**** Disclaimer****
Now a full fledged adult I know better than to do drugs or invite strangers into my home.
pstk
Hackometer
Monday, November 9, 2009
One From the Past
The Connecting Fare
10/24/09 Sat. 130 miles
10/25/09 Sun. 57 miles
10/26/09 Mon.
59 miles
7:17 PM
I was paged to an address on St. Charles to pick up a regular. He usually has his older man friend with him but today he was alone. He sat in the back seat and asked to be taken to the Walgreen’s on St. Charles then back home. Before I could turn around in the neutral ground he had changed his mind.
“You know, this is my first time out of the house today. Why don’t we go for a drive? Let’s start with La Madeline’s in the Riverbend.”
“You bet.”
Last time I picked him up I drove him out to the suburbs to attend a bible study group. I found it extremely odd for a gay man, who I assume is dating an old Jewish man, to be going to a bible study in the burbs. What did I care though, it was a $30fare.
Today I guess he was just feeling lonely and wanted some company. We have a few customers like this, including Ms. Mary No Van. He stayed in La Madeline talking to the girl at the counter for a few minutes then came out with a snack for himself and an oatmeal cookie for me. This time sitting in the front seat.
“If I am going to be breaking my diet you’ll be indulging with me,” he stated.
I gladly accepted the treat since I had not had a cookie yet that day.
He sat eating his cheesecake.
“Where to now sir?”
“Well, since I’m already breaking my diet I might as well go all the way. How about that ice cream shop over there.”
“You bet.”
He came out a few minutes later with a cup of ice cream for me and a pint for himself.
“It’s called Quarterback Crunch.”
I thanked him for the ice cream and ate a bite of it at each red light on the way back to his apartment. On the way back he told me about how he had hurt his knee while at Disney World (I believe) and how he further aggravated it when he fell out the door of a cab while in New Orleans. Then he told me about how an Arabic cab driver had invited him to a Mosque to join him in prayer.
“Now imagine me, a gay catholic in a Muslim Mosque,” he laughed to himself.
He went though even though he didn’t “Pray to Allah”.
The total fare was $24.50 but he wrote it down on his charge account slip as $21.50 + a $3.50 tip. I didn’t care though, I got free ice cream out of it.
I took a page immediately to Pascal’s Manale with a half a scoop of ice cream left finishing it as I pulled up to the restaurant.
Working mostly Uptown I can tell you almost every order that comes out. We have so many regulars that it becomes obvious. What I don’t understand is there are several cab drivers that have been driving for years who don’t jump on certain orders because they‘re in bad areas.
I remember early on when I first started driving I was sitting at the Carol Stand on the corner of Jackson Ave & St. Charles Ave. It was a busy night but there weren’t many orders in my area. Broadway and CC -the college areas- were jumping though. There was 5 cabs parked in my area waiting. Ali -the dispatcher- was paging a few orders close by but in bad neighborhoods.
“21 on Willow,” ptsk.
“21 on Willow,” ptsk.
I was so new and somewhat timid. I expected somebody to take the page but no one did.
“21 on Willow,” ptsk.
“Man, man. If I were out there driving I’d be moping all of you guys up,” ptsk
Today I took that 21 on Willow, it’s a rough neighborhood that’s for sure. But the order is a perfect order when the timing is right. It’s a woman who works at Xavier University. She calls every night right around the same time all the college kids are going out for the night. So you can take the page and end up right by the Universities and grab another page that will bring you either to the Quarter or the Napoleon area.
After dropping her off I swung by Jacques-Imo’s and picked up a tourist from Boston and drove him all the way to his hotel in the CBD. That was a $14 fare and the guy tipped me $6.
Sure, 21 on Willow is an $8 fare with no tip but it can lead to a $14 fare immediately afterwards. I’ll take that any day.
pstk
Chartered
10/19/09 Mon. 69 miles
10/20/09 Tues. 77 miles
10/21/09 Wed. 30 miles
10/22/09 Thurs. 83 miles
10/23/09 Fri.
62 miles
I was headed down Sophie Wright on my way to get a coffee at Mojo when I was flagged by a woman on the side of the road. She wanted to go to her condo in the CBD.
“I think you’ve driven me before,” she stated.
“Yup, I drove you home from…”
“The Wholefoods. I remember because we talked about Kid Rock,” she reminded me.
I laughed to myself.
Of course I remember this lady. The first time I drove her she found out I was from Detroit and talked about how much she loved Kid Rock. I didn’t bother to tell her what I thought of his music and just nodded my head the whole way. I also remembered she was terrified to leave the house at night.
We got stuck in the usual back-up at Camp and Andrew Higgins. A mile long trip turned into grueling 10 minutes. All I wanted was my afternoon coffee.
I was hired by a couple and their daughter to drive them around while they shopped. I tried to explain to them that it wasn’t worth it but they insisted. So I waited for them for 30 minutes while they walked through the Riverwalk. When they came out the Mom handed me a beignet. I drove them 3 blocks to The Shops at Canal Place and ate my beignet while I waited. I sat on Canal St. people watching for another 45 minutes. When they finally came out I felt guilty. They owed me $64 for nothing, for waiting. It seemed so ridiculous.
“Sir, the restaurant is only 3 blocks from your hotel. You really shouldn’t waist your money by having me waiting around for you.”
He agreed so I decided to charge him the meter rate of $44 instead of the $64 chartered fare. He gave me $50 and we said our goodbyes. It was a complete waste of $50 but I got the impression he has wasted more on less in his life.
I was having a decent night until around 1:00 AM. There was no business and bunch of money hungry cabbies were waiting on their Friday night prey. It never came.
pstk
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The Double Dip
10/16/09 Fri. 128 miles
Business was amazing tonight up until Midnight. I was on pace to break my record but the bottom fell out. We went from crazy to dead in a matter of minutes.
10/18/09 Sun. 114 miles
The Saints beat the Giants today in football. It seemed like the entire population of the city was wasted by 5 o’clock today. Around 8:00 PM I took a page for the Rendezvous Tavern on Magazine St. I pulled up to see a couple arguing. I prayed that they weren’t my fare. I honked my horn and no one came out of the bar. The girl kept trying to walk away from the guy and he would stumble after her. After a few minutes of this the guy came stumbling over to my car.
“How much to get us to the interstate?” He slurred.
“The interstate? About seven bucks.”
He turned to the girl and repeated my answer.
“Well, do you know where the apartments are by the interstate?” He slurred.
“There’s a bunch of apartments over there,” I replied.
“Will you take us?”
“Yeah. If you know where you live, I‘ll take you. What‘s the address?”
He conferred with the girl.
“705 Race,” he screamed with delight.
Yay!
I motioned them in.
The girl was not happy with her man. She seemed fairly sober. He, on the other hand, was shit faced. They bickered the whole time.
“You suck so bad,” she kept saying to him.
She must have said it at least 10 times and every time I had to bite my tongue.
“Why do you have to be so mean? Sarah’s nice to me,” he mumbled.
“Well, maybe you should date Sarah,” she spewed.
“Maybe,” he mumbled.
“You suck so bad!”
I was happy to have them out of my cab.
Around 10:30 I decided to call it quits and stopped by the dispatch office. David had 15 orders in front of him. There was still plenty of business and he was too busy to talk. So I figured I’d head out and catch a couple more fares.
No sooner than 5 minutes out of the office I caught a page from an address that sounded very familiar. It was a friends house. The girl who came out was not my friend. She wanted to go back to her hotel which was by the Airport. She was in town from Lafayette visiting. We talked the whole time. She knew most of my friends and we laughed at the fact that we had so many mutual friends but met this way.
I was sitting at the Taco Bell -guilty pleasure- on Williams Blvd. eating a double decker when I heard the dispatcher come over the radio.
“Wait, you’re not in Kenner,” ptsk.
My ears pricked up.
I don’t really know why but cabs from my company are not allowed to wait at the Airport and bring passengers back into the city. We have to be called in by customers. When you go to the Airport you can check in to the Kenner Stand and wait for a call. These calls only happen a few times a day so I never bother to check in to the Kenner Stand. I usually drive back empty.
The dispatcher started going down the line of cabs checked in at the Kenner Stand. I heard him go through 3 cab numbers and got no response. I grabbed my mic and held it to my mouth, waiting. My heart was actually pounding. He went through 2 more cab numbers then said it.
“Airport,” ptsk.
“228.”
“228. How long?” pstk.
“7 minutes.”
“Call me at the ramp,” pstk.
It’s the first time I’ve ever double dipped at the Airport.
pstk
The Waiting Game
10/15/09 Thurs. 95 miles
Here we are in the middle of October and the heat is still holding strong in the 80’s. It’s also been raining cats and dogs for the past week. The downpours leave a puddle in the front floor well of my passenger side. So everyday I have to mop water out of the Impala. There is more rain to come tonight so I got out early than usual for a Thursday hoping to finish up before the storm.
There is an influx of New Yorkers in town this week for the Saints VS Giants game. I picked up 3 today that I drove yesterday. I kept them laughing the whole ride to the Quarter and got a $7 tip from them.
Around 5:30 I was paged from the Napoleon Stand to a pretty nice address. Whenever I get a page I try to guess what it will be. This one I thought for sure would be two yuppies on a dinner date. Boy, was I wrong.
I rolled up to find a woman I had driven a month or so before. She was hard to forget -I was convinced she was a junkie. She was skin & bones, bad complexion, and looked about 30 years older than she actually was. In fact, she looked like a female version of Keith Richards. The first time I drove her I picked her up from a bar and drove her to the Columns Hotel. She told me she was back in town and staying there until she found a place to live and that was the extent of our conversation. When I picked her up the first time I couldn’t quite figure her out and this time would shed a little more light on the situation.
She was having car troubles and asked me to take her to her house and then back to the car. We were in the middle of rush hour traffic and she was wigging out. She made me take a longer route to her house to avoid traffic so she could get home and “grab something”. I pulled up and she handed me a $20 and asked me to wait a couple of minutes. At first I was naïve enough to think that she was actually grabbing some things but the short wait turned into 10 minutes. She came back out in a totally different mood. Obviously high on something.
“Oh, thank god. I needed that,” she said entering the car.
“OK, so back to the car?”
She sat in the fetal position in the back seat.
“Yeah. Ugh, I thought I was going to explode. All this bullshit with the car was getting to me. I needed something to take the edge off,” she confessed.
Whatever, I didn’t care. I had $20 in my pocket already.
She was talking herself into circles. The conversation jumped all over the place.
“You don’t have a baby with Down Syndrome but I do,” she said out of nowhere then stuck her tongue out at me.
“No. I do have an Autistic nephew though,” I replied.
“Oh he’s so cute,” she said sitting up into the opening of my two front seats.
“You know something interesting about babies with Down Syndrome? You can tell right away by looking at their fingers. Their pinkies don’t have two creases in them, just one. The doctors didn’t tell me that. They had me wait for tests when they could’ve just show me that.”
“Wow, I never knew that.”
“Yeah, I read that the highest I.Q. he could have is about 90,” she said.
“Well, that’s not so bad. I don’t think the average person is much higher than that,” I replied.
“Yeah, I figure if I do the best job possible that’s the best I could hope for him.”
“Listen, you seem really easy going. When we get to my car would you mind following me to my friends house just in case I break down.”
“Sure.”
We arrived at her friend house and she came walking back over to my car. I thought the fare was over.
“Do you mind waiting a few more minutes and then you can take me back to my house?” She asked.
“Well, If you’re going to be a while it’ll be cheaper for you to just call another cab.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Don’t worry, I ain’t going nowhere,” she replied.
There wasn’t much business happening over the dispatch radio so I agreed.
“Oh, you’re like my personal chauffer. Hey, that would be a good job for my son. I think someone with an I.Q. of 90 could do this,” she said.
“For sure,” I replied. I wasn’t offended because there’s a lot of dumb cab drivers in this world.
I parked the car at her friends house and waited while she said hello to her son. She was right, her little boy was very cute.
By the time she came back to the car the fare was already at $27.25. She hopped in the back seat and continued on with her sporadic stories. Her thoughts were all over the map from one story to the next. She confessed that she had gotten herself into trouble somehow. This caused her to be separated from her baby. She was with him for the first time in almost a year and she had planned on “dedicating herself to him.”
When we arrived at her house for a second time the fare was $35. She handed me $45 and asked for my card. I told her to just call my company and ask for cab number. That’s what I tell most people because it’s just too much of a hassle to have random strangers calling for a ride all the time. My company will always send the closest cab.
Even after being with her for an hour I still haven’t really figured out her situation. Obviously money isn’t a big issue for her because the last time I drove her she gave me a huge tip and today she happily handed over $45 to me. Weird.
From there I grabbed a page at Tulane University. That took me to Magazine Street where I immediately grabbed a page that took me to Walmart. At Walmart I picked somebody up and took them to the Quarter. Just like that I had managed a nice chunk of cash while other cabbies were out there suffering.
My next fare was a stripper I had driven a week earlier. She stiffed me last time so I wasn’t too excited to be driving her around. This time she had a female friend with her.
“Listen, we are going downtown but can you stop off at the gym on St. Charles and wait for 10 minutes for us?” She asked.
Her friend wanted to get a quick tan in before she went to audition for a strip club.
“Well, it’ll probably be cheaper to just call another cab,” I explained.
We arrived at the gym and the girl forgot her money so I had to drive her back to her apartment while her friend tanned her tush. We drove back to the gym and the girl again asked me to wait. This time with the meter off. I agreed to wait for the pasty white one to finish up with her tan. The meter was already at $10 and at that point I figured why the hell not. At least it would end up being a $20 fare.
On the way to Bourbon St. the regular gave the pasty one the low down on V.I.P rooms. I was happy to be listening in on this conversation. It’s always cool to hear the inner workings of establishments. I hardly ever frequent strip clubs but from what I understood it’s a better deal to get a V.I.P room at the Penthouse than Rick’s Cabaret. Just in case you were wondering.
After dropping them off on Bourbon St. I immediately picked up another stripper and her boyfriend and drove them out to Mid City. Tonight was turning into a great night.
Around 10:00 PM I was driving down Magazine and spotted a girl flagging me down. She was drop dead gorgeous and going to Tipitina’s alone to see a band. She was new in town and going to see a band from her home town. She complained that she always had a hard time getting a cab at her apartment so I gave her my number and told her to call me when she needed one. For smoking hot girls I always make an exception, plus I work her neighborhood all the time.
“I can usually get you where your going for the night but after Midnight that’s a different story. I’m usually out trying to have some fun for myself after that,” I told her.
“Oh yeah? What are you doing tonight?”
Wait! What?
“Tonight I’ll be working because my birthday is Saturday,” I stupidly replied.
She wished me a happy birthday and flashed me a cute little smile before exiting.
Sometimes I’m just a stupid, clueless cab driver.
pstk
That Guy
10/10/09 Sat. 116 miles
10/11/09 Sun. 83 miles
10/12/09 Mon. 52 miles
10/13/09 Tues 54 miles
10/14/09 Wed. 73 miles
Thankfully, business has been better lately. After spending an hour on Friday with Mr. Jackie I am happy to have had a fairly boring week. I drove two New Orleans Icons this week in my cab.
I picked up George Rodrigue -famous for painting the Blue Dog- from a Halloween party. He was very polite to me but he seemed completely disinterested in the rest of the company he had in the cab with him.
He mentioned that Blain Kern -Owner of Mardi Gras World- wanted him to open a gallery at the new facility. I looked over at Rodrigue and asked if he was a photographer.
“He’s the Blue Dog,” a man in the back exclaimed.
Rodrigue looked at me and rolled his eyes as the man in the back continued.
“I thought I recognized you,” I said to him.
That was really the extent of my interaction with him. When I dropped him off at their car in the CBD he gave me $30 for a $14 fare and thanked me.
I also drove Tommy, well known for opening Irene’s -one of my favorite restaurants. When he and his wife divorced she took over Irene’s and he went on to open Tommy‘s. I picked him up in front of the Marriot on Canal and drove him to his establishment. He was a little creepy and didn’t tip quite as well as Rodrigue.
pstk
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Blind Love
10/09/09 Fri. 116 miles
I turned on my dispatch radio and smiled. All pages. That meant there was plenty of business on the streets. Normally, I turn the radio on and listen for a minute to try to figure out what stand I want to be on. No need for that today. I drove down to the Rue, grabbed a coffee and took the closest page. I wish everyday started out like this.
A heavy rain came down around the start of the Friday night dinner rush. This was the first big rain I’ve dealt with in the Impala. My windshield wipers were so bad that I had to get off the road. I couldn’t see a damn thing so I went to Walmart and bought a new set. I drove down Tchoupitoulas trying to find some shelter to install the blades and came across a poor lost soul in the rain. He was trying to find the youth hostel. He wasn’t too far away so I told him to hop in and I’d drive him for free. He gave me $5 anyway. At that point the rain let up long enough for me to change the wipers and I was off again grabbing the closest pages.
I was about 8 hours into my shift and having one of my best nights on the “hack”. I had planned on working into the early morning to save up some extra cash. Around 1:00 AM it all came to a screeching hault.
I was paged to pick up at Touro Hospital. You are never quite sure what you’re going to get out of that place after midnight. I rolled into the little horseshoe on Prytania and looked into the doorway. A blind man was trying to walk through the automatic doors. His walking stick was folded up in his hands. He kept walking head first into the doors. There were 2 security guards standing right next to him but neither of them were helping him out. I got out of the car and walked over to guide the man to my car.
“How you doing, sir?” I asked.
“You da cab diver?” He asked.
He was loaded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, where da hell are ya. Kent ya see I’m blind?”
I stood next to him and pressed my forearm against his side.
“Do you want to sit in the front seat or the back?” I asked.
“You ta meh, you da diver!”
I escorted him into the back seat.
“Firs, we need to go to the chess bank and git som’ money. Den, you takin’ meh home.”
“OK. There’s a Chase bank right across the street.”
I pulled a U-Turn and parked in front of the Chase ATM.
“OK, OK. Here my I.D. Na go in and git enuf money,” he instructed me.
“Sir, the bank is closed. You’ll have to use the ATM,” I told him.
“How I do dat?”
“Well, here. Give me your ATM card and I’ll do it for you.”
“ATM Card? Here dis is all the cards I have.”
He handed me a few different cards, none of which were an ATM card.
“Sir, you don’t have an ATM card here.”
“No? Well jus go in and git some money. Here my I.D.”
I was beginning to lose my patience. I handed his cards back to him.
“The bank is closed. There’s nobody working right now.”
“Da banks close. Wha time is it?”
He held up his watch and hit a button and a voice cried out.
“It is 1:03 AM”
“Oh, shit!” He stated.
My thoughts exactly.
He felt the front of one of his cards and held it in my direction.
“You see? Dat’s where I live. Jus‘ take me there an I pay you tomorra.”
It was way out in New Orleans East. It would be 30 minutes there and 30 minutes back and I couldn’t bring myself to miss out on all the money I would be making at 1:00 AM on a Friday night.
“Sir, I can’t take you home with out any money. I just can’t do it. It’s at least a $30 cab ride plus and hour of my time,” I told him.
“Man, I jus’ wanna git home,” he replied.
“I understand, but I’m working sir, and I need to get paid.”
He sat in silence.
“Well, you were at Touro. Maybe I can go in there and get a voucher from the Hospital and they’ll pay for your ride,” I suggested.
He didn’t like that idea at all. I pulled the car back to the front of Touro and went inside to talk to someone… anyone.
The security guard inside told me that the man was at the bar across the street.
“The bartender brought him back over here,” the guard said.
“Do you know if this man was ever admitted here?” I asked.
“I don’t know. The first time I saw him was when the bartender brought him over,” he replied.
“So that’s when you called a cab for him?” I asked.
He nodded.
I shook my head.
I noticed the blind man had a hospital bracelet on but I wanted to get a closer look so when I went back to the car I opened the car door to talk to the blind man.
“Sir, they won’t give you a voucher and you don’t have any money. So, you’re going to have to figure out a different way to get home.”
I looked at the bracelet and it had today’s date on it. He was admitted and when he got out he made his way across the street and got loaded. I guess the bartender suddenly felt guilty and pawned him back off at the Hospital. Then they just pawned him off to me.
“Wha’ we goin’ to do?” He asked me.
I couldn’t help but laugh at that point.
“Well, do you have any friends or family nearby. I’ll drive you somewhere close for free. How about that?”
He shook his head no.
“Well, sir. There’s nothing I can do for you then,” I told him.
He sat silent for a few seconds.
“You tryin’ to git me outta yo car.”
“Well… yeah, I am. I mean, I’m not going to be driving you anywhere.”
“Well, how bout’ we jus’ call the cops den?”
“Sir, if you want to call the cops go right ahead. There just going to make you get out of my cab.”
He mumbled something then pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. He tried to explain the scenario to the police but they couldn’t understand him. He got frustrated and handed me the phone.
I laughed to myself.
“Hello, yeah. Sorry to bother you. This isn’t a major emergency. I don’t know why he dialed 911,” I told the lady.
“Well, what is the problem sir?”
“I’m a cab driver and I picked up a man at Touro Hospital. He doesn’t have any money and won’t get out of my car. It was his idea to call you guys.”
“Is he drunk?”
“Yeah,” I laughed.
“I thought so. I couldn’t understand a word he said. We’ll send somebody out there.”
“Thanks.”
I handed him his phone back.
“Wha’ dey say?” the blind man asked.
“They are sending someone over.”
“Awright, nah we see,” he replied.
I shut the back door and walked around to the drivers side and sat down.
“What you’re name son? I‘m Jackie.” He said holding out his hand.
“I’m Leonard,” I said and shook his hand.
“Leonard? L, E, O, N, A, R, D?
“Yes sir.”
“Leonard, I like the way you handle dis.”
I laughed out loud and so did he.
“You’s a good man to put up wit meh.”
“Well, I don’t really have a choice now do I Mr. Jackie,” I said jokingly.
We laughed.
“Mr. Jackie. If you lived anywhere close I would drive you home for free but I just can’t drive you to New Orleans East. That’s too for to do it on my dime.”
“Well, dive meh to… to Tulane and Sout Galvez.”
“Tulane and South Galvez? And what? Just leave you standing on the street there?”
“Yeah, I’ll be alright.”
“You’ll be alright. Yeah. I am not gonna drive you to that neighborhood and leave you on the street.”
“Wha? You scared?”
We laughed.
“I drive around all night long and pick up crazy people like you and you calling me scared?”
We laughed.
“Ha! You awright Leonard. How ol‘ are you?”
“I’ll be 32 in two weeks.”
“You got kids Leonard?” He asked.
“No Mr. Jackie I don’t. I don’t think I want to have kids either. You?”
“I got two. A son and daughter. But I didn’t raise em’. I’m a deadbeat dad.”
“You still talk to them?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. One’s in San tonio and otha in Houstin.”
We sat for a few minutes in silence.
“Jus’ take me to versity hospital,” Jackie demanded.
“What? Will they put you up for the night?” I asked.
Possibly a light at the end of the tunnel.
“Wha?” He questioned.
“Will University Hospital put you up for the night until the banks open so you can get some money?”
Mr. Jackie’s face wrinkled with confusion.
“Jus’ take me to versity hospital,” he begged.
“Mr. Jackie, the cops are on the way. We can’t just leave now. They’ll be pissed off.”
“Ow, where da hell are day?”
He hit the button on his watch again.
“It is 1:23 AM.”
He pulled out his phone and called 911 again. The same scenario as before. He handed me the phone and I explained that he had already called and the lady on the other end told me they had someone on the way.
We sat for a few more minutes continuing the “versity hospital” dance until the cops arrived. Two broad chested cops slowly exited their car and strolled over to my cab.
“What seems to be the problem, sir?”
“Well, this man wants me to drive him to New Orleans East but he doesn’t have any money. He won’t get out of my car, though. He hasn’t been obnoxious or aggressive. He just a little drunk I think. It was his idea to call you guys.”
They both smiled.
“I offered to drive him somewhere within the city and he told me to take him to University Hospital. Will they put him up for the night?” I asked.
“I don’t really know,” said the elder cop.
The two cops looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders in unison.
“Well, he’s just going to have to get out of your car. If he can’t pay than there’s nothing you can do for him,” the elder cop stated.
“He told me to take him to Tulane & South Galvez but I don’t really feel comfortable with leaving a blind man on the corner like that.”
Mr. Jackie got out of the back seat hootin’ & hollerin’, none of which any of us understood. The cops talked to him for a second and Mr. Jackie pleaded them for a ride to University Hospital. The cops explained that they couldn’t take him anywhere outside of their district.
“Take me to Tulane & Sout Broad,” Mr. Jackie told them.
“What? You want us to take you to jail?” the elder cop asked jokingly.
Everyone smiled and Mr. Jackie jokingly turned around and put his hands behind his back.
“Ya know? I used to be a bad motha’ fucka’! Na now, cause I’m blind,” he stated right into the face of the elder cop.
The cop explained again that they couldn’t take him out of their district and they settled on taking him to the corner of Washington & Carrolton. I guess they had no problem with leaving a blind man on the street. I would say I was surprised but I’d be lying.
So with the issue being settled Mr. Jackie wanted to fist bump everyone involved. He bumped the two cops then reached out for me.
“Where ma man at?” He asked holding his hand out nowhere near my direction.
“I’m right here Mr. Jackie.”
We bumped fists then he grabbed me by my arm and pulled me straight into his body. My throat smashed into his shoulder and he hugged me with such brute force that I gasped for air.
“I love you,” he yelled in my ear.
Still in his bear hug, I patted him on the back.
“Mr. Jackie. I love you too,” I replied fighting to get the words out of my crushed larynx.
Still in his embrace I looked over at the cops. They didn’t know what to think at that point. I gave them a look as if to say “don’t ask me”.
Mr. Jackie pushed me away and started yelling.
“Now git in your car! Git in your car!”
“It’s OK,” the cops and I urged him in unison.
“Git in your car and git da hell outta here!”
I opened my door and climbed in my cab with Mr. Jackie still screaming. The cops were trying to calm him down. Mr. Jackie turned his back to the cops and put his arms behind his back.
“Git outta here!”
“He’s a good man,” he yelled as I drove away.
My clock read 1:46 AM when I pulled out of the little horseshoe on Prytania. I had friends on Frenchmen Street who had been waiting on me for 30 minutes for a ride. I knew the story would more than make up for my tardiness.
pstk
The Trade Off
10/02/09 Fri. 150 miles ?
Yesterday David decided he would finally get the front end work done on the Lincoln. I was supposed to trade it out for an Impala for the weekend. Unfortunately the call didn’t come until 8:00 PM right in the middle of the Friday night dinner rush. I drove out to Metairie and left the car with a mechanic and was driven to New Orleans East to pick up the Impala. It put a pretty big damper on my night. Because of the trade off I don’t know exactly how many miles I drove today but it was quite a bit.
10/03/09 Sat. 102 miles
10/04/09 Sun. 75 miles
10/05/09 Mon. 69 miles
10/06/09 Tues. 59 miles
10/07/09 Wed. 41 miles
10/08/09 Thurs. 98 miles
It’s been a week and I’m still driving the Impala. I miss the Lincoln. People always got in and remarked how nice the cab was. I think people tipped better because of the car. I don‘t like driving under a different number either -#228. I got so accustomed to using #289 that it’s hard to get used to using and listening for a different number on the dispatch radio. Plus, none of the dispatchers know it’s me driving under the new number. I’ve developed a good rapport with them under #289 so if I did screw up I never got chastised. But I’ve caught grief a couple of times under #228. I have no idea when or IF I’m going to be getting the Lincoln back.
I knew when I was given the Lincoln it would eventually get taken back from me. But after 4 months I've grown to love driving that boat. The Impala is nowhere near as comfortable as a ride. I really hope I don't get stuck with it.
pstk
Monday, October 5, 2009
Surprise! Surprise!
09/27/09 Sun. 90.8 miles
09/28/09 Mon. 51.2 miles
09/29/09 Tues 84.6 miles
09/30/09 Wed. 57.5 miles
10/01/09 Thurs.
74.6 miles
September was the promise from all the dispatchers. That's when business will pick up and I will no longer have to work 7 days a week to make ends meet. I'm not the only one either. I hear the same numbers everyday. That means there's a bunch of us working 7 days a week. Well today is October 1st and the ends aren't meeting. In fact, they aren't even close. It’s 9:00 PM on a Thursday night and I sit 4th out at Touro. I've been running errands all day looking for a chance to jump in and make a few bucks but the stands have been full all day.
There are barely any cabs available to rent in my company right now. That means that we have more cabs than ever on the road and less business. The conventions have started back up but really, I've yet to see business like back in April. The odd thing is I feel like there is always a carrot being dangled in front of me. This weekend, next week, next month.
9:22 PM
“289, pstk”.
“289”.
“3201 Magazine, pstk”.
“Roger”.
Finally an order.
“I’m going to the Lakefront,” he said opening the back door.
“As in Lakeview… Lakefront?” I asked.
“Yeah, is that OK?” He asked.
I wasn’t exactly thrilled.
“Of course, man. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” I told him.
He got in and immediately asked if he could smoke a cigarette. I’m always amazed how people can’t wait 20 minutes to smoke a god damn cigarette. I agreed knowing it would pay off in the end. It was a beautiful night out and I had the windows rolled down anyway.
The questions started right after. They were typical at first. Where ya from? What brought ya here? The conversation veered very little at first from the standard questions. He told me he had just moved back to New Orleans from California but for some reason I didn’t believe him. I felt like I had seen him around before. I felt like he had made a bad impression on me during my disgruntled bartending years. What did I care anyway. He was putting me on and I was, in ways, putting him on. At times I get so bored of answering the same questions over and over that I stretch the truth. Sometimes I tell people about the “Hack” project, sometimes I don’t. I always make sure to tell them that I have higher artistic aspirations though. It almost always equals a bigger tip in the end. People, especially tourists, like to think they’ve ridden with a crazy New Orleanian or a talented young artist who is biding his time until the break comes. Sometimes, like in this situation, I tell people I’m a busker in the French Quarter playing guitar with my hands and drums with my feet -something I’m actually working towards.
We finally arrived at his house 30 minutes later after stopping at a gas station so he could buy beer. He kept saying the whole time that he would make it “worth my while” but I seldom believe people when they tell me such things. He held true to his word and dropped $60 on a $27 fare. I was shocked.
“Yo man, you’re crazy. You can’t give me this much,” I told him.
“Don’t worry, man. Just play your music,” he said.
“You’re crazy,” I repeated.
“Play your music, man,” he repeated and closed the door.
Thank goodness for that fare. Without it I would have made no money at all tonight. I had 4 No Loads tonight. One of which, I’m sure, was taken by a cabbie from my company. It’s gotten disgusting within my company. Even our own guys are stealing from each other constantly.
After getting my 3rd No Load around 2:00 AM in front of Le Bons Temps Roule I was sent to an address on St. Charles. I honked my horn and waited 5 minutes but no one came out. I turned around on St. Charles and took a left up the side street that bordered the huge mansion. I pulled up to the side of the house and saw a guy standing outside. He quickly ran inside screaming something. A minute later he came out shaking his head.
“Listen, I’m really sorry. I’m trying to get her to leave but she refuses,” he said.
I could hear a woman bitching inside the house.
He pulled out a wad of singles and handed them to me.
“This is for your time,” he said and shuffled back inside.
Figuring my luck had run out I decided to head home. I stopped by a gas station to get a snack. I sat in the parking lot eating nacho chips topped with hot orange cheese product. An American Cab Company cab driver pulled up behind me honking his horn. I ignored him and continued with my snack. I was woken from my cheese product haze by a rapping on my passenger window.
Three young college kids and one older guy holding two bags of brother’s Fried Chicken stood outside my cab.
“That guy said you would take us to the College,” the older guy said.
I was completely confused, munching on my nachos and looking at the with skepticism.
“Your telling me that…crunch, crunch, that cab driver, my competitor, put you out of his cab and told you to ride with me?”
“Yeah,” they agreed in unison.
“Why?” I questioned.
“He just said you’d take us,” the older guy said.
“I find it hard to believe. Why’d he put you out? Did you guys get into a fight?
“No,” they responded.
“Where you giving him a hard time?”
“No,” they responded.
“Did one of you vomit in his cab?”
“No, No. Listen man. I want you to drive these kids back to Tulane then drive me back here,” the older guy said.
“Here? Back to this gas station… crunch, crunch?”
“Well, Prytania,” he said.
“Do you have money?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said frustratingly flapping his arms. “I’m a Tulane professor for Christ sake”.
“OK, Let’s go. You can’t blame me for questioning though. It seems a little fishy that that guy would put you out for no reason,” I said.
They all agreed.
The ride to Tulane was nothing short of ridiculous. The older guy was bombed to the point that his eyes were rolling into the back of his head. He wanted me to take him to a store to buy more beer.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea. I think that’s exactly what you need,” said the girl from the back seat.
“Man, it’s 3 in the morning and you don’t want to be stopping at any place around here to buy booze,” I told him. “There are a few bars on the way though”.
“Please, just take us back to the Tulane,” the girl whispered to me.
We arrived shortly there after and the 3 kids quickly jumped out the back seat. One of the guys handed the drunk professor $5.
“Be sure to take my class next semester,” the professor slurred.
“Yeah! Right,” the girl said walking away from the cab.
The professor babbled incoherently about the 3 kids and how naïve they were.
“They jus’ don’ get it,” he slurred.
“Of course they don’t. They’re young. I’m sure you were just as clueless as they are when you were a kid. I know I was,” I replied.
“Yeah, you’re right. But they won’ eva get it. Ther’ these rich bastard kids from the East Coast. They don’ understand shit,” he slurred.
“Sure, maybe they won’t. But most people don’t understand anything outside of themselves. Whether rich or poor,” I replied.
There was a long pause as we pulled up to Prytania a few blocks from where he lived.
“Are you gay?” He asked.
“No”
“Well, you’re the mos’ nderstanding straight guy I’ve ever met,” he said as we pulled up to the address he told me.
He gave me a $20 and clumsily climbed out of the car. He crossed the street and continued walking well past his address. I looked over at the passenger seat and saw the $5 the one kid had given to the professor sitting crumpled on the seat. Bonus!
I looked in my side mirror and watched the professor walk into the darkness carrying 2 bags of fried chicken. I laughed a little but mostly felt sad for the guy.
pstk
Like the Rain, Coming Down
09/26/09 Sat. 115.1 miles
My first fare flagged me down in front of Superior Grill on St. Charles. He was in his 60s with a wiry gray beard and pale, freckled skin. He wanted to go to Harrah’s Casino. He managed to tell me his life story in an $8.00 fare. He started driving tour busses, illegally, when he was 16. His brother was already doing it for a living. He said he got burnt out on it by the time he 18 and took a break.
“Looking back, I’m not sure how I ever survived it. If I would have kept it up I woulda been dead at 21,” he said.
For the rest of the trip he was very introspective. We talked about doing right in life and the moral obligations we as people have to one another.
“I really don’t understand why I’m still on this planet. I should’ve been dead a long time ago. I don’t know why God keeps me here. Maybe it’s just to keep my old lady safe,” he contemplated. “You should see her. Here, look. She‘s 40 years old.”
We pulled up to Harrah’s and he pulled out his wallet and show me a picture of him and his old lady.
She was beautiful. I wondered how he did it. I mean, he was cool as hell but not the best looking guy in the world.
“Damn, man! You did well for yourself,” I told him.
He handed me $15.
“Now you be safe out there,” he said as he closed the door.
I picked up two girls in front of Whole Foods who wanted to go to Lucy’s on Tchoupitoulas. One of the girls liked a guy but wasn’t sure if he was interested. They asked my opinion on the situation.
“Listen, sometimes guys are complete idiots. Sometimes we can be overly aggressive, other times complete cowards. Sometimes we need to be hit over the top of the head. If you like him just ask him out,” I told her.
Too bad I can't follow my own advice.
There was a terrible accident on Magazine St. today. A car blew a stop sign and hit a SUV. The SUV flipped onto a parked car. They had 3 blocks of the street cut off. I drove two girls who saw the whole thing happen from a block away.
Around 9:00 PM I was paged to pick up from the Cure on Freret St. My fare was a young lady sporting the biggest teased out hairdo I’ve seen since the 80’s.
“How’s your night going?” I asked.
“Spectacular!” She exclaimed.
She smelled wonderful. It took me a second to place the scent but as soon as we passed the newly opened doughnut shop on Freret I was convinced.
“She must be one of the owners!” I thought to myself.
She smelled exactly like doughnuts. I have had an obsession with doughnuts my entire life and have a fantasy of opening my own old fashioned joint dedicated to the wonderful deep fried treat. I wasn’t quite sure how to confess my sickly obsession to this young lady so I just soaked up the wonderful smell and drove her home.
Right around 10:00 PM on the weekends there are so many cabs out on the road that our dispatch radio becomes a mess. I decided to take a break and have dinner while every other cab driver was checking into cab stands. I had decided hours before hand I would be having some pulled pork from the Voodoo BBQ on St. Charles. I took a right off of St. Charles onto Martin Luther King BLVD. to find a beautiful young redhead waiting on the corner. She walked across the street for my car obviously wanting a ride.
“How can I turn that down,” I said out loud in my empty car.
Another cab driver had already been dispatched on the order. I could have stolen the fare from the other driver but I decided to hold her until the designated cabbie arrived. She was already sitting in my car with her. I begrudgingly explained the situation to her.
“Should I wait outside?” She asked.
“If you want, but I don’t mind. You can wait here in the car. It’s safer,” I told her.
We talked for a few minutes until the other cabbie showed up. I hope he was grateful because it killed me to make such a beautiful young lady leave my car.
Sometime around 11:00 PM I was riding down Carrolton Ave. and spotted a 10-4 flagging me down. He was staggering pretty badly and I thought for a moment of just passing him by, but I got stuck at the red light on Oak St. The guy came running for my car and I had no choice but to pick him up. I had met this guy several times. Once, when I had first moved to New Orleans I had met him at the Balcony Bar. He was dressed to the “9’s” complete with alligator shoes. We shot a couple of games of pool and I went about my business. Later in the night/early morning I left the bar from the side entrance and stumbled upon him passed out on a bench outside. Someone had stolen his shoes.
I’ve crossed passed with him several other times since my first encounter and every time he’s been just as drunk as he was tonight.
“We are going to Ms. Mae’s!” He shouted.
“OK!” I shouted back.
A Morphine song -You Look Like Rain- came on WWoZ and he asked me to turn it up. I happily cranked it up and drove on to our destination. My customer started singing the wrong words to the chorus at the top of his lungs.
“You look like grey, you look like grey, you look like grey!”
“Man, oh, man,” he fought to make a coherent sentence.
He fumbled in his pockets and rubbed his head with his hands.
“You’ll never guess who I just played with. Never guess!” He shouted.
He was right.
“I just played a gig with Dr. John. He saw me going for it. He saw me and he grabbed it. He saw me…”
This rambling sentenced continued on for a solid minute of two. What he was going for I was never exactly sure. At first, I thought he was speaking musically. The more he rambled the less sure I was. For a moment I thought maybe he was talking about smoking a bowl. I just agreed and nodded my head.
“See man, you get it. Damn, Dr. John!” He shouted. “It was like the rain coming down”.
“He’s the man,” I agreed.
“NO uh uh. He’s the MACK!” He exclaimed.
“Mac Rabeneck,” I said under my breath.
“See, you know man!”
At which point he leaned into the front seat and planted a big wet kiss on my cheek. In New Orleans even men will kiss each other on the cheek.
“Man, man. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind. You just see it bro!” He screamed.
As we approached Brother’s 3 he told me to stop. I obliged, he paid his fare and climbed out of the car. There were 3 young black ladies standing outside by their car and he immediately walked over to them. I left before I could be a witness to him getting his ass handed to him.
My night ended with a string of four back to back fares. I picked up a group of 5 on St. Charles and drove them to Tipitina's. At Tipitina's a couple jumped in my cab. I thought they were part of the group I had just dropped off. I drove them to the Westin Hotel and picked up a guy there and drove him to Bourbon St. At Bourbon St. a beautiful young lady flagged me down then slipped her mom into my back seat. I ended my night driving a very cool mom out to Metairie. As I turned off of her street I noticed a cell phone in the back seat. I turned back and knocked on her door only to find out that it was not hers. It could have been left in the back seat from any of the three previous fares. No one ever called for it though.
pstk
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Back in Business
09/23/09 Wed. 43.0 miles
09/24/09 Thurs. 70.7 miles
09/25/09 Fri.
96.9 miles
Business was pretty good last night. The conventions have finally started back up for the fall season so I started today with high hopes. There was so much business that I didn’t get to a cab stand until I was 5 hours into my shift. It was such a wonderful feeling to catch pages on the fly and not have sit around and wait.
Friends were calling me for rides all night. I love driving my friends around but when it’s busy it can be detrimental to the natural flow of the hack. But my friends don’t ever need cab rides on a Monday night, that’s just the way it goes. I was lucky enough to drive my dear friend Anna downtown to the Butthole Surfers show. It was a nice little break from the craziness. She sat in the backseat though and that bothered me. After dropping her off I was back in the thick of it.
A couple jumped in my cab at Decatur and Canal.
“Take us to Bourbon Street,” they demanded.
“Um, you’re 3 blocks away. Just walk up Canal you can’t miss it,” I told them.
“Aw hell, take us anyway. We’ll probably get lost”.
I shrugged my shoulders and made a right up Canal. They were in my cab a total of 2 minutes and it cost them $5.
I headed Uptown and caught a page for a “paid package“.
You can call my company and we’ll pick up almost anything for you and deliver it to your door. That cab driver will get the very next order in the area when they finish.
Some lady calls at least once a week for us to pick up food for her at Juan’s Flying Burrito. I happen to live right around the corner from the restaurant. The timing couldn’t have been any better for me. I caught the page right in front of Juan’s. The order was nowhere near being finished so I ran home real quick and took a break. Since I know most of the staff at Juan’s I went back over and talked to some friends while I waited for the order to be finished up. They wondered who this mysterious woman was. I actually could have run the meter the entire time from the moment I took the page but I didn’t turn it on until I got the food. I dropped the food off to the mysterious take out lady 37 minutes after I took the page. For any other driver that would have been a terrible idea. But since I was going to stop by my house anyway if was perfect. Plus I had another fare waiting for me. That fare was a stripper who rides to the Quarter 3 nights a week.
Later on I was waved down by a guy right in front of the Napoleon Stand. He wanted to go to a gas station to buy beer. The closest one was in a bad neighborhood. He told me the last time he went he decided to walk and got jumped by two women. He just moved to New Orleans from France and had 2 crazy women trying to mug him. I’m surprised he stayed.
That fare set off a string of 3 back to back fares that ended with a 10-4 in the CBD. She was young and very attractive. She flagged me down while I was sitting at a red light.
“How’s your night going?” I asked.
“Ugh, my friends dragged me out. I’m just too tired to be out right now.”
A common complaint I hear from my female friends is that cab drivers hit on them too much. So I generally never instigate anything with my female customers. It was obvious this girl wanted to be left alone so I turned up the radio and drove. I pulled up to her place and she handed me a $20 for a $13 fare and told me to keep the change.
I was on my way home after dropping a friend off when I saw a couple flagging me on the corner of Magazine & Napoleon. I thought about passing them up. After all, it was midnight on a Friday and I wanted to get out and have a little bit of fun for myself. I figured, “What the hell, right? It’s money for the taking.”
Much to my chagrin the lady opened the back door, “Westbank.”
I was hoping for a quick $10 ride but a trip to the Westbank is never short. At least it was good money though. The ride was ridiculous. Both of them had the hiccups and the lady was very talkative. She kept asking me all sorts of questions but her hiccups would break her train of thought and she would forget everything.
“So you moved here for college and then what?” She asked.
I never told her I moved here for college. This went on for 15 minutes.
The guy was bombed. I was sure he was going to vomit in my cab. He would hiccup then burp and I would hold my breath every time. He seemed frustrated that his girlfriend was so inquisitive with me. I could sense a bit of jealousy in his voice.
“So now you’re a cab driver,” he kept saying with a smidge of condescension.
Thankfully I got them home safely and the Lincoln remained vomit free.
pstk
One Good Turn...
9/21/09 Mon. 28.2 miles
I took one fare today then waited over an hour at our busiest stand. It was a ghost town in New Orleans. I checked off of the stand and went to the dispatch office to shoot the shit with the dispatchers. As I was leaving a guy waiting for the street car flagged me down and I drove him home. Two fares all day.
9/22/09 Tues. 80.8 miles
The pressure was on to come up with a decent night after such a dismal Monday night. My first fare was an airport run. The girl was from Australia and had been in America for almost a month. She was out of money so she asked if we could make a stop by a friends house. He was going to loan her money to pay the cab fare to the airport.
By law, if there is a destination before going to the airport, cabbies can run the meter to the first destination then add that to the $33 airport fare. I informed her of that and we went about our way.
She was in town for a couple of days to visit, then went to Chicago for a convention. She said she had such a great time in New Orleans that she decided to come back after the convention. She talked about wanting to move here and how gracious and wonderful the people were. We pulled up to her friends house and the meter read $11.00.
“Like this guy. I’ve only known him a few weeks and he’s going to loan me money to pay you even though he doesn’t have much,” she stated.
“Well, listen. I’ll get you to the airport for $33. We can forget about the extra $11.00,” I told her.
“Aw, that’s so sweet.”
“Well, consider it one last kind gesture from New Orleans.”
Coming back from the airport I caught a page in Harahan at the OTB Casino. I was lucky enough to be coming back into the city with a fare. This never happens for me, mostly because I am too impatient to wait around in the suburbs hoping to get lucky. He was an older gentleman who was hard of hearing so I was screaming most of the way back into the city.
The rest of the day was slow. I spent a lot of time on cab stands alone with only NPR to pass the time. Around 8:00 PM I picked up two girls on their way to the Maple Leaf. The conversation was good and when I dropped them off one of the girls asked if I’d be working later to come pick them up.
“Probably not. I’m gonna take a couple more fares and call it a night.”
She tipped me $5 and smiled.
“So you’re coming here when you’re done then, right?” She said stepping out of the cab.
I rolled back to the Napoleon Stand and took a fare from Pascal’s Manale. A middle aged gentleman holding a beer in a plastic “to go” cup opened my back door and climbed in.
“So, where are we going?” He asked me.
“That‘s what I‘m supposed to ask you,” I stated.
“C’mon man. Let’s go find some chicks. Lets go have some drinks,” he demanded.
I laughed.
“Alright man, if you’re paying I’m in,” I said thinking about the Maple Leaf.
“OK, man. How much will it cost?” he asked.
This was turning into an odd scenario.
I thought for a minute and remembered the girl who wanted to buy me drinks and told me I could leave the meter on -relive it here.
“OK, OK. We’ll go have some beers then you’ll drive me back to my hotel in Metairie and I’ll give you $40,” he said.
“I don’t want to drink and drive, man. I could lose my license.”
I’m a pansy.
I drove him back to his hotel in Metairie. He talked about his time in the military and we talked about New Orleans and the crazy bastards that stole this land from the Indians and settled it for the French.
“Man, just turn the meter off and I’ll give you a twenty,” he muttered.
We were only halfway through the fare and the meter read $13.25.
“Naw, we’ll leave it on. If I get pulled over and it’s not on I can lose my license”.
“Man, you always play it by the book. Huh?”
“By the book.”
Plus I knew the fare was going to be well over $20 when it was all said and done. We pulled up to the hotel and the meter read $23.25. He pulled out $40 and handed it over.
“Your welcome,” he said before I even had a chance to thank him.
This time I drove back into the city with an empty backseat and an empty stomach. So I grabbed a bite and called it a night.
pstk
Cab Karma
9/20/09 Sun. 71.7 miles
When I first started Sunday’s quickly became my favorite shift. It was always slow but there weren’t any other cabbies working. The “cabs to customer” ratio was in my favor. That hasn’t been the case since football season started. Everyone is expecting to make some easy money on Sundays now. Cab stands are 2 or 3 cabs deep all day long and when it’s slow being 3rd out can mean a long painful wait.
Luck was on my side today.
I was cruising Magazine St. when the dispatcher threw out a 10-4 page for Commander’s Palace right as I was crossing Washington Ave. I rolled up at the same time as another cab to pick up the last remaining couple waiting for a cab. He waved to me to take it and I didn’t hesitate. The other cabbie and I had a few words a few weeks ago so I didn’t feel bad at all.
One night a few weeks ago I was out drinking and hailed a cab. He picked me and my friends up. I sat up front and looked him dead in the eyes.
“You always sit at the Eckards stand. Why don’t you just go to the Touro?” I questioned him.
He had no idea I was a cabbie and gave me a puzzled look.
The Eckards is part of the Touro but on a different street. It’s pretty common for cabbies to check into that stand and leave the stand to cruise the area and grab 10-4’s. Since they aren’t visible to the other guys on the Touro stand they can take a fare and not have to report it. They’ll take the fare and not check off the stand then still get a fare from the stand when they aren’t even there. Effectively stealing fares from other cabbies in the area.
I gave him a wry smile.
“Listen, I’m a cabbie too and your always at the Eckards. But I have a feeling you’re never at the Eckards.”
He gave me a wry smile.
“Oh, you know. It’s perfect. You don’t have to be there cause no one ever checks in there. They all sit at Touro,” he said.
We laughed
“Well, you know who’s always at Touro?” I questioned him. “Me! So stop stealing my fares. I’m not going to report you but I will if it keeps up.”
When he dropped us off at our destination I threw him a good tip and wished him a safe night. He hasn’t been checking into Eckards anymore.
Anyway, my fare from Commander’s Palace wanted to go to their hotel to grab their luggage and then to the airport. Unfortunately we got stuck in the worst back up I’ve ever seen on I-10 so the entire ride ended up taking twice as long as normal. The total for the fare ended up being $50.
I was off to a good start. My second fare was the ever so cute Molly -who I've mentioned before, here. Those two fares pretty much made a slow day worthwhile
pstk
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Summaries
09/15/09 Tues. 91.9 miles
09/16/09 Wed. 75.7 miles
09/17/09 Thurs. 59.2 miles
09/18/09 Fri. 80.9 miles
09/19/09 Sat. 83.6 miles
The last 2 weeks has been somewhat lack luster financially. There hasn’t been much interesting happening in my cab either. There have been a few random moments of bliss mixed in amongst the monotony.
I picked up a very interesting young lady on Magazine St. and drove her home to the Bywater. I took a wrong turn which upset me, but not her. After 5 months I should not be making wrong turns anymore but I get distracted easily. After all the term “Hack” for me, is a double entendre.
The girl was really funny and made me laugh quite a bit. Something that doesn’t happen often enough in my cab. It’s usually me cracking the jokes.
I picked up a couple and drove them by all their old hangouts from college. It was kind of sweet because they told me about all their memories of each place. I added little bits of my own memories of each place and we all laughed. They were back in New Orleans for the first time since the 90’s. They had lots of questions about the changing landscape of New Orleans and I answered them as best I could.
I picked up a couple from yUptown and drove them to Bayona for dinner. It was a standard boring ride with rich white people until I spotted the most vibrant rainbow I’ve ever seen. It was beautiful and made me feel like a kid who spotted one for the first time.
pstk
[sic]
09/13/09 Sun. 51.8 miles
Today was the Saints first home game and I expected it to be a busy day. The cab stands were packed with a bunch of cabbies expecting the same thing. We were all left disappointed. I still managed to squeak out a good day. Mostly thanks to some old friends who dropped $30 on a $10 cab ride.
09/14/09 Mon. 42.4 miles
My first fare of the day I was paged to pick up at Houston’s Restaurant to pick up an order that another cab driver had gotten a No Load on. I knew it was going to be trouble right from the start. When the previous cabbie called it in he told the dispatcher they were doing shots at the bar. I rolled up and waited for 5 minutes then finally went inside and talked to the hostess. She pointed them out and I pointed to my cab and went back outside. They came out and stood by my car. There was an argument taking place between the 3 of them. I didn’t bother to roll my window down to listen because I already knew what it was about. They looked like yahoo’s from Metairie and they were drunk. The woman thought they should take a cab and the “men” thought they were fine to drive. The men disappeared while the woman waited next to my cab. Her body language said “I’m not getting in the car with your drunk ass driving.” I’m sure what came out of her mouth had a few more expletives.
Finally I rolled down the window.
“Ma’am, am I here for you guys?” I asked.
“Just hold on baby,” she replied.
The “men” pulled up in their car and one of them got out and finally coerced the lady in the back seat. None of them acknowledged me at all. Assholes. We sent two cabs over there and they couldn’t even apologize. As they sped away I prayed that they got pulled over.
I only took two orders today. After them I didn’t really feel like dealing with people.
I was paged to pick up at Grits Bar on Lyons St. around 10:30PM. I pulled up to the corner of Annunciation and Lyons to find a girl head first in a garbage can. She was surrounded by a group of people who were all wearing their team Kick Ball shirts. Kick Ball is a big deal down here. I guess it’s because you can drink and play at the same time.
I was positive that’s who I was sent to pick up. Thankfully one of her teammates picked her up and loaded her into his backseat and I was off the hook. I took a page to Children’s Hospital almost immediately.
When I arrived a young black girl and her baby daughter got in my back seat. She told me her address but I didn’t know where it was.
“Baby, I don’t know where that street is. “What’s a major cross street by you?” I asked.
“What you mean?” She asked.
“A major road? Is it by Elysian Fields or Claiborne or…”
“Oh yeah, Gentilly’s near by,” she replied.
I could see this was going nowhere. The poor thing didn’t really even know where she lived. I pulled out my phone and Google mapped her address. I’ve been driving a cab for 5 months now and it’s only the 5th time I’ve had to do that. I pride myself on not using GPS. In this situation I should have GPS’d the directions though because I took a longer route by accident. She lived in the heart of what used to be the Desire Projects. It was going to be an expensive cab right no matter what (10.5 miles). I wanted to make the fare as cheap as possible for the young mother but I didn’t take everything into consideration. I was upset with myself. I called David about halfway through and asked his advice and he laughed at me.
They were both sick and coughing. I cannot stand to be around people who are coughing or sniffling, let alone be trapped in a confined space with them. I rolled my windows down and held my breath most of the way. Thankfully the little girl fell asleep halfway through. I dropped them off and took $5 off the fare. The young mother thanked me and picked up her little girl out of the back seat and went inside. As I drove through the 9th ward back to Claiborne Ave I looked in the back seat and saw the little girls sandal on the seat. I mistook it for the seat belt when I looked back after they exited.
Damn.
I stopped by the dispatch office on the way home and told David about the fare. He likes to hear about fares into odd neighborhoods because he can show of his uncanny knowledge of the city. His face lights up when you tell him an odd street name. He knew exactly where she lived and showed me the route I should’ve taken.
“Man, they were both coughing and sniffling the whole time,” I told him.
“Did you roll down the windows?” David asked.
pstk
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