11/29/09 Sun. 71.2 miles
11/30/09 Mon. 68.1 miles
12/01/09 Tues. 66.0 miles
12/02/09 Wed. 79.2 miles
12/03/09 Thurs. 74.5 miles
12/04/09 Fri. 78.8 miles
12/05/09 Sat. 93.5 miles
Thursday night was the start of a massive Hematology convention. The Hack was ridiculously busy this weekend. Traffic has been a nightmare. There are gigantic busses with Tennessee & Texas license plates that have been blocking up the roads. I saw one of them taking up 4 entire lanes on Poydras trying to turn onto S. Peters street.
Thursday I was making money hand over fist. I had a string of 4 back to back fares that put me well over my financial expectations for the night. When I was on my way home the dispatcher paged a “13 on St. Charles” which is usually Emeril’s Delmonico. I was 2 blocks away so I jumped all over it. I was disappointed to find out it was for the Wendy’s across the street.
I picked up a young black girl who worked there. She told me to drive her to 2nd & S. Prieur -a very rough neighborhood. She was on and off the phone 3 different times during the short ride. I didn’t realize we were picking up her boyfriend until we got there. A young black guy with long braids hopped in the back seat and they asked to be taken to Basin St. & Bienville -the projects.
From the moment the kid got in the car there was tension. He demanded her phone -it was actually her mother’s phone. He checked her call logs and all of her text messages then accused her of talking to some other guy. She had to explain herself numerous times.
“Why you keep smiling every time I ask a question? Like I’m playing with you.”
“Would you rather me frown whenever you ask a question?”
“You keep smiling like that and I’ll bat the fuck outta you.”
“I’m smiling cause you acting silly. I’ve already told you why and here you are going through my momma’s phone.”
“Girl, you deserve to get bat the fuck out of. Think I’m playin’ games n’ shit.”
And that’s basically how the conversation went the whole ride.
Friday night was one of the busiest nights I’ve ever worked. I normally work 10 hours on a Friday but tonight I made the same amount in 5 hours. There was someone in my backseat the entire 5 hours.
Saturday night wasn’t nearly as busy. My only true saving grace of the night was that the DJ on WWoZ played a 2 hour set of Tom Waits in honor of his birthday.
Fittingly, I had two incredibly drunken fares during the 2 hour set. I took a page way Uptown and picked up a drunk guy from St. Joe’s Bar. He wanted to go to Bourbon & Canal St. Halfway through the ride he passed out so I turned up WWoZ and enjoyed some great music.
“Do you know who this is?” The drunken guy yelled from the backseat.
“It’s Tom Waits,” I replied.
“Turn it up man!” he yelled.
I was surprised to find out this schmuck was a Waits fan. So I turned it up real loud hoping not to have to interact with the drunken fool.
“I went to three shows on his last tour!”
“Yeah, I went to the Mobile show. The show was great but the crowd sucked,” I replied.
“I was at that show. The crowd was great,” he declared.
“Everyone was drunk and every time he tried to interact with the crowd they just screamed requests. You don’t scream requests at Tom Waits,” I argued.
“Yeah, the crowd was drunk. It was great.”
We talked the Tom Waits for the rest of the ride. I figured I’d get a good tip since there is a nerdy type of bond between Waits fans -akin to trekkie’s, only half as pathetic. The drunk schmuck left me a shitty tip though. I was disappointed that I had to listen to his ass mumble about Waits instead of getting to enjoy the music.
A few fares later after dropping a guy off close to Bourbon St. a girl came stumbling up to my car. She flopped head first into the backseat. She was wearing a ridiculous Christmas outfit complete with a stupid Santa hat. She sat up straight when I asked for her destination and the hat fell onto her lap.
“Uptown. Jefferson,” she stated.
She pulled out her cell phone and called someone.
“Should I come over? Well, what do you want me to do? I’m in a cab. Where do you live? OK.”
“Jefferson & Jefferson Park,” she slurred to me.
I tried to explain to her that there was no street that I knew of named Jefferson Park but she insisted I drive down Claiborne and she’d show me the way. I agreed.
Tom Waits was thankfully still being broadcast over Wwoz. “Warm Beer & Cold Women” was ending and “Bad Liver, Broken Heart” started to play. “Bad Liver” is one of the saddest songs I’ve ever heard. I knew there was no way this girl could appreciate the beauty of such a song but I didn’t bother to change the station. After all, it was somewhat fitting considering her level of intoxication plus the fact she was on her way to a pathetic drunken rendezvous.
The girl passed out a minute into the ride. I woke her up at Claiborne & Jefferson to have her show me where her booty call lived.
“Where are we?”
“Jefferson & Claiborne. You said you’d show me where Jefferson Park was,” I replied.
She looked confused.
“Um, take me to Soniat,” she mumbled.
“Soniat is a long street baby. Soniat & what?”
She gave me the street corner and passed out again. I woke her up at the corner and took $4 off the fare because of the confusion. She was so drunk I’m sure she didn’t remember calling her friend or telling me to go to Jefferson Park. I told her I would wait on the corner to make sure she got into her house.
“I’ll be fine,” she mumbled.
Yes, but tomorrow... not so much.
pstk
Hackometer
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Drunkards
Bayou Classic -Day 2
11/28/09 Sat. 136.3 miles
Today is the second day of Bayou Classic weekend. While a majority of cab drivers are taking the entire weekend off I will be plugging away hoping I won’t get myself in some precarious position.
My first fare of the day was an Airport run. The second took me back out to Metairie and on my third fare I ended up randomly picking some friends up from a restaurant. The day started off pretty well and continued that way for most of the night.
About a week ago I picked up two young black girls and drove them to the 3800 block of Tchoupitoulas. It’s not the best of neighborhoods but definitely not the worst. They were so nice and polite. They told me that they were taking cabs all the time now since the older one had gotten into an accident and totaled her car. The girl who hit her didn’t have insurance and they didn’t have the money to repair the car.
“I’m sure you hear my mom’s address over your radio all the time,” the older one said.
“Yeah, actually now that I think about I do,” I replied.
“Yeah, sometimes we wait forever for a cab. Next time you hear it please come pick us up.”
“Oh, if I’m around I’d be happy to come get y’all,” I told her.
Tonight I figured out why these sweet harmless girls end up waiting an hour for a cab ride.
Around midnight I was starting to fade. I had put over 130 miles on my car and driven out of city limits 3 times. There wasn’t much business on the Uptown side of the radio so I decided to make my way home.
“38 on Tchoup,” pstk.
“38 on Tchoup,” pstk.
I immediately thought of those two girls and grabbed the page. I knew they weren’t going far and I could end the night feeling like I had done something nice for someone.
“289”
“289,” pstk.
“38 on Tchoup.”
“3801 Tchoup,” pstk.
“Roger,” I said reluctantly.
That was not the address I was expecting. That was the address to The Rock Bottom Lounge. Now, I’ve always thought that it was a terrible name for a bar. I’ve never been inside of the place but I know it’s in a rough neighborhood and mostly a Black clientele. I realized right then why those poor girls end up waiting an hour for a cab. When a dispatcher pages “38 on Tchoup” all the other cab drivers think it’s for the Rock Bottom and are too scared to pick up the page.
I stopped on the corner of Peniston & Tchoupitoulas and honked my horn. A lady came walking towards the cab with a man following. The man grabbed the girl by the arm and the girl ripped her arm out of his grasp. The woman opened up the back door and the man closed it.
Fan-fahking-tastic.
She walked over to the driver’s side and tried to get into the back door but the man stopped her.
“Mista please don’t leave. I want to go home,” she said to me as I rolled my window down.
“Listen, brah. I’m gonna drive this lady home. We don’t need your services,” the man said to me.
“Mista don’t leave,” the girl repeated.
“I’ll take you home baby. You don’t have to pay for a taxi,” he kept telling her.
The woman kept trying to go towards the car but the man would cut her off. She pushed him out of the way and walked to the other side of the car but as soon as she tried to open the door he’d put his weight on the door to keep it from opening. She came back over to the driver side. The man was getting more aggressive with her as she tried harder to escape.
“Mista, please don’t leave me here,” she pleaded.
“Listen, brah. I told you once already. We don’t need a fucking cab,” the guy said in a threatening tone.
“Well, somebody called for one. So that means someone wanted a cab,” I replied.
I rolled up my window, put my car in park and watched the two of them argue. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I knew I couldn’t leave but it didn’t seem like the situation would conclude anytime soon without some interference. Thankfully the bar had a security guard and he came out after a few minutes of the man and woman arguing.
The girl finally got in the cab.
“Good lord. Thank you for not leaving baby. That man wants to drive me home and he’s all fuckin’ drunk. Oh, excuse me baby.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I barely even know the guy,” she said.
“That ain’t no way to impress a woman that’s for sure,” I replied.
“You ain’t lying. Oh, I‘m so glad you didn‘t leave.”
“I couldn’t just leave. That would be wrong,” I replied.
“Well, I’m surprised you didn’t.”
She went on to explain the whole story to me on the long drive to her car on the Westbank. They used to be old friends and apparently they met up tonight and he pretty much ignored her while he talked with his guy friends all night. So she got bored and wanted to leave and called for a cab.
“He can’t hold his liquor at all. He was yelling and screaming, ya know, and embarrassing me. Everyone in the club kept looking over at him. I just had to go,” she explained. “Oh, Lord I hope he didn’t get in his truck and follow us.”
The fare was $16. She handed me a twenty and hopped in her car as fast as she could.
pstk
Bayou Classic -Day 1
11/27/09 Fri. 86 miles
Today is the start of the Bayou Classic weekend. A weekend dreaded by most locals in New Orleans. Some of the things you are about to read will not sound “right” or politically correct but it is the opinion of most every local I have talked to no matter their race, color or creed.
The weekend after Thanksgiving is when Grambling University plays Southern University in football at the Superdome. Friday night is the “Battle of the (marching) Bands” and Saturday is the game. A lot of businesses close for the weekend, hotels raise their rates and most cab drivers refuse to work.
Why you ask?
Well, apparently the crowd that descends upon the Quarter is so unruly that it’s not worth opening up the businesses. The servers and bartenders do not make any money. The retail stores do not sell any merchandise. I have no first hand experience with the Quarter during Bayou Classic weekend because I’ve always been told to stay away. And I heed the warning because undoubtedly someone will be shot dead this weekend. It happens every year, at least once.
I had no choice but to work today, despite every other cab drivers warnings. Rent is due and I am way behind. I started early today hoping to avoid the worst of the insanity that will happen tonight.
My first cab ride was a wonderful old black lady. When we turned onto her street I asked her how her Thanksgiving was. She said it was great then paused.
“Ya know, my husband and one of my daughters both died of diabetes 2 years ago. It’s tough not to have them around but it was still a blessed day. Ya know I got so used to taking care of them their last years that I didn’t know what to do with myself with them gone. But now, it’s kinda nice to have time all to myself.”
“So what do you do with your free time?” I asked.
“Oh child I go to the casino,” she said and let out a chuckle.
“I’ve learned not to go near the first of the month though because they tighten up them machines. Trying to get everyone’s social security money. There been some days when I wanted to stand up in the isle and scream ‘you greedy bastards’. I wait til’ the middle of the month now,” she continued.
We both laughed.
Her fare was only $5.
“Well, at least something is cheap today. My prescription was $35,” she remarked.
She handed me a five then pulled out another dollar.
“Here, take this too baby cause I don’t think tonight’s a casino night. I think I’ll keep my ass in the house,” she said referring to madness that will be happening downtown.
I took a page on Claiborne that got cancelled before I arrived so the dispatcher immediately sent me to pick up at a gas station on Claiborne.
I pulled up to find 3 girls waiting for a ride. Two girls hopped in the back and 3rd sat upfront. One of the girls in the back needed to go to a house to get some clothes then all of them were supposed to go to the Capri Motel. One of them in the back was in a tough spot and had hawked her phone to some guy at the gas station for $20. While in the cab she asked her friend in the front seat for $30 to get her phone back and to have some spending money. The friend reluctantly agreed. We pulled up to the house but there was no one home and the doors were locked. I drove the two girls in the back to the gas station and took the young girl sitting upfront to the Capri.
“So this should be a big money weekend, eh?” The girl asked.
“To be honest, I don’t really know what to expect. You taking part in the festivities?”
“Oh yeah! The battle of the bands is going to be the shit,” she replied.
“I’m sure. I’ve never had the chance to see it,” I told her.
“Oh you are missing out. I’ve been every year since I moved her from Jamaica.”
“You’re Jamaican?”
“Yeah, I lived in Honduras for a little while too. I’m probably the only Jamaican you’ve ever met that can speak Spanish,” she said proudly.
“You’re the only Jamaican I’ve ever met,” I replied.
She talked about how rough things were for her growing up. She had scars on her face that I can only assume came from fighting on the streets. She told me how grateful she was to be in America.
“You know, there isn’t a day that goes by that I can’t go out and make money. It’s not like that where I’m from. People are poor, I’m talking poor. You might think where you picked us up from was rough, but I tell you, it’s nice compared to where I’m from. This is like… suburbia to me,” she stated.
“How long have you been in America?” I asked.
“We moved here after my mom died. That was right before Katrina,” she replied.
“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, then we didn’t even know that Katrina was coming and both my dad and my sister died in the storm.”
I didn’t even know what to say at that point.
“People are really amazed when they hear that I’m 18 and I’m all alone in this world. But I think I’m doing OK,” she stated.
“Yeah, I’d say so. Most people probably wouldn’t be strong enough to handle it so well,” I replied.
“Well, I still got the Lord on my side and that’s all I need,” she stated with a smile.
Later in the afternoon I picked up a bartender who needed to go to work in the Quarter. She wasn’t excited at all to be going to work. She said last year during Bayou Classic she worked her ass off on a 10 hour shift and only made $25 in tips. She said this year her bar was hanging New England Patriots flags outside hoping to attract fans from Boston who were in town for the Patriots vs. Saints game.
“Yeah, we’re also having a rock band playing all night hoping to drive the Bayou Classic people elsewhere’s.”
Around 5:30 PM I picked up a guy Uptown who wanted to go to the Quarter. He asked to be taken to Bourbon & Canal. I knew Canal Street was already loaded with traffic and I didn’t want to get stuck in that mess. I told him it would be much cheaper if I dropped him off at Iberville and Burgundy and he reluctantly agreed. I was shocked by his reluctance. About halfway through the ride I asked if he was on his way to work.
“Nope,” he replied.
“So you’re heading down for fun?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied in a confused tone.
“Man, it’s gonna be madness down there. Be careful,” I told him.
I pulled a brilliant maneuver to avoid a ridiculous amount of traffic and stopped at the corner of Iberville & Burgundy.
“Well, this is your corner man. If you stay in the car you’ll just be paying me to sit in traffic,” I told him.
He begrudgingly handed me a $1 tip and hopped out the car. The entire ride there I was positive I made the right decision considering the circumstances with traffic and the crowds already forming downtown. Then as I sat in the back up of traffic on Iberville between Burgundy and Dauphine it dawned on me. The skinny white guy I just drove had no idea what was happening downtown tonight. He just wanted to go to the Quarter on a Friday night and have some fun. I hope his night turned out well.
On the way back Uptown I was flagged by a guy at Barrone & Common. He asked to be taken to Kenner. I was ecstatic to be driving in the opposite direction from all the traffic.
He was a manager of one of the cheaper hotels in the CBD. He immediately started bitching about work.
“So is all this stuff people say about Bayou Classic weekend true?” I asked.
“Oh you wouldn’t believe. People complain because we raise our rates but we have to. Anything that isn’t bolted down is stolen. You name it. Sheets, towels, alarm clocks, remote controls, coffee makers. We have to replace everything. If it isn’t stolen it’s broken. There are holes in the walls. The people that come into town for this show no respect at all to anybody. On TV we have to talk about the economic impact of this game and this weekend but when the cameras go away it’s a whole different story. I think this weekend does more harm than good,” he replied.
I’ve heard so many horror stories this past week about this upcoming weekend but today went off without a hitch for me. Maybe I was just lucky.
I pulled my car into my backyard and walked over to Juan’s Flying Burrito to get some take out. I walked back to my apartment in delight over the pork and slaw tacos I was about to devour when I came across a drunk old man stumbling down the sidewalk. He stopped in his tracks, opened his eyes real wide and tried to focus on me. He raised his arm and pointed his finger at me.
“Are you going to hurt me?” He asked in an aggressive tone.
“No sir, I don’t intend to.”
“OK,” he said and stumbled forward.
My two Mexicans neighbors were walking down the street about 15 ft behind me speaking Spanish to each other. A few moments later I heard the old man again.
“Are you going to hurt me?” He asked the two Mexicans.
“Ha! No friend. I love you, why I wanna hurt you?” One of them responded.
“OK,” the old man replied and stumbled on.
I opened my front door and jokingly raised my fists to my Mexican neighbors and we all laughed.
pstk
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Giving Thanks
11/25/09 Wed. 111.7 miles
I started my shift today with the Impala and ended it with my old Lincoln.
My first order today was to pick up from a corner store. I used to do my laundry across the street from it years ago. In between watching the clothes tumble in the driers I would look out the window and watch drug deals and junkies tumbling down the sidewalks.
The man I picked up must have been 6’2” and 250lbs. I had to turn the car around so I told him I would turn the meter on when I got turned around. He thanked me for that.
“Well, it’s only fair. I shouldn’t charge you for driving away from where you’re going,” I said.
“Psh, most guys don’t give a fuck. They turn it on right when you get in the car,” he replied.
“I just don’t think it’s fair. Cab rides are expensive enough ya know. I ain’t trying to rip anyone off out here. I believe in Karma.” I said.
“Damn straight,” he replied.
I drove him to his house a few blocks away. His fare was $5 and he handed me a ten dollar bill. For some reason I mistook it for a twenty and gave him $15 back in change. He took the money and I wished him a good day. He opened the back door then paused.
“Yo man, you gave me the wrong change back,” he admitted.
“Oh shit. Yeah, you gave me a ten. I thought it was a twenty,” I replied.
He handed me the ten back and flashed his gold teeth.
“I wasn’t gonna say nothing but, ya know, you showed me love by not turning your meter on quick. That’s the only reason,” he said.
“Thanks man.”
“No. Thank you,” he replied.
He got out of the car and a cracked out girl -who tried to sell me a bike last week- came running up mumbling something to him and he brushed her off and walked into his house.
Two fares later I picked up an supremely gorgeous Columbian girl and drove her to the Airport. I’ve always been fascinated by South America and hope take a summer off see the continent. If she’s a good example of the women there, I tell you, it must be heaven.
Not only was she beautiful but also super sweet and a good tipper.
I took a break from 7:00 PM-10:00 PM to play soccer. Afterwards I drove out to New Orleans East to trade out the Impala for the Lincoln. One of David’s other drivers broke down so he asked me to pick her up and drive her home. I wasn’t back on the Hack until about 1:00 AM.
I was exhausted but it was the day before Thanksgiving. “The busiest bar night of the year” as they say. That isn’t really the case in New Orleans. It’s really no different than any other Wednesday night. Only tonight there were no cabs working so I continued on. Besides, I was taking Thanksgiving off and would be at the Fairgrounds playing the ponies in the morning -one of my favorite Thanksgiving traditions.
For my first fare in the newly redone Lincoln was to Harrah’s. I drove two of the sweetest and craziest ladies to get their gambling fix on. They were hilarious and kept me laughing the entire ride.
When I was pulling away from Harrah’s a young guy flagged me down. He was in the typical urban outfit wearing a baseball cap with a straight bill on top of a du-rag, baggy pants and big white Tee. He had a thick accent that I couldn’t quite make out. He had to ask me 3 times if I would take him to Harrahan.
“How much will it be?” He asked.
“Probably about $30,” I replied.
He shook his head and looked down to the ground for a second then opened the door. I asked him for a $20 deposit, which is customary when leaving city limits and he handed it over.
“Can you take the cheapest route please? I only have $31 dollars.”
“There’s really no cheap route. But I tell you what, I’ll drive for a little bit before I start your meter.”
I found out he was from Puerto Rico and had only been living in America for 6 months. He got a job working as a line cook at a restaurant in the CBD. He said he had just come off a double and was working on average 50 hours a week. He said the pay was shit and complained about how hard he worked but was grateful to be in America.
“Well, just keep it up for a little bit and it will pay off. After you work there for a bit start applying to other places. At that point you‘ll have good work experience here in New Orleans and you can move up to a different restaurant,” I told him.
He agreed and said that was his plan.
“It’s tough because I work my ass off for $10/hr and the servers are walking with $300 a night when it‘s busy. I’m not joking, $250-$300 a night. But I make the same no matter how busy or slow,” he said.
“Yeah, and I guarantee a lot of those servers go out and spend $100 a night on booze and drugs,” I replied.
“You right, man. All of those people, even the cooks, they all get drunk every night,” he laughed.
“Well, if you stay straight and work hard you’ll be better off then them, trust me,” I replied.
I turned my meter on after we got out of all the traffic in the CBD and near Claiborne Ave. When we arrived at his place the meter read $21.75. He pulled out another ten to cover the rest of the fair.
“You know what man, tomorrow is Thanksgiving and all. I want you to have a good day off so $20 is enough. You hold on to the rest, OK?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it man,” I told him.
He smiled and shook my hand.
“Thank you. Psh, the last time I took a cab it was like $32. Thank you,” he said.
I got back into the city and caught another fare that took me back out to Metairie. While in Metairie I heard the dispatcher paging a 25 on Washington -a very rough area of town. With a lack of cabs and a lot of business that fare was never going to get taken. I heard it paged the entire 15 minutes driving back.
“25 on Washington. She rides with us every night,” pstk.
“25 on Washington,” pstk.
I got off the Claiborne exit and came down Washington and took the order. The customer was a sweet old lady who waited 45 minutes for a ride. I drove her into the heart of the Iberville projects. I can’t say I don’t blame any of the other drivers for passing that order up. Her fare was only $7 but she thanked me up and down for picking her up. In a way I feel like it’s partially our responsibility as cab drivers to take care of people like that. Even if it is only a $7 fare, she calls everyday. And lord knows there are days when we cabbies need that $7.
I was on my way home for the night and got flagged by 4 kids in front of the Walgreen’s on St. Charles. I drove them to Valmont & Prytania then took a page immediately for an order 2 blocks away. That order -an incredibly drunk guy- brought me within 4 blocks of my house so I called it a night. I think that was the cabbie gods way of rewarding me for picking up that sweet old lady and driving her home.
Tomorrow, it’s the Fairgrounds in the afternoon then a Thanksgiving party and night.
pstk
Dem Saints
11/19/09 Thurs. 99 miles
I picked up a girl on Magazine St. who wanted to go to the Quarter. She got impatient while sitting in the usual backup of traffic at Common & Camp St. and paid her fare and walked the rest of the way. I took a right down Canal St. and saw a guy talking to a cabbie from another company through his window. That cabbie drove off and the guy looked right at me. I could tell by the look on his face what was going on. I pulled over and rolled down my window.
“What’s up man? You need a cab?” I asked.
“Well, I have to get Uptown but I only have $7,” he said.
“Where you going Uptown?”
“Jefferson & Magazine,” he replied.
I waved him in.
That is about a $13 cab ride so I can understand why the guy from the other company turned him down. He -the cabbie- would have to drive all the way back to the CBD to get an order. But for me, I can get an order around in that neighborhood without too much of a problem. It’s the one of the benefits of driving for my company -we work the neighborhoods like nobodies business. The guy was eternally grateful and happened to be a photographer also. He said he had a meeting with Pravda coming up.
“I don’t really take photography seriously though. It’s more of a hobby for me. So, I mean, if it’s your passion I could take you with me and introduce you to everybody.”
“Thanks man that’s really nice of you. To be honest, I don’t really see myself shooting for Pravda,” I replied.
It worked out very well for me. My next order came 10 minutes later and was a $24 fare with a $6 tip.
Around 11:30 PM there was a back up of cabs in the Napoleon and Touro areas so I took a page in a rough neighborhood. As I drove up the street I wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into. The neighborhood was completely bombed out with every other house still boarded up from Katrina. I rolled up the street to find a bunch of thugs milling around on the porch. Most of them were in wife beaters and probably wondering what the fuck I was doing in their neighborhood. They all stood up as I rolled up.
“Good lord. This is going to be fun,” I said out loud looking at the St. Christopher glued onto my dashboard.
I double checked the address and thankfully my order was in the house next door. When I looked up a skinny little black guy came running out of the house next to the thugs and into my car. His destination sounded familiar. I took off towards Claiborne and looked into my rearview mirror at the kid in my backseat.
He smiled real big.
“How bout dem Saints?” He asked.
I laughed.
We talked about the Saints and their chances of going all the way… all the way to his house. It turns out that I had driven him home from work last week and that’s why his address was familiar to me.
Also as a side note;
The kid mentioned I was driving the wrong way down his street. That’s probably why all the guys on the porch were staring at me. In my defense, that particular street is a one way in the opposite direction on the river side of St. Charles and switches somewhere around Claiborne.
pstk
Another Celebrity
11/20/09 Fri. 111 miles
11/21/09 Sat. 116 miles
11/22/09 Sun. 71 miles
11/23/09 Mon. 52 miles
11/24/09 Tues. 47 miles
It’s been a relatively calm week. One day this week -I don’t remember what day exactly- I drove a stripper to work and she paid with all singles. Unfortunately I haven’t been able to get rid of all of the singles yet when making change. So every time I pull out my wad of 5’s and 1’s to make change for someone’s 20 dollar bill I get a whiff of perfume so potent my eyes water up and I sneeze.
Friday night I drove 3 different sets of friends to the Neko Case show at The Republic. 2 of them were sheer coincidence. They called my company and I just happened to be the one who picked them up. It worked out wonderfully for me because all of them dropped monster tips on me.
On Sunday night I was sent to an address in Broadmoor. A woman came walking to my car. As soon as she opened the back door to my car a man and little kid came out on the porch.
“This da last time! Ya heard?” He yelled at the lady.
The little kid had the saddest look on his face. The lady didn’t seem to care. She was already on her cell phone telling someone to order her a Rockstar & Ciroc. She asked me to drive her to the Sandpiper Lounge on Louisiana Ave. She hung up the phone and let out a big sigh. I didn’t bother to get into a conversation with her. Her fare was $6.75. She gave me a $5 bill and $1.75 in quarters.
A couple of weeks ago I drove 3 ladies home from the Rusty Nail. One of the ladies asked if I would drive them to the Airport the next day so I gave them my number. While driving them to the Airport they mentioned that Gordon Gano -of Violent Femmes fame- was going to be in town visiting their friend and they would pass my number along.
On Sunday night I got a call from the local, Elise.
“Can you come pick us up at the Rusty Nail?”
Sure enough ten minutes later I had none other than Mr. Gano in my car. He had played a show at the HiHo Lounge that weekend and had just sat in with the band at the Rusty Nail. They asked to go to Arnaud’s in the Quarter. I drew a blank, probably because I was star struck and ended up taking them to the wrong place. I felt like a jack ass.
They were really cool about it though. Gordon even asked if I wanted to take him to the Airport in the morning. Unfortunately his flight was at 6:00 AM.
“I can’t be held responsible for waking up that early,” I replied.
I ended up having a bout of insomnia that night and was awake until 7:00 AM the next morning.
pstk
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Shooters
11/17/09 Tues. 71 miles
11/18/09 Wed. 58 miles
Sometimes the Hack can be a truly amazing thing. You just never know who you’re going to be driving around when you start your car up for the day. It could be a crack head on his way to a score, the former mayor’s chief of staff or an editor of one of the most highly respected magazines ever published.
Today I was paged to pick up at the Le Bon Temps Roule. The man who came walking out looked like a typical regular of the Le Bon Temps’. He hopped in the back and called his wife and talked about editing.
“I really like what you did with those. Can you just take it over? You’re just so much better with that than I am… I knew I had some good ones but you picked some ones I didn’t even consider. Make sure you include the one of the guy flipping me off and I’ll email them from my phone. Yeah, I’m going to head back and get some rest I think. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”
He hung up the phone and we started talking. I told him I was a photographer also and he got really excited. I asked his name and I knew I had seen his images. We talked about the industry and what type of stuff he shoots and I told him about what I was working on. We pulled up to his hotel and he paused.
“Ya know, I’ve been here 5 times now and I’ve only ever seen the Quarter. It was kinda nice to get out of the Quarter and go wander around like a local. Is there anything that I have to see before I go tomorrow?”
“Well, you should probably check out Frenchman St.”
I explained the whole deal about Frenchman to him including the history of why it was given such a name. He asked me to drive him there.
We talked more about the photography industry on the way to Frenchman. We both agreed that shooting film was far more satisfying than digital.
“I have a B&W darkroom and a color darkroom but I’m not using them anymore because everyone wants digital. I was trying to talk my wife into taking over with all my digital editing. I’d much rather be in my darkroom,” he stated.
“Man, I just want to be like Dan Winters. I want to shoot 4x5 and say to hell with digital cameras,” I stated.
He sat up in the seat and stuck his hand out to shake mine.
“You know who Dan Winters is?” He asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
“He’s one of my idols, man.” He replied.
He handed me a $20 and told me to keep the change.
I stopped for a coffee and looked his name up on my phone. I knew a lot of his images. In fact, I was in Borders 2 weeks ago and I saw a cover of Inked Magazine that I had to pull off of the rack. The cover photo was shot by him and was the only interesting cover on the entire magazine display.
On my way back Uptown the dispatcher put out a warning.
“Listen ya’ll. Ya’ll be careful out there. They just found a Westbank Cab Co. driver shot in the head in the 9th Ward. We already have one dead driver out there today, we don’t need another one,” pstk.
A few seconds later he came back on.
“I don’t know. They found him in his car in the 9th Ward shot in the head. Be careful ya’ll,” ptsk.
pstk
Makin' Groceries
11/14/09 Sat. 75 miles
11/15/09 Sun. 94 miles
11/16/09 Mon. 61 miles
I waited a full hour for my first fare today. I waited another 40 minutes for my second fare. That one brought me just downriver of the Quarter. There were no orders coming over the radio so I decided to ride through the Quarter and see if I could get flagged down.
I was driving up Decatur when the sky opened up. It started raining cats and dogs and there was no one on the street. I thought about heading home to get out of the storm but at the last second I pulled a right onto St. Louis. Surely there had to be somebody in the Quarter stranded in the rain. Sure enough on the very next corner there was 3 soaking wet Midwesterners. I drove them to Harrah’s and pulled a “coup” at the valet parking. The lady I picked up lived in the Bywater and talked about gambling the whole ride home in the storm.
By the time I dropped her off the Impala had a gigantic puddle in the front passenger floorboard. There were orders all over the radio at this point so I decided to forget about the puddle and hope no one wanted to sit in the front seat.
I grabbed a page on Elysian Fields and drove a guy to the 9th Ward. I was a little worried at first when I picked the guy up. A lot of cab drivers refuse to drive people out that way because you are so vulnerable. There is still very little happening in the 9th Ward 4 years after Katrina. The guy was a bellhop at a hotel downtown and talked about the upcoming conventions so I felt much more comfortable driving into the desolate 9th Ward with him. Almost every home on his street was boarded up with 5 ft tall weeds over-taking the porches. His house was the only one on the block that looked habitable. His fare was $8 and he handed me a ten.
The rain finally stopped and I had taken 5 fares. Each one $10 a piece. I decided I should mop up the puddle in the front seat so I stopped by Mojo, grabbed a coffee and some left over newspapers to soak up the water.
“28 on Claiborne,” pstk.
“28 on Claiborne, calling back,” pstk.
The Napoleon stand had 3 cabs so I passed by the Touro stand. It too had 3 cabs also. I’ve been getting more impatient on the Hack lately so I grabbed the page that no one wanted.
28 on Claiborne is the Save a Lot grocery store in a rough part of town.
When I pulled into the parking lot I saw 2 young girl jumping up and down with excitement. The mother stood idle next to an over stuffed shopping cart showing no emotion.
“Yay, someone came!” The older girl screamed as I put the car in park.
I popped the trunk and got out to help the lady with the groceries.
“They started charging for grocery bags there now so I only got a few,” the mother said apologetically.
“Really? Why would they charge for bags? That seams silly,” I replied.
So we all loaded the loose groceries one item at a time into the trunk. We got in the car and she told me her address. It was 4 blocks away…
I explained to her that there was a $7 minimum on a grocery.
“How much will it be then?” She asked.
“Well, $7.” I replied.
“Really, the last time I went shopping the lady tried to charge me $13.”
I just shook my head. Sometimes I can’t believe how stupid and selfish some other cab drivers are. I wondered how anyone could bring themselves to charge a lady $13 to go 4 blocks with some groceries. When we pulled up to her house the mom gave me $7 and went inside while the 2 girls and I unloaded all the loose groceries one item at a time onto the porch.
I started to think that maybe that other cab driver wasn’t so stupid.
pstk
Figuring It Out
11/12/09 Thurs. 68 miles
11/13/09 Fri. 99 miles
On Fridays & Saturdays the streets are filled with bad drivers. Probably because most business men are drinking their lunches on Fridays and sauced by the time college football is done on Saturdays.
I picked up a customer at Walmart who needed a ride to the lower Decatur area. There was a back up of traffic and the guy started bitching about drivers almost immediately. He had an East Coast attitude and I imagined living in the South was nothing but aggravation for him. He bitched about everything. Fuckin’ this and fuckin’ that all over the place. He eventually started bitching about getting fired from his bartending job in the Quarter.
“Those mutha’ fuckers didn’t even have the guts to tell me face to face. I got a text message from one of the other bartenders telling me not to come in for my shift.”
“Man, there’s no such thing as job security in the service industry,” I replied.
“Yeah, no shit. Especially with these guys. I’ve seen them do it to so many others but I never thought it would be me,” he stated.
“The same thing happened to me. I bartended for almost 6 years at one place and they fired me for nothing,” I told him.
“When I started working for these guys their bar was nothing but drugs and dope heads and the lowest of the low. I turned that place around and they swore up and down they‘d have a spot for me at their other bar Uptown. But it never happened. They fucked me bad.”
It’s such a familiar story. So familiar in fact, I had actually worked for the same guys as him -at their coveted Uptown bar. I told him and we both laughed. We started talking shit about how sleazy the manager was and that conversation lasted all the way to his doorstep. I parked on Decatur and we talked for a little bit longer.
“Yeah one of my friends will be opening a business soon. He wants me to come run the place for him. That’s kinda what we always talked about, that we’d open something together. But while I was wasting all my money on booze & blow he was saving it up. Now I don‘t even have a pot to piss in. I had to wire my brother and ask him to send me some money for these groceries.”
His fare was $10 and he handed me $15 and told me to keep the change.
“Listen, man, you don’t have to tip me this much. You need the money right now. Just give me the ten,” I told him.
“Nah, man, it’ll be alright. I’ll figure something out.”
Cruising through the Quarter I heard yet one more ridiculous thing over the radio.
“Anybody have a 10 on Toulouse to 5 on Henry Clay? Looking for a dress,” pstk.
“Anybody have a 10 on Toulouse to 5 on Henry Clay? They lost their brides maid dress,” pstk.
The dispatcher started to laugh on air.
“C’mon now, all of you know your wives can’t fit into that dress,” pstk.
Everyday there are pages for the lost cell phone or the lost bottle of booze. But a bride’s maid dress?
About an hour later I was going to settle into the Touro stand but there was already 2 cabs on the stand. The dispatcher was paging a “corner job” on Louisiana & Tchoupitoulas. We get these calls all day long. 9 times out of 10 it is somebody who gets impatient while waiting for the bus. By the time a cabbie gets there they are already on the bus.
I took the page anyway.
“228, on the corner of LA & Tchoup for Marie,” ptsk
“Roger”
On my way down Louisiana Ave a lady franticly waved me down. I pulled over and rolled my window down.
She was in tears, with her mascara running down her face.
“Will you help me? Can you get me outta here, please?” She begged.
“Yeah. Hop in,” I told her.
I couldn’t just leave this woman standing there on the street. I could see a girl standing on the corner of LA Ave. and Tchoup. I pointed to her and told the lady that I was actually sent to pick up the girl on the corner.
“I don’t care. Please just get me out of here,” she begged.
“OK, well let me go grab that girl and we’ll figure something out,” I told her.
“Thank you so much, thank you.”
I was stopped at the red light on the corner when a bus pulled up. When it passed the girl was no longer standing on the corner.
“Well, I think that girl just got on the bus,” I said to the woman crying in my backseat.
“Can you take me home please? I just want to be home.”
The woman had gotten into an argument with her boyfriend and he told her she was dressed like a stripper.
“Can you believe that? I mean, I am in a designer outfit. Strippers can’t afford these kinds of clothes. I don’t need this. He said it right in front of his daughter too. After I had spent all day shopping with them for clothes for her. So I told him to stop and let me out of the car. And he did! Can you believe that?”
I thought the woman had been physically abused by the way she was acting. Turns out the mental abuse was too much for her to handle.
“You’re an angel. You’re my guardian angel,” she cried.
“Oh, no no. I’m just a cabdriver baby,” I replied
“Well, it was fate that brought you here to save me.”
“Actually, it was Marie.”
She stopped for a minute and sniffled.
“That was the name of the girl I was supposed to pick up,” I explained.
“Well, god bless Marie. My angel Marie,” she said.
For the rest of the ride the lady talked herself into breaking up with her boyfriend. It was pretty obvious that her boyfriend did and said things to try and manipulate her. The mental abuse had finally gotten to her. I drove her to the house they lived in together. When she pulled up she started crying again.
“Oh, god. He’s gonna come walking in that door soon. I have nowhere to go. I have nowhere to go. I knew I shouldn’t have moved in with him.”
“Well, do you have friends here?”
“Yeah, I have wonderful friends here,” she stated.
“Maybe you should crash with one of them for a little bit,” I suggested.
“I don’t want to be a burden on anybody,” she cried.
“Listen, if they are truly your friends they will be happy to help you out. Don’t ever underestimate your friends.”
Her fare was $8 and she gave me $8. When she walked up to her porch I noticed her skirt had a zipper up the back that was unzipped all the way to the waist. She was wearing stockings underneath. I wondered if that’s what the boyfriend was referring too.
pstk
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Hey Abbott!
11/10/09 Tues. 59 miles
11/11/09 Wed. 78 miles
My first order of the day was to drive an older couple 6 blocks to the grocery store. I didn’t mind because…, well they were old and adorable. So with $6 bucks in my pocket I headed to the Carol stand for my next order.
After a 30 minute wait I was paged to pick up from the Williams Supermarket on Jackson & St. Charles Ave. That place is a crapshoot. When you get that order you don’t go to it expecting much. I rolled up to find 2 guys standing on the corner. One was skinny, the other a little portly. Neither of them had many teeth in their mouths. They were like a white trash Abbott & Costello.
“We are going to Walmart. We have to go somewhere with a Money Gram. The people inside said Walmart was the closest place,” Costello said.
I shook my head. I waited 30 minutes to drive these 2 guys 11 blocks to Walmart.
They were broke and Costello had his brother wire him money to pay the bus fare to get them back to Beaumont, TX. When we arrived at Walmart Abbott sat in the car with me while Costello went in to cash the Money Gram.
“Listen, he’s going to be in there for a long time. Nothing moves that quickly in this Walmart. After 10 minutes it’s cheaper just to call for another cab,” I told Abbott.
“Well, see that’s the problem. We don’t have no money at all so we got to cash this in order to pay you. But don’t worry about the meter. Whatever it is we’ll pay. We ain’t got no choice,” Abbott replied.
So I sat there talking with Abbott. They are pipe fitters who came to New Orleans to work on a house but somehow they were out of money. I assumed that with all the construction that is happening in New Orleans they wouldn’t have a hard time finding more work but Abbott said they were done with New Orleans. They were supposed to be catching the next bus back to Beaumont, which left at 6:00 PM.
After 20 minutes Costello came walking out with a look of relief. Now, apparently flush with cash, they needed to score some drugs. They had an argument about where to meet up with Abbott’s “guy”. Costello wanted him to come to the bus station so that they didn’t have to pay for a cab back.
“We can’t meet up at the bus station, damn it. What are you thinking?” Abbott blurted.
Abbott told me to take them to the Capri Motel, then changed his mind after talking to the “guy” and settled on the Quicky’s on Tulane Ave.
Quicky’s? Capri Motel? If that all sounds familiar click here for a refresher.
At that point it was pretty obvious they were trying to score. I wondered what kind of drugs and how much. I dreamed up, in my crazy little mind, that they had developed a crack habit while they were here and decided to take a bunch of it back to Beaumont on the bus. Was I was involved in some white trash Abbott & Costello screwball scheme?
The fare was $24.25 and I told them to just give me $23.00 and we’d call it even. Costello handed me $28.00 and thanked me.
I pulled another “Coup” right at the Quicky’s and drove a guy to a tattoo parlor on Frenchman.
pstk
Dropping the TS
11/09/09 Mon. 42 miles
There wasn’t much business today so I didn’t put in too many hours. I had a very Walmart-centric day. I live so close to that dreaded place that sometimes I’ll sit in my driveway and wait for a page there.
Around 6:00 PM I was paged to an address on Carondelet to take 2 guys to Walmart. They were both dressed in dirty T-shirts and colorful shorts. They had that greasy 70’s retro look that seems to be popular right now for the ones who try too hard. One of the guys eerily resembled “Jimmy the Cab Driver” of those great MTV commercials from the 90’s. The other guy was on his cell phone and talked with a thick lisp. He was trying to direct someone to a website for what I guessed was either porn or an escort service.
“Robbie dropped his men and TS’s,” the guy with the lisp said to the Jimmy look alike.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, they’re just not making any money. We should drop ours too,” lisp replied.
“Plus they think they’re all hot shit,” Jimmy added.
“Yeah, like they don’t need us. Fuck them! Let‘s see them get out on the streets now and freeze their asses off trying to hustle something up.”
I wanted to join in on the conversation. I’ve heard a few cab drivers talk about how lucrative driving for escorts can be and thought maybe it would be a good angle to work. But after thinking about it for a second I decided to leave it alone. There’s too much responsibility involved in that kind of racket. The last thing I want to do is have to rescue a bloody escort from a shady client.
Since I was close to home I stopped by my place and had some lunch. I jumped back in my car and grabbed a page for the Walmart. I rolled up to find the same 2 guys waiting for me.
There was no talk of hookers or tranny’s on the way back. They talked about who was going to clean the kitchen and who would take care of the bathroom.
pstk
Whoooo Daaaat?
11/07/09 Sat. 110 miles
11/08/09 Sun. 100 miles
Yesterday was one of the busiest Saturday’s I’ve had in a long time. After 10 hours I decided I had made enough money and was trying to go home but I kept getting flagged down on the way home, 3 different times actually. I guess all the other companies that just cruise Magazine Street called it quits early. I desperately wanted to pass everyone by and head home but I am even more desperately in need of money after my vacation last week.
Today the Saints won again bringing themselves to a perfect 8-0! Last year when the Saints were doing poorly the city would turn into a ghost town on Sunday’s. When the Saints are winning the bar, and cab business is very good. People want to stay out all day to celebrate and dance around screaming “Who Dat” at everyone that passes by.
pstk
Floating
11/04/09 Wed. 64 miles
11/05/09 Thurs. 76 miles
11/06/09 Fri. 124 miles
My brother’s visit was great. I love when people come to visit me in New Orleans. I get to do all the things that I take for granted. There was a lot going on in the city while he was here. Voodoo Fest was happening last weekend and of course, Halloween. New Orleans is the perfect place to spend Halloween and I was grateful to have my brother and his lady friend here to celebrate it with me. We had a great dinner at The Upperline Restaurant. The owner, Ms. JoAnn is the sweetest lady and was nice enough to comp us our deserts. I would like to think it was because of my sparkling personality but it was mostly because she knew I was a cab driver. After dinner we spent the night on Decatur Street then walked through the mob on Frenchman Street and drank at an empty gay bar to get away from the crowds.
Needless to say I was not excited to get back to work. That was the longest stretch I’ve gone without driving a cab. I’ve come back less enthused about the hack than ever. They’ve changed the way business is done while I was on vacation. The Touro and Napoleon Stands -the ones I work the most- have been switched to floating stands on Fridays & Saturdays. This basically fucks my whole weekend routine in the ass.
Thankfully the floating bullshit doesn’t start until 8:00 PM. Because of the ensuing headache I got out early today. My first fare was an Airport run for 3 ladies. One of them was a big hockey fan so we talked about the Detroit Red Wings for most of the ride.
We get pages to deliver bread from Leidenheimer's Bakery to restaurants all the time and I finally caught a page to the factory. They are responsible for almost all of the French bread that is eaten in New Orleans. I picked up 3 bags for Parasol’s and dropped them off. I’m not sure if the owner recognized me from years of patronage or what, but he tipped me 200 % for the delivery. So with 2 orders I had $67 in my pocket.
Around 8:30 PM while “floating” in the Napoleon area I was paged to pick up an order on Prytania. It was 2 girls and a guy who wanted to go to the movie theatre in Harrahan. Why anyone would pay for a cab to go to the movies in the burbs blows me away. It was a $23 fare but pretty much took the wind out of my sails for the night. If I would’ve stayed in city limits I would made twice that in the same amount of time.
I was able to catch pages most of night so that meant it was busy enough that there was never a back up of cabs in any area. Thankfully the whole floating stand situation didn’t ruin my business tonight.
pstk
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Willie's Weed
10/29/09 Thurs. 68 miles
One more day before my brother arrives. I’ll be on a 5 day vacation from the hack that will involve Voodoo Fest, Halloween, plenty of great food and playing tourist in my own home town. I’ve been working 7 days a week as usual but I’ve been putting in an extra couple of hours a day to save up for the time off. I still have a lot to get together for my brother’s arrival. Mostly just cleaning my neglected apartment.
I had one fantastic fare today. I was paged from Touro to pick up a guy at the Delachaise Bar. He wanted to go to MiMi’s in the Marigny which was a pretty good haul. He used to DJ at WTUL -Tulane University’s radio station- back in the early 90’s. This gave him access to all the great punk bands that were ripping through New Orleans at the time.
The kicker was when he started talking about Willie Nelson. For a brief period he lived on the same island in Hawaii as Willie and said he got to see him play to small crowds in the local dives on the remote island.
“Man, you don’t want to fuck with Willie’s weed. It’s like losing 2 days of your life,” he claimed.
I pulled what the old timers call a “Coup” for my last 2 fares of the night. Two young lads hopped in my car at Dos Jeffes and wanted to go to the Boot on Broadway. On Thursday nights young kids will jump in front of your car to stop you in front of the Boot so I was happy to hear of their destination. Sure enough 4 girls jumped in my car and wanted to go to F&M’s.
It took me a minute to figure out why they call it a “Coup” but I’m guessing it’s because it’s “out with the old and in with the new”.
pstk
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