TAXI !!

It was midnight. Mazcorro Cab pulled up next to me in the empty parking lot of the I.G.A. market and asked how I was doing.

"It's dead", I said.

"Yeah. Ever since Über came along -- ((( riiiing! ))) -- Got a call. Got to go. Luck"

And there went Mazcorro Cab. Good guy, Mazcorro. I've known him for about fifteen years. We used to be neighbors in the Colonia Postal neighborhood. A cold chill went down my back at the thought of being left without income because of bloody Über. But it's the way of the world, aint it. Things come and things go.

In the meantime we struggle on in diminished circumstances. I got a call at Plaza Burrito going to Taco Towers and it's a young woman named Catherine. She tries to open the front passenger door, but I keep it locked. Don't want nobugger sitting next to me unless absolutely necessary. I tell her to sit in the back. I got all my stuff spread across the front seat. Thought she'd get the visual message. Apparently not.

"Are you the same guy?" -- she asks -- "you must be, cos you're not letting me sit up front. You must be mad at me"

"What same guy. I just got here"

"I'm so sorry I made you wait. I was paying my bill at the Red Robin. I'm sorry"

"Sweetheart, I just got here"

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as eggs is eggs. I'm no little boy -- mommy, I don't know, I' not sure -- I'M SIXTY YEARS OLD, OF COURSE  I'M SURE"  ( young people have the annoying habit of asking 'are you sure?' without thinking. Kind of a reflex question. Or they'll say, 'are you serious?', which makes me want to strangle them )

"You're angry now..."

"I'M NOT F .. I'm not angry"

"Why are you shouting. I said I was sorry"

It went on and on like that. She wouldn't let it go, she wouldn't shut up. Meanwhile I'm trying to get on the rush-hour freeway... I'm one o' dem as can't walk and chew gum at the same time. Can only concentrate on one thing. This girl looked allright. Decent clothes. Not ugly. But she had terrrrible body odor, as if from a thousand unwashed armpits, which I've come to learn is a sign of mental illness. I beg your pardon; of "behavioral issues". She was fuckin nuts and she was driving ME nuts too, in other words.

She never did believe I was not that other driver she had made to wait, but she DID pay her fare, bottom line. Tipped me three bucks and all.

A fellow driver has died. José was his name. He was about seventy years old. Friday he went home saying he didn't feel well. Sunday morning he was dead. I spoke to him maybe a month ago, when I gave him a ride from the Red Cab office to the Iris Trolley station. I asked him about his Social Security, and he said he couldn't afford to retire because he hadn't accumulated enough points. I seem to recall we talked about God a little bit. Twenty years ago he used to work the gasoline pumps at the Yellow Cab garage downtown. Later he came to drive for Red Cab.When we had radio dispatching we could hear him, always giving the dispatcher some kind of comedic aggravation. I mean to say; we couldn't actually hear him, but we could infer what was going on from the dispatcher's reaction to whatever José was saying. Cranky old guy, but fun to listen to. Or to not listen to. Rest in peace, don José.

Talking about old guys, lately there's been an old beat-up stretch limo parked in the parking lot where I make my office. Says "VIP Limos Inc" on the back widow. The driver looks to be about eighty years old, and is always nattily attired in a dark suit, shirt and tie, and two-tone shoes. Has to use one of those aluminum walkers to get around.  Goes in the I.G.A. a lot. Or he'll sit at the counter in Denny's and watch people as they come in. I go in there often, for coffee or iced tea, and to use the rest-room. I have never actually seen him pick up, or have passengers on board. I am somewhat intrigued. He came out of nowhere, and now he's here. A mystery.

"Taxi!"

"What"

"Can you help me out with some spare change?"

"No"

( a little while later ... )

"Hey taxi!"

"Yes"

"Drive us to the 24th Street trolley?"

"Sure. Hop in"

I'm getting off the freeway at 24th Street when the guy says

"No, no. Get off"

"I AM getting off"

"No, I mean, go left"

"What?"

"Go left, go left, get off. Stay on the freeway!"

I'm all discombobulated. What's this guy want me to do? Reason I'd rather just deal with people I know and trust. Too many crazies out there. I mean, Ponytail Dave, he drinks. Can get ornery at times. But he pays cash on the barrel-head every time, tips handsomely, and no questions asked. As it turned out the guy going to 24th Street did pay. He just had a little trouble deciding he wanted to go to the Euclid Trolley station instead.