Cab driving is weirdly addictive. Often, I sorta hated myself for doing such a low-life job and then I'd take some hottie home who didn't feel safe waiting for the bus. I was always the gentleman with them and you knew it was going good when they'd lean on the seat back (them sitting in the back) while they were talking to you.

In Seattle (where I did the vast bulk of my cabbing and all of my night shift work) they didn't have any cabs with the security barrier, maybe they do now, I don't know. I drove some with those things later in Oakland (they were required for night shift by law at the time), not all of them had them and I much preferred driving w/o them, and I only drove day shift in Oakland. Really cut down on the chance to make good time when the opportunity arose.

You see every genre of person in a cab. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Just about everyone takes a cab sometime in their life. The conversation is about as private as you can get. People are already sorta trusting you with their life and they would sometimes really open up.

One time, I picked up an attractive young women who was crying her eyes out, big time. The vibe I got was she'd just been dumped by some guy she really wanted. Jeez, I was at a loss for words. I just tried to be mellow and compassionate.

One time I picked up a woman at a dive bar in Ballard (little Sweden), a neighborhood up north in Seattle. It was about noon and she was drunk. I had to walk her into the house. She'd told me her husband had lost a leg a few months before. She took me into him, he was lying on the bed, in his clothes, she had to get money from him for cab fare. He started cussing a streak at her for being drunk mid-day; their two teenage kids, a boy and a girl were on the front porch within earshot. Then she shouted "well you never f*** me any more!" Oh man, the two kids looked seriously embarrassed and crest fallen. Bad enough it was going on and then a stranger had to hear it. The husband was very pleasant to me, I could see his leg missing below the knee. Whoa.

There was this guy I happened to see (live at a game) play for the Supersonics when Bill Russell was coach, sometime in the mid 70s. Fester Marshall, I think his name was but I couldn't find him in a web search just now. He only played a month or two, a fill in late in the season - he was about 6'8" and strong looking but just didn't have any poise on the court, just looked lost. Anyway, mid 80s I happened to pick the guy up at a house, the vibe I got was that he was being kicked out of a party he had been trying to crash.

He gets in the cab, drunk and arrogant, and started dropping names, 'yeah man, I played for Bill Russell with the Sonics . . ." I didn't let on that I knew about what an unremarkable career he'd had. The guy was just being an ass and then I happened to find out that he had no money. He was being sort of abusive, so I pulled into a gas station to get some gas and get out of the car (grabbed the keys, oh yeah). He gets out and I ask him if he's had much practice hitch hiking lately. He was bigger than me but I wasn't drunk and not nearly as self delusional so I wasn't worried. Last I saw of that ass****.

The lady I mentioned (the Ritalin) -- I was driving 5 days a week that summer, Seattle had just been announced in the press as the "nation's most livable city." Tourists descended, I was making $600 a week - cash, good money for me in 1985. I kept seeing her on the streets, I'd initially had her as a fare and when her trick stepped out for a minute she put the make on me. Surprisingly attractive, only about 19 or 20, caucasian. I must confess that I experienced her talents a few times, and some talents they were. She'd been put on the streets at age 11 or 12 (!?!?) by her mother from hell, who was probably too fat to make any money by then. I don't completely understand it, but there was something about her that pulled at my heartstrings. She had a real tough girl vibe about her. And God, what a lousy hand she'd been dealt.

Cab driving actually sorta corrupted me in some ways. Oh well. I used to tell people it was like an internship in urban anthropology.

I had much experience with the brothers in cabs. Most all of it good. No holdups, but once (and only once) I got nicked for $50 in a scam from a very smooth operator (hey man, you get high? Imo get you ****** up, dude. Hey man, you got change for a fiddy?) I was still pretty green. Oh well, I still made $110 that night.

One older black lady actually just about saved me for Jesus in a cab. Oh man, we're talking major salt of the earth. Her yard -- front, side, and back -- was one big vegetable garden. We're pulling out and this black dude on crutches -- mid 30s maybe, not a derelict, just injured -- comes up grinning ear to ear with an empty pot saying "Ms. Campbell, I got the pot from that casserole you gave me!" She says "Oh honey, I'll get that LATER!" One of those rare, special moments.

We get underway and I said "that's quite a garden you've got there." She says, "Oh chile, the Lord has blessed me! I just got a little of this arthritis going on but it ain't no thing." We had a nice conversation on the way to the doctor. As I helped her out of the cab, she grasped my hand and said, "Chile . . . once you get hold of the savior's hand, don't NEVER LET GO!" Lord help me, it was one of the most real things that ever happened to me. Not sure that I've lived up to her hopes for me but I do still think about her and maybe I can make it right by her example some day.

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Te futueo et caballum tuum

1986 300SDL, 362K
1984 300D, 138K