The Weekend started slow. Saturday was remembered for a poor decision, I took two people from the East Village to Jamaica Queens. The fair was 31.70 and it took around twenty minutes, they guided me well. Problem was I went to LaGuardia Airport and waited for a flight. Supposedly the flight just arrived, but after a half an hour I drove some people to another terminal came back and still waited, only to find a bunch of crazy airport shuttle vans pull in and collect all the passengers. Bah! I waited from 4:30 to 7am at LaGuardia, I wish I had driven in to Manhattan and at least gotten some sleep.
When I got into Manhattan at 7:45 or so, I immediately got two fares in a row. One fare went from Hell’s Kitchen to Alphabet City for 5 or 7 bucks, and from there I got another fare to Northern Blvd in Queens for 15. We saw one of those long lines of police cars driving on the FDR Drive. Unfortunately they wanted the same exit as us. Three of the cop cars wouldn’t let me into their lane. I guess they didn’t want the yellow cab to create an eyesore in the esthetics of the white and blue with red sirens parade, it just wouldn’t do. Fortunately one cop car was nice enough to let us in. I came back into Manhattan and had no luck finding fares. Turned out my cab was filthy. From that week’s previous storm all the cabs in the city were blackened. My fare sticker on my door was completely covered with dirt. There were lines at all the car washes, luckily the car wash that the garage pays for wasn’t so crowded. A cop car got washed there too!
I drove the Sopranos of Bay Ridge, or so I chuckled to myself. Condoms and raw sex, and other raw topics were conversed among the four broad shouldered men. They had the thickest Brooklyn accents I’ve ever heard in my life. We drove to Downtown Brooklyn, and eventually into Brooklyn Heights to get their car.
As we drove down the West Side Highway, the guy in the front recalled the last time they were driving here, in the Mercedez, “Hey, remember when I puked out the side of the car!” he said to his buddies. There was also talk of video taping a friend’s sexual relations through his closet. “(Joey) was wacking off while he was in the closet.” And the woman may run in politics, so maybe they could use it for extortion. He was also trying to convince his friend to have sex raw without a condom. He asked me what I thought about this. After I shook off my discomfort, I decided to voice the P.C. opinion that it just wouldn’t be right; where have these dudes been anyway? And he told his buddies I thought otherwise, to which I corrected him again, to which he winked and said, “Don’t worry buddy I know what you said.” More talk came earlier of sucking on tits. Were they at a strip club? I hope so, otherwise??? They asked me if I wanted to drive them to Bay Ridge. I said I’d rather not.
“I might get stuck out there,” I said.
They joked around, saying they wouldn’t pay me, but they tipped very well, and I let them off in Brooklyn Heights and headed back to Manhattan in 10 minutes.
Speaking of disrespect, I was afraid one of my fares was going to pretty much splurge in the back. I wasn't going to, nor did I say anything, but I take it as very insulting, far more than cell phone conversations, that two would take this time to practically do it in the back. However, the adventurist in me can relate to such a desire.
"We're here," I said, thankfully I drove a pretty quick root. A hand came up from the foot well to the partition
No moans or groans as far as I heard and no removing of apparel took place. I’m sure they had a nice night. Why didn't they tip more?
I drove a woman to the Upper East Side, and she was totally up for a conversation, and was very inclusive. I took her to the building, but there was a limo picking up someone and a cab behind me dropping off someone. This was a small cross-town street and so there wasn't much room. I was afraid of the "ding" as specified by Cabs Are For Kissing, so I offered to move up to a larger gap between parked cars. Then I noticed that an icy build up of hard semi-white colored snow was there, so I asked if this was all right. It was then that she commented on my consideration and threw another dollar at me, she asked me to pull her around the corner where she could get to the building safely.
She asked me what I wanted to do other than this, and I said my passion is photography. Then she said her son was a famous photographer, and I told her I would look him up. She then said that if you do what you love, you will always be happy, and you will be good at what you do;
I take these comments, these moments of serendipity as signs. I take moments like these and feel so positive off of them. It is as if these people take on mythological roles to me, I am no longer serving them, in reality I was supposed to be there, and I forever, am in need of a guide, and maybe ever so infrequently I can pass along whatever I may know as well.