July 2nd, 2008
“So I’ve got these two women in the back of my cab who just refuse to get out...”4 comments
June 25th, 2008
“My friend’s getting divorced, and he’s really drunk,” says the bartender...8 comments
June 18th, 2008
There’s nothing like a good Friday night, and I’m referring to the money.3 comments
June 11th, 2008
The old man in the karaoke bar’s parking lot insists that he doesn’t need any help...0 comments
June 4th, 2008
“What’re you up to?” asks my dispatcher.6 comments
May 28th, 2008
The middle-aged guy is working on an oil ship...3 comments
May 21st, 2008
“How you doing tonight, man?”3 comments
May 14th, 2008
As I pull into the back parking lot of Spot 79 on Southeast Foster Road...13 comments
May 7th, 2008
I’ve had this stooped old alcoholic once before.6 comments
April 30th, 2008
When I call out to the Emanuel E.R.’s waiting room for my fare...13 comments
[August 10th, 2005] There seem to have been a lot of Irishmen in the column lately, but not nearly so many as are now in my cab. Eight. I am really not supposed to carry more people than I have seatbelts for, but these minor infringements are part of life. Carrying so many people I can't see out the windows, now that's another matter. But these drunk passengers are cheerful and funny and begging and, most importantly, not going far. Just 20 blocks along Hawthorne.
Everyone piles in. The windows steam rapidly, so I open them. Which is fortunate, as someone farts. The car explodes with laughter and invective. And another fart, probably forced out by pressure upon the farter's abdomen. Now everyone is making jokes about the dinner eaten earlier, as well as those jokes, both homophobic and homoerotic, that any group of three or more straight males feels compelled to make whenever they're unusually close to one another.
Thus I hear about the sexual predilections of eight Irishmen in the space of 20 blocks. They chortle and tease while the one whose mouth happens to be situated directly above my ear, as he is draped across his fellows, asks me about driving a cab, how I like it, and so on. It's extraordinarily odd somehow, to be having this banal, quiet conversation in the midst of all that cheerful cacophony.
Finally we arrive, they get out, some of them requiring help as their legs have gone to sleep. As each of them wants to tip me for allowing such a ride, I do rather well.
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