Unfaithful

I flew to my Dad's in Florida today.  I got a ride from a friend to the airport.  I didn't call a livery service for the ride. I felt like I cheated on my driving brethren.  "Brethren" can be unisex now.  The Political Correctness Statute #2324, section B says so.  There are no cabbies and cabettes anymore.  Just steering-wheel attendants.

Day 4 - Christmas Eve

Note: You can follow this blog by clicking the FOLLOW button.  Maybe that means you will get an alert when there is a new post?  Maybe you need a gmail account?  Maybe your computer will explode.

When Dispatched to a nursing home to take Peter home, I assumed I was taking a senior citizen home from a visit.  Instead, a man about my age was escorted to my cab (#134) by a nurse.  One of his legs was exposed to show several metal rods coming out of his leg, all attached to some type of brace.  Once we loaded Peter, his leg, and his TWO bags of pills in the car, Paul asked if I had picked up any cigarettes for him.  My negative reply did not make Peter happy.  It was then I realized that Peter spoke as if he was recently given a lobotomy.  Well, I guess if he had a lobotomy, it could have been administered long ago.  Unfortunately, we had to make two stops on the long ride to his apartment, one for coffee and one for cigarettes. My biggest fear at the moment came true when Peter asked of I could help him in his apartment when we got there.  He had mentioned how he really missed home since his leg surgery.  When we stepped in the apartment, I was immediately sad for Peter. It was not a place most of us would look forward to getting to.  But to Peter, this was home.  His place.  His stuff.  It is all relative, I guess.

After stopping at the first building I could find with a sink ( Speedway Gas) to wash my hands, I was ready for more.

I did have to let Peter know that he could not smoke in the car.  I may as well have let him light-up.  I smelled like smoke!  I was in the cab garage/lounge for about five minutes in the morning.  There were four people there, each smoking 2 cigarettes at a time.  It was enough time for the smoke to invade my clothes without warning.  I am beginning to appreciate the Illinois smoking band in bars and restaurants.  The problem with bars is that now I can smell the dirty beer tap lines as well as the clientele. I still suggest, however, that comedy clubs were funnier when the rooms were more a bit smoke-filled.

Being Christmas Eve, I was blessed with several airport runs.  BACK TO THE TAXI LOT FOR ME!  On this day, I actually went into the restaurant in the lot.  I guess it is more of a take-out joint unless you want to stand along the window like a good Chicago hot dog stand lets you.  My observation of the day was the eclectic menu.  Would it surprise you that they serve hamburgers, Polish, kabobs, and a “Pakastani” ???

One of the short runs of the day was taking a furry guy named Buddy to the Whole Foods grocery store in Hinsdale.  It was at that moment when a cab delivers its fare to the destination and exchanges currency with the customer that Buddy decided to ask me why Science has such a hard time believing in the Christmas Story.  It would have been an interesting discussion I am sure, but I wanted him OUT.  I also needed a bathroom.

Speaking of bathrooms:  When driving a cab, one benefits from pre-planning any liquid intake.

On tipping and gratuities:  There is no correlation between the size of one’s house and how well he/she tips.

Numbers

1.  The name of the company is 5th Avenue Cab.

2.     Driving Miss Daisy premiered around 7665 years ago.

3.     48% of this blog’s readers used Firefox. 1% have used Safari.

4.     The phone # for 5^th Ave Cab is 708-352-5050

5.  I have a friend with 9.5 toes.

Day 3

 

I finally had a chance to drive again.  I had a few requests from Manny, but couldn't get free the past few months.  I had figured my two or three-day career as a cab driver was over.  But alas, I was able to say "yes" to the most recent call.  I may as well refer to it as Day 3.  Car 305, if you were curious.

Day 3 brought to my first airport pick-up.  Though we all may know how friendly and patient the staff working outside the Arrival area of the airports are, few have experienced what the city taxis and livery cabs are subjected to on each pick-up.  And why is it when we go to pick-up friends and loved ones at the airport, that the staff is surprised that we are there.  Why is that they prefer us get our friends and family (and luggage) into our cars without actually STOPPING?  “Hurry up Grandma, walk along the car and hop in while I ride the breaks.  If I stop, I may be treated as a potential terrorist!”

The first decision for me to make when entering the “limo lot” is weather or not I am a taxi or a cab.  You see, a cab is not necessarily taxi, a livery car is not necessarily a limo, and so on.  Don’t get me started on explaining what a “taxi-cab” is.  What is important to know is that I do not drive a taxi-cab (with the meter thing that clicks way to often).  Taxi-cab drivers have to pay BIG TIME fees to the city and county in order to drive.  I, however, can only pick-up at the airports if someone has requested us.  This brings me to the Limo-Lot.

Again, I need to drive to the cab holding lot to submit my “stamp.”  This $4 stamp is supposed to be affixed to a form with a bunch of necessary info; who I work for, my plate #, who I am picking up, the flight #, my children’s SSN, my Grandfathers date of birth, etc.  The livery cars behind me would have appreciated me having the form already filled out I am sure.  What is a “stamp” you ask?  It is a friendly word for TAX.  Politicians are masters at taking our money using words that hide the word TAX.  Apparently, it costs some government agency, hidden in bureaucracy, millions of dollars to organize the taxis and cabs at O’Hare International Airport.   I bet I could do it for about a 25 cent “stamp” per car. 

I would like to tell you that all of the fellow drivers and staff in the limo lot are happy humans.  Needless to write, they are not.  They all yell a lot.  Sometimes they yell at each other.  Luckily, I caught on that all of the yelling is for naught, as few yellers speak the same language as those on the receiving end of the yell.  When I was yelled at for my lack of a stamp-form, I simply yelled back in jibberish, and that ended the conflict.  “Yaka schwam bido!”   “Bido, I say!”

I was right on time for my first pick-up. Sadly for me and my customers, the major airline lost their infant’s car seat and could not find a loaner. This left me sitting for one hour in the yelling lot.  My parents just tossed us in the back seat back in the day.  No car seats.  ‘Honey, is that the windshield wiper fluid knocking around back there?”  “No, that is just Gary.”  “Good, I don’t want that blue stuff to spill all over the place.”

Later in the day I got the call to take George and Edna to their restaurant of choice.  You may remember that I drove this lovely duo to the doctor’s office during my first or second day.  Today was dinner at Omega, a typical Greek-owned big menu joint.  On the way, ninety-year-old Edna shared with me that she “and the girls” just had their book club luncheon at “that Margianno’s.”  Apparently she was amazed that they had “meats, pastas, salads, soups, and even bread available.”  It was the bread that sold me.

On my second trip to the airport I picked up a young couple that seemed angry.  They just grunted as I helped them load up for the trip back to the suburbs.  I was wrong.  They were happy to a fault.  He was too excited to see the snow and Christmas lights.  As we turned down a tree lined residential street, he made a comment about EVERY SINLGE HOUSE with lights and decorations. “Oooh, look how that did that.”  “That is nice.” “They did a nice job with very little.” “Look at that….pretty.”  I am pretty sure that his wife and I wanted to put a pillow over his face.  Not to kill him, just to, well, ya know.

By the way, on my second trip to the airport, I had all of my forms ready to go.  The lady in the limo lot booth almost hugged me.  She was so proud.  I know this because she smiled while saying stuff to me in a language I did not recognize.  I responded to her.  I think we are dating now.  Day 4 soon?

Day 2

In comparison, Day Two was pretty low key.  I am so glad it wasn't Day One.  Day One provided good copy.

The first pick-up was Doris in Darien.  I didn't plan the alliteration.  Eighteen miles of "My son dates gorgeous women."  "My son is the one who breaks up with them."  "Some of them are nice even though they are just like runway models."  "One of them was a runway model."  I hope her son marries a real..... um.... nice person.  After I assured her that I would exit onto Central, and that I agreed that the Cicero exit was for rookies, she was at ease.  She tipped me $10 and then manipulated me to comment about how that is above average.  I am sure that helped her rest on her flight to Vancouver.  They have runway models there. Canadians walk differently on the runway than American models.  Look it up, I know.


The lady that just about threw the money at me the previous day was much happier Day Two.  Same trip to the train station.

Most of the day was spent sitting in the car at Post.  I sat there about as long as it would have taken to drive to Champaign-Urbana and watch the first quarter of a football game.  I did have a chance to write a song for my daughter's Indian Princess tribe (Chiricahua) to sing at the upcoming campout.  Indian Princesses is sort of like Girl Scouts lite, and no, it will not be changed to Native American Princesses.  After the lyrics were set, I organized picture files on my computer.  Jealous? It is one of those chores most of us never get to.

Car 305, back to Base.  Not sure when Day Three is going to be......

Day One

(If you didn't know, I am spending some time driving for a new company, 5th Ave Cab.  A few of you may know that I have talked about driving a cab for 20 years.  Day One was worth starting a blog)

Day One:

The plan was to come in this morning and get my “feet wet.”  I entered the cab place and was met with by dispatcher and Barry, one of the owners.  I said hello and asked for the rest room.  By the time I came out of the rest room, it was just the dispatcher and I.  Without explanation she handed me a key.  “Car 125, you have a pick up in Riverside soon.  Going to O’Hare.”   Great, Riverside was a town with a street plan designed by a heroin addict.  (Actually, by the same guy that designed Central Park in New York – Olmestead.)   The only training I had was a conversation yesterday with the owner, which included a warning on how tricky O’Hare can be for suburban cabs.

But wait, “Gary, you need to hurry up to get a woman in Brookfield to the train station.  Here is your clip board.”  Now, the clipboard had several packets of blank forms on it.  I am sure those will be relevant soon.

I picked up my first client, and said gave me a “hello” with a HEY WE ARE LATE flare.  As we approached the train station she gave me some money and let me know that was all I was getting.  After she left the cab I thought I had a few minutes to figure out what I should have charged her officially.  $2 to get in, plus $2 per mile.  Whew, she gave me enough and then some.   Did I mention that “I thought” I had time?

As prepared as one could be (maps and GPS) the town of Riverside is still a b**ch.  As this client and I passed Gene and Jude’s hot dogs on River, he shared that he produced trade shows for a living.  He was on his way to Washington, DC for an accounting trade show, then off to Vegas for the Porn industry trade show.  Not sure why I capitalized “porn.”  He gave me a credit card.  I was happy to find out that one of the forms on my clipboard was perfect for the task at hand.

Now I could breathe.  I was sent to “post”, which is where we wait to be dispatched.  It is known to most as the LaGrange train station.  This is not the taxi service most of us picture.  This is a livery service.  No meters in the cars.  So, it is more like a limo service, without the limos.  Once in awhile I learned a customer will approach the cars.  A “walk-up” we call it in the business.  He was tall, about 25 years old, had one of those really closely shaven goatees, wearing racing sunglasses and a jogging suit.  The fact that he was unnaturally clutching a gym bag was duly noted by my sub conscious.  He entered the Audi A6 (yep, we all get to drive Audi’s) and spoke to me in some form of an Eastern European accent.  I was trying not to concern myself with thoughts as to what he had planned for me, but when he started taking pictures with his cell phone, I started to think how the headlines would read.  If he were a serial killer, the cell phone pics would eventually be good evidence to use against him.  I’d be dead, but hopefully within a few more victims, They would have their Guy.  It was not a great cell phone, so the pic of me driving my A6 would not be that great.

I lived.  In reality, the client could donate to toys for tots and play Santa at the orphanage for all we know.  But what was in the gym bag?

George and Edna were next.  I was sent to get George and Edna and take them to their appointment.  Do you remember the really old couples they interviewed at the beginning of When Harry Met Sally?  That was George and Edna.  Good people.

Soon I was told to get Lucy at the train station.  Her shirt said "Lucy."  That was easy.

The coolest and saddest customer was a retired gentleman wearing one of those baseball hats that had NAVY embroidered on it, along with the ship he served on.  He was a walk-up from the Metra train that came from Chicago.  He was staying at a hotel in the burbs and had a lousy experience trying to visit a few museums in the city.  He was retired, alone, and taking his time driving from California to wherever home was.  He was not sure what he would do the next day.  He mentioned The Brookfield Zoo.  Just a bunch of lazy animals that do little to amuse us if you ask me.

Coming soon:  Day Two.