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

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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?