I went to the diner the Monday after V-Day, which would be Valentine’s Night to some. T’was a good day I think if I recall right, but this was my first fare, and that first or second, or third can be tests of sorts. When I pull through such rides I contemplate if I could’ve done anything better, and ask myself if I could do them over, would I, the answer always is yes for the most part, as there is pretty much a deep underlying reason for why we all choose such a job.
But anyway, I’ll stick to the story; I’ll make it short, as it isn’t worth much time. Two girls and one guy get in; it is already 5 in morning if not a bit later. They had an upper-east side destination, but first I had to get girl A to St. Vincent’s Hospital. This girl’s friend managed to get so drunk that she’d found herself in the hospital, and all her friends had already visited her, all her friends except for girl A who needed to get there pronto. She got a call from her girls who changed the address to 7th Avenue and Perry where they said she was talking to the police, oh, so now it seemed even more urgent, as maybe she hadn’t gone to the hospital yet, but needed friends to help her negotiate whetever predicament she was in. I don’t recall if she showed much agitation as to how slow we were getting across town to 7th Avenue, but she was totally a dumb ass, because right when I got to 7th Avenue she asked me if we were at 7th yet, to which I acknowledged we were. But what I didn’t say was that we weren’t near Perry, rather we were at 21st Street. Most people know how to tell Chelsea apart from Greenwich Village, and a lot of people also know that when you’re on an Avenue with no traffic you can travel downtown or uptown for that matter, faster then time itself. She chose to get out there, I didn’t stop her or say anything, because I figured she was delirious enough to start arguing, and it’d be better not to travel into some drunk and police filled situation, it was a fear in the back of my mind the whole time. She instructed me to take them to their destination.
Actually they had two separate destinations, both in the Upper East Side. I was extremely pleased at the time I was making on each street making every light.
“Jeez I hope things work out alright for her,” Said the guy.
“Oh, yeah, I hope so,” The girl added indifferently.
I was so transfixed with my own narrow focus on timeliness, as well as my relief of tranquil silence throughout the Crown Victoria temple I didn’t find it peculiar that there was no conversation between the two.
But this is why I tell this story are you ready for the ridiculous quote, which warmed my head space with laughter and also slapped my moral senses a bit: She leaves the cab at a busy hub of the upper east, near midtown.
And as she goes she says, “Goodnight! It was nice to meet you!”
I guess you had to be there, because she shouted it as she was already standing outside the cab with the door in her hand. I thought she was saying it to me for a second because that is the volume at which me and passengers talk to get through the partition. She was saying goodnight to the gentlemen who must’ve been a first and a last date. She shut the door so soon after that he didn’t even have time to respond. I looked back, I chuckled, and, he was asleep! Good God he must’ve been asleep the whole time, what a buzz kill. But would it have been so bad not to wake him up and not actively pursue the rest of the cab ride as a moment for a conversation at least?
I ask myself that question of her, but of humanity, and it brought me down a bit on humanity in my internal thoughts, that some girl would be that rude, and now also this poor guy was left with the check, the cab ride. Now as this is a job for me and not some stupid dinner, I was forced to wake him up for the minimums: I had to ask him where he was going, and then upon getting there, I had to wake him up oh, say, about 3 times to remind him that he was here, we were inside a cab and I was the driver, and that he didn’t pay yet, and if he wanted to get out anytime soon he was more then welcome as we were here.
In other words/sounds:
‘Tap, Tap, Tap’ –my knuckles knocking on his side of the partition, about 4 times each one progressively louder, then-
“ We’re here sir.”
He looked dazed; waking up out of your home is so disturbing. He had that look, as if to say ‘morning already.’ He went back to sleep when he sized up the situation and realized it to a conclusion satisfactory, ‘problem solved let’s go back to sleep’ his R.E.M. cycle declared.
‘TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP’
“Sir, Second Avenue and 79th. This is you.” I made sure to look firmly at him. He looked around and found it not so familiar but was too bothered to argue. “Hey, The trip is over, we are home, this your stop, this is it, do you have (I don’t remember the amount)?”
Surprisingly he eventually found his credit card and successfully went through all the steps, well, maybe I had to prod him through the accept button or something. He got out and after a minute or two, he regained his where bouts and proceeded to his home. I have to admit in my confusion I did pass his corner by a block and then turned around and came back, so I arrived from the east rather then the west. I think I was counting on using Lexington Avenue as a notable street to start counting each block out, but since I came from 3rd Avenue my counting was off by a block. I spent so much time worrying about if he’d wake up I threw myself off a bit.
A woman of her mid 30’s and a guy in his mid to late 40’s. They were both telling of their New Yorker status, despite going from one hotel to another. The woman recalls sitting on the steps of a church we passed, “everyday, when she was a kid.” Than the guy pulls out a big trump card by dishing out this wallop of a tale:
Tale 1-
“I was mugged once at St. Patrick’s.” St. Patrick’s he said. That’s the church that all the tourists go to, the most famous cathedral in New York City.
“No it was in the church,” he said in response to the obvious question setting up the answer.
He said he was confronted by a man who said he was possessed by the devil, he needed to tell him something and so they went in to the corner, where the man then punched him in the head and took off. The guard came running up to him saying, “Come on let’s go get him.” And he was like, “Are kidding me, I’m on the floor here.”
“So you what did he take?” She asked
“Oh he took nothing.”
Tale 2-
Then just before we arrive at our destination, he invites me into this one, and tells me an even more incredible story. “You know what, you’re gonna like this one.” He told me.
A while back he took this cab ride that he’ll never forget in New York. He remembered that the driver was driving ridiculously crazy, missing babies, dogs, women and children, the thing. He points out a few of these near misses, and was rather frightened at first. The cab driver as he drove, banged his hands on the dashboard continuously, and he thought this driver might be high on cocaine. Eventually after so many near misses between the driver and all of New York, he grew comfortable and figured the driver knew what he was doing.
Then as the driver was going through Times Square, he came right up to the scene of a car accident with the police already there. And wham, he trapped the officer between the taxi and the car already pulled over. The cop pulled out his gun and aimed it at him, the passenger, and demanded he open the glove compartment and hand the registration information over. The cop then demanded the driver’s wallet, and after he took all of the driver’s cash, he let him go.
“When did this happen?” I asked
“That’s a good question,” he replied, “I think it was in 93’”
I reply, “wow that’s kinda recent, I guess the city was still a little skeezy back then.”
Then he recalls, “Oh wait, I think it was in 86’.”
“Oh,” I say, “Those were the cocaine years.”
“Oh yeah definitely,” the girl confirms.
Well to update everyone on the ticket situation so far, I looked at the ticket last tuesday and was surprised to find that it had been 14 days since it had been issued. I had only one day left to plead guilty or not guilty on it and send it to whom ever, wherever it goes.
'Well the mail goes pretty fast locally' I was thinking, when I found that I could just enter my plea via the Internet, ahh the lovely Internet. But damn the Internet to hell; it wouldn’t recognize my license number. So I mailed it in, to Albany. Well I suppose as long as it was in the mail before the deadline it’s okay, but I never assume things will be okay with New York State. I contacted the lawyer, and while he told me that he doesn’t like to send the tickets in the mail he reassured me all would be well. He recommended another way, going to the building on Rector Street or wherever is closest, and entering the plea in person, darn, if there is a next time, we’ll do it that way. So when I get notification in the mail for a court hearing date, then I’ll go to the lawyer's office with one hundred and fifty dollars and he’ll work what I sure hope is his magic, and maybe I won’t have the 3 points on my license nor will I owe the state two hundred and seventy dollars. I almost think in the back of my mind that none of it is worth it, and that I might as well have just paid the ticket and pleaded guilty, but I'm going through with it on principle. If everyone who receives big tickets (all tickets are big) for such trivial things which might not have even went down in such a way that was actually misconstrued as illegal, and most certainly not dangerous; then the whole system would slow down, a lot of people would get their cases dismissed, and because of more people getting their tickets thrown out, the police might then be re-taught on proper ways to give real moving violations for crazy cases.
Actually I just had a customer in my cab who asserted this same theory, as he also recieved a ticket for something similar. He got a ticket for going through a red light after he was in the cross walk, and despite him saying he pulled through for safety reasons, the cop heard nothing of it. Well of course I disagree that he should've gone through the intersection, but I didn't tell him this. He said he believed the police intentionally give tickets to the smallest infractions because the drivers are more likely to be good people who are easier to deal with. "As a guy who works in the hospital all the time" he said, "I don't blame them when I see the shit that they have to deal with sometimes."
Is not my story, no I don't take enough chances, and I slap myself for that every time. This is the entire point of this job, to see and hear everyone, and to gain some insight into the entire functionality of the world we as people are creating.
Yeah I still got my cold, fever now I s'pose. overslept worse than usual so I called in and told the dispatcher I'd be late. I saved some time but lost 15 bucks taking a taxi over to the garage (4 dollar tip, hey not everyone is so happy to go to queens especially in this weather). I'm pretty happy despite things going slowly. I have a 10 dollar discount on my lease due to my shift time being reduced by an hour. I got two rides so far a 4.20 ride (5 bucks) for about 4 blocks, and then a LaGuardia Airport fare. I'm proud of the airport as I tried a new hotel that I haven't deliberately gone to before. I was semi impatient with it as there was already a cab waiting there, but as I was about to leave he loaded up with passengers so I pulled over at the corner and walked back to the hotel and as I was about to go inside and ask if there was another airport soon, a guy was leaving with a bag and sure enough he was. I'm waiting at the airport now because it's irresistible not to wait on such a short line. I could've been second but I felt pulling in to the line so shortly would've practically been a U-turn. Of course the only way back to the line without entering in the U-turn route sends me back and forth twice through a small loop so I'm 4th. One cab already picked up. the U.S. air terminal is already full of cabs, and I wonder why so many prefer to wait there, is there something I don't know? for the most part during the day it is never a good idea to wait at the airport, but I'm gonna risk it if only to take it easy today, there is a bathroom close by, and a chance to sit and relax. all the roads have good chances of being slippery due to ice, or slush, or snow, or puddles. There is good odds out in Manhattan and even Brooklyn and Queens for airport rides if you stick to 1st Avenue and maybe Columbus. I feel there may be a back up of canceled flights that are now booked for today, might be a busy few days for people going to the airport, as they want to get their flights in between the storms. Well I'll try to continue to catch up with you later A.K.A. tuesday on the blog, later folks.
Chinatown
Ugh, I got a cold, which may be getting to the fever stage now. I think I got it by not taking a breakfast break on any of my work days this past workend, saturday, sunday, and monday. The money again wasn't so superb and in addition I started each shift later than usual which led to a more stressful attempt to make the dollars driving through more traffic. Wow, monday was so bad that my first 2 and a half hours were vacant, and then the morning rush was only on for 2 hours rather than 3 or 4. At one point I had to use the bathroom but I couldn't find a parking spot close enough to a public bathroom.
It's been one of those weeks that I have to write about. No nothing extreme happened, but definitely some notable bullet points worth remembering occurred. I feel a little overwhelmed tonight because I need to write for this blog and two others as well, but first things first. My saturday, and my sunday didn't give me the financial bounty that I have been acquiring over the last month or so. So with that in mind I asked for a tuesday of work in addition to monday. And it was monday and tuesday that gave me the stories to tell.
Corona, Queens
The "Day of Ray" will be on February 6th, this Saturday. I heard it was in Tompkins Square Park, although more recently it has been pushed out over the web that it will be at the Sidewalk Cafe, 6th Street and Avenue A, at noon. Details are here at EV Grieve
My stories-
This is Ray's, or Ray's Candy Store. No idea why it has that name, I suppose he once sold candies, now it's all coffee and fries, ice creams, and egg creams, etc...
Ray's is kind of like a general store, selling whatever it is that the contemporary neighborhood patron would want, open 24 hours a day, and Ray himself works there, and has been working at his store, all night long, everyday.
Why I'm writing about Ray is because it is an icon of the East Village, just north of the corner of East 7th Street and Avenue A, where the blog 'Neither More Nor Less'- neithermorenorless.blogspot.com/ is usually reported from.
Lately I've been getting my 1st coffee of my shift from Ray. That started because I wanted to support the guy who was once the local place around the corner from where I grew up. I remember buying Car And Driver magazines from there. My dad would buy his cigarettes.
When I visited friends in the neighborhood I'd try his belgian fries which are a relatively recent product of Ray's. And now I find that he's one of the cheapest places for coffee, a large coffee is only a dollar.
That 1st time I came back to Ray while I was on duty, a few guys were in there that seemed like regulars, and they all asked him how he was doing, what the story is with his lease. It all seemed like it was intentionally brought up for me to hear. The word had to get out, Ray was likely to loose his store, a place that for 30 years was a staple of the village, while every other establishment on the block had either changed owners or gone through big changes, Ray was there remembering every face, and always giving a fare price. Recently an article was written up in The 'New York Times'- www.nytimes.com/2010/01/18/nyregion/18candy.html
Without knowing that I had started making a habit of getting my coffee at Ray's, my dad sent me that article in an email. Ray's has a place in all our hearts. He's been around long enough to be placed into stories asserting it's place in our oral histories:
One day my dad came back from "getting a coffee at Ray's" only to tell us that the whole neighborhood had broken out in a fight with the police in the park, they were throwing bottles and everything. It was only later that this moment was clearer to me as a vital turning point of the East Village, when the police had begun a huge crack down on the removal of homeless and drunks and druggies squatting in the park. The neighborhood didn't take too kindly to it. Ray's stayed open during the whole thing.
My dad also told me the story of how the founder of the Guardian Angels, a man who at the time was pretty respected, though now that the city has been cleaned up, he appears to be a bit of a righty political bobble-head, was almost killed, but he somehow miraculously survived. It was Ray's Candy store that the man walked out from when he hailed a cab. The cab was actually driven by a mafia hit-man and he shot him several times. And yet that hero of the more gritty New York walks and talks today without any signs to show for it.
And to add to the myth of Ray, I walked in the other day and the same guy was in there who was there talking to Ray who was in there a month ago or so when I started to come in for my coffees. He told Ray that he should take it easy with the stabbing of his customers. He was in enough trouble as it was with the rent, and the insuring regulations, he didn't want to find himself in jail. Evidently Ray had been stiffed by a customer for a hot dog, he was probably rude or he came to just expect a hot dog for free. Trust me weather it did or didn't happen, Ray is a class act, making all the salty and sugary foods and drinks you desire and handing them over for the below market prices with a shaking hand, one that has operated that cash register for a relative life-time in comparison with the fleeting life span of most establishments around the city. Go to any place around for this long and you will find two things: an individual who is there to hear everyone who comes in and talks, and also an individual who doesn't take crap from anybody. to be here for this long you have to really care about your town, to the point that you'd die for it.
Please join Ray in his fight to keep his store alive. His rent is being paid only through the care of his customers.
Finally I finished the damn story, and yeah the font changes color somewhere, you know how blogger can be, sometimes, there is no fighting against it, it only makes the text worse, enjoy, and sorry for the wait.Then I let go of the gas peddle as I didn't know where we were going anymore. I asked her, "where to?" as I eyed the mirrors she looked back too, and the silhouette of the New York business man stood there still holding his confidence, but loosing the dignity of a chariot.
"Oh thank you so much!" she said.
And I began to laugh expelling all my tension, even the tensions of a typical ride. Now after letting this guy go I felt like I was just driving through the streets with a friend.
"He was sooo, crazy!" She said.
"Let me just say" I wore the biggest smile on my face as I continued, "Congratulations, so many people may get into that situation, but you finally took control. If you didn't take control, who knows."
She then told me her address, and we turned back to her place. I began to explain all the things that were going through my head before his expulsion. "He was spending all this time, trying to convince you that he was good, he was trying to..." But I couldn't find the exact words I was looking for.
"He was doing what?" She sad. And our moment of joy and comfort had already passed as I tried to analyze the situation.
I was trying to tell her that he was pulling his sleazy sales tactics in a setting that didn't call for a sale. But most importantly if there wasn't anything else I could be proud of from such a moment, I would at least pose an important question to her and be proud of that. "Why did you let him in the car?" I asked.
Her words were kind of broken throughout the whole night, either that was because she'd had a little too much to drink, or it was just because she hadn't mastered english entirely well.
weird day already. It's been a while since I've brought my computer with me, and I need a good break so I might as well type about how things have been for this day so far. I came in extra early, I woke up at about 3:40 pm, then sort of floated around which I pretty much do all week, until 11pm rolled around and I worked on getting my shit together, left the house at 1:20am, got to the garage at 2:30, and then got my cab at the usual time, 3:20.
I’ve been a bad blogger, distracted by cable television and hindered by sleep, an overheated apartment, and work. I need to a lot a timeslot in each day specifically for the blog. These are the noteworthy rides of the first weekend of December. While most shifts of mine are pretty mundane, I had a few rides on this weekend that stick to my memory. One trip in particular in the pre-dawn hours of Sunday will be vaguely burned in my memory forever probably. Sunday's story is still unwritten, hopefully I'll get that posted tonight or tomorrow morning.
Saturday was good, just the usual, but my first two riders were interesting because their occupations weren’t your typical nine to five positions. I pass the potential customer as she walks out of the more conventional diner. I hold an eye contact, but then she pulls out a cigarette, so I keep rolling to the end of the block to wait by the other diner. This is my usual spot, and while I may wait for up to 30 minutes, when the people come out, they usually all take taxis, splitting up in groups of twos and threes. They all splurge for the cab rides because they need to keep an impression going with their groups that they are classy enough to spend the money on a taxicab. However this was one of those moments where a group walked right around my perfectly parked taxi to get into another one stopped on the street. Just when I thought I’d have to wait for 30 minutes or so, the first potential customer I saw walks nonchalantly to my cab. I see her in my rear-view mirror, and she is so astute that she knows I am watching in the rear-view. She holds up a hand in acknowledgement without picking up the pace and drops the cigarette, I flip the gear shift into reverse only to confirm my acknowledgement so that my back-up lights will pop-on, then I flip it back to drive. She settles in.
“How are you doing tonight?” She asks. She requests to go to a place in alphabet city that has been without gentrification for the last 50 years or more. I knew I was taking a real New Yorker, or at least someone with a hard New York sense. I figured her for a waitress or a cook, or a dishwasher, or a manager, but she told me she was in the club promoting industry. We talked about colleges for a bit, she was thinking of going back to school. We already developed a good rapport, she figured out I was a born New Yorker. She didn’t know that I had friends who grew up right there too, so I knew the area somewhat well.
“You seem like a cool guy,” She said, “So I’ll tell you what I really do. I’m a dominatrix. You know what a dominatrix is?”
I pause and keep my expression to it’s ultimate New York poker face, “Yeah.” As if to say, and so, what else you got?
“I know that a lot of times we need photographers and they make 200 dollars a shoot. So I’m just saying that might be a direction you could consider,” She says.
My eyes light up, and I think that I’ve maybe finally got an opportunity for easy money, but my low self-esteem kicks in, as it always does whenever I see an opportunity that I don’t know everything about. I say, “I dunno, do you think my personality would work in that situation. I am not sure if I’d be able to fit in?”
She doesn’t answer; this is one of those things that I’m going to have to answer myself, but I have a problem jumping in to a pool when I don’t know how deep it goes. I can’t make promises before I know where I’m headed. But another interesting thing is that I know a good friend who did shots in the dominatrix clubs many years back and it was a very good portfolio, maybe something like this could get me in the door of photographic opportunity if I’d ever get up the nerve. It’d at least be a respectable portfolio that both the client and the photographer would be satisfied with, which is more than I can say for other photo jobs out there.
Ride 2- comes along quick; Avenue C was empty, but I was already back in the more popular section of alphabet land only 2 blocks from dropping off the dominatrix. There is a woman standing in standard ‘strike a pose’ cab hailer’s stance. She sees me on the other side of the Avenue and gets in. Her accent sounded Russian and we had to go to an address of a luxury building in Hell’s kitchen first to then receive another address for her to be at. I was ashamed of myself for taking such a lousy route their, though I tried as best I could to make it work. She never complained, not once, and we waited for several minutes for the person to give her the sheet to assign her where her next address would be. It was like an underground pizza delivery, only I was pretty sure she was the pizza. The assignment came complete with credit card numbers to use and number’s to contact etcetera, it was a very organized operation, much more so than the cab industry it seemed. We then preceded further uptown. These were two of the best fares I’ve ever received at such an hour. Imagine having two completely sober people with a clear understanding of our tasks. All three industries rely on a healthy interaction with individuals whom we don’t even know. Both fares tipped very well, and the second one was a great ride as it had two stops, and went a fare distance to the north.
I for some reason feel to overwhelmed with content to give a description of Sunday the justice it deserves. I wrote about Saturday last week, and had been saving it until I wrote about all three days to post the complete weekend in one posting, but it’s taking too long so Sunday will continue at the next post, hopefully by tonight, or tomorrow morning I’ll write it out. Each day probably deserves to be a separate post anyway--
I'm sorry I haven't taken the time to post stories. I feel writing is an integral part to the blog, and while hopefully keeping you all interested (my readership has been falling a little bit), writing about such memorable moments help me gain a sense of relevance to it all, it makes me feel self important, and also it helps get some nightmares out of my system. No scratch that last one; writing helps me re-analyze these situations.
The truth is most of the time, people come and they go without much of a problem. I believe, naively perhaps, that I have worked out routes and systems that make me feel most comfortable during the sketchy hours. But sometimes hard realities befall us. Harsh realities befall us all. Statistically it would seem impossible not for life to throw us the curve balls. This all said, all is well that ends well. But still each day I worked: Saturday, Sunday, and Monday; each one carried unusual curve-balls into my routine. Most of these interactions were mundane and overblown to a more dramatic proportion, be it, with people, or machine, my weekend I can honestly say, was interesting, if not eye opening, and life changing even.
preview - I ran a red light, I grabbed the underbelly of secret night new york, and I grabbed the most average of people, only to find out I was at one point being used as hostage transportation, I yelled, I cried, and I was deemed a hero. And each emotion happened in separate instances throughout the 3 days of work. No folks I'm sorry but I still can't muster the energy to involve myself deeply enough to write the post, but hopefully soon, very soon, I'll push this post out. In the mean-time, let the suspense build.
Williamsburg, Brooklyn
Jamaica, Queens
Brooklyn Heights, Brooklyn
Astoria, Queens
Upper East Side
Shots From 5/30/2009
