When I don't have any calls, I tend to hang out in the Sobey's parking lot at 8th and Cumberland. On Friday nights there is a group of old men who bring their motorcycles down and hang out there for a while. It's almost like a biker gang.....except that it's nothing like a biker gang. Sure, they have Harleys, and they wear leather jackets, and they have beards...but their beards are all well-trimmed. Bikers should have dirty, gross, out-of-control beards. It should be a requirement before they give you your bike license.
Bikers are supposed to be a symbol of freedom and rebellion. The old lady down the streets definitely does not approve of them, but they don't care. I feel like these well-groomed 'bikers' have the approval of the old lady down the street because she is most likely one of their wives.
I found myself in another parking lot tonight, and there was a group of young whippersnappers with their loud music and skateboards. I did not approve of their shenanigans, but I approved the disapproval that they brought upon themselves. Stay strong my brothers, stay strong......and then pull up your fuckin pants you hippies.
I was starting to feel shitty tonight, for a variety of reasons unrelated to the taxi cab profession, but that all changed when a young lady got into my cab. It was only a short trip, but at the end her debit card did not work and she did not have any cash. Me, being chill at every possible moment, just told her it was fine and she didn't have to pay. She treated this as being a real big favour on my part and was quite thankful....then I felt good for having done something good for someone else....and then all was good (for a few minutes anyway, until I got bored, started thinking of other stuff, and got depressed again).
There was a lot of asians in my cab tonight, which is quite odd. What was even more odd was how drunk and smelly they were. Usually the few asians that I do get are quite well-mannered and clean....but tonight they were falling over drunk, couldn't speak clearly (not that they are really do), and were smoking in my cab. Greasy asians! I did not expect this, and was not impressed. Asians, you need to clean up your act.
The rest of my evening was a boring combination of addicts, catfights, prostitute discussions, and honking my horn and random people.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
My New Friends
Let me introduce you to some of the new friend I met this weekend:
- A lesbian who discussed classical music and Taxi Cab Confessional with me (and I thought she was trying to pick me up until I found out she was a lesbian)
- A metal rocker chick who thought I was latino
- Some random guy who couldn't shut the hell up about Pearl Jam and Maroon 5 (He seemed to be disappointed when I mentioned that I had wanted to see Arcade Fire in concert when they were here)
- A wedding party that thought Crazy Cactus was the height of fun and enjoyment in this city
- A guy who wore a tuxedo shirt to a wedding reception at a church
- The owner/manager of Finn's pub who gave me some mediocre coupons
- A 90 year old man of English descent who has been on 9 cruises in Alaska
- A group that claimed to be the band playing at Amigo's on Friday night
- A carpenter who claimed to have built the stage at Amigo's that said band played on
- Some bitch who criticized my navigation skills when I totally went the fastest and shortest route
- Some asshole who smelled of the MJ and changed my music (I invented a 10th circle of hell for people who change my music)
- A homeless man who looked like Little Richard
- A boyfriend who had me drive halfway across the city to pick up his 'idiot' girlfriend who decided she wanted to walk home from a bar in a miniskirt through one of the sketchiest areas of the city.
- A group from Scratch that looked homeless and had me track down their equally homeless-looking friend who was at that point wandering through a Tim Horton's parking lot across town (I secretly hoped we could have done a drive-by pick-up where we don't stop, open the door, and he jumps in as we pass him...alas, this did not happen)
I have judged all these people. When people ask me what my profession is, I should start telling them that I am a judge. You get into my cab, I judge you...I judge your drunkenness, I judge your stories, I judge your clothes....I judge you.
In the process of writing that I have noticed who silly the word 'judge' is...especially when you repeat it and use it as a verb.
- A lesbian who discussed classical music and Taxi Cab Confessional with me (and I thought she was trying to pick me up until I found out she was a lesbian)
- A metal rocker chick who thought I was latino
- Some random guy who couldn't shut the hell up about Pearl Jam and Maroon 5 (He seemed to be disappointed when I mentioned that I had wanted to see Arcade Fire in concert when they were here)
- A wedding party that thought Crazy Cactus was the height of fun and enjoyment in this city
- A guy who wore a tuxedo shirt to a wedding reception at a church
- The owner/manager of Finn's pub who gave me some mediocre coupons
- A 90 year old man of English descent who has been on 9 cruises in Alaska
- A group that claimed to be the band playing at Amigo's on Friday night
- A carpenter who claimed to have built the stage at Amigo's that said band played on
- Some bitch who criticized my navigation skills when I totally went the fastest and shortest route
- Some asshole who smelled of the MJ and changed my music (I invented a 10th circle of hell for people who change my music)
- A homeless man who looked like Little Richard
- A boyfriend who had me drive halfway across the city to pick up his 'idiot' girlfriend who decided she wanted to walk home from a bar in a miniskirt through one of the sketchiest areas of the city.
- A group from Scratch that looked homeless and had me track down their equally homeless-looking friend who was at that point wandering through a Tim Horton's parking lot across town (I secretly hoped we could have done a drive-by pick-up where we don't stop, open the door, and he jumps in as we pass him...alas, this did not happen)
I have judged all these people. When people ask me what my profession is, I should start telling them that I am a judge. You get into my cab, I judge you...I judge your drunkenness, I judge your stories, I judge your clothes....I judge you.
In the process of writing that I have noticed who silly the word 'judge' is...especially when you repeat it and use it as a verb.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
iPod Win
As the city slowly made its way home from the fireworks festival, the streets became ever more filled and job became ever more difficult to do with haste. As a result I arrived at one particular house at 10:55 which had called for a taxi at 10:45.
'We have a question...' the drunken girls said with a tone of displeasure, 'if we make an appointment for 10:45 and you are 10 minutes late, causing us to be late for our 11:00 deadline, does that mean we get a discount?'
I received the call for this job only 3 minutes prior, and made good time in getting there as quickly as I did. Giving a discount for this ride would be punishing only myself for the actions of the city being busy and these girls not giving themselves any room for error in their booking. Demanding a discount is the equivalent of being angry at the weather and kicking a nearby dog in rage. I understand their displeasure, but I have no part in this.
While they continued to rage in the backseat my iPod interfered with a song that just happened to be one of the lead ragers' favourites. Her rage was halted mid-sentence as she shifted gears. 'ooo...what song is this? Is this your music?'
Of course it's my music you crazy woman.
Seeing the opportunity, I immediately passed her my iPod to shut her up. She seemed quite pleased with my selections and took the opportunity to play The Temptations, Tokyo Police Club, Royksopp, and Tom Petty.
Her old rage was long gone by now and her drunken friends soon followed suit.
When we eventually got to the club, 3 minutes past their 11:00 deadline, I offered them a discount by saying they only had to pay $10 of the $16 that the meter demanded of them. They quickly objected with comments of 'best cab ride ever!' and paid about $15.
...and that my friends, is how my job goes from bad to good in a span of less than ten minutes.
'We have a question...' the drunken girls said with a tone of displeasure, 'if we make an appointment for 10:45 and you are 10 minutes late, causing us to be late for our 11:00 deadline, does that mean we get a discount?'
I received the call for this job only 3 minutes prior, and made good time in getting there as quickly as I did. Giving a discount for this ride would be punishing only myself for the actions of the city being busy and these girls not giving themselves any room for error in their booking. Demanding a discount is the equivalent of being angry at the weather and kicking a nearby dog in rage. I understand their displeasure, but I have no part in this.
While they continued to rage in the backseat my iPod interfered with a song that just happened to be one of the lead ragers' favourites. Her rage was halted mid-sentence as she shifted gears. 'ooo...what song is this? Is this your music?'
Of course it's my music you crazy woman.
Seeing the opportunity, I immediately passed her my iPod to shut her up. She seemed quite pleased with my selections and took the opportunity to play The Temptations, Tokyo Police Club, Royksopp, and Tom Petty.
Her old rage was long gone by now and her drunken friends soon followed suit.
When we eventually got to the club, 3 minutes past their 11:00 deadline, I offered them a discount by saying they only had to pay $10 of the $16 that the meter demanded of them. They quickly objected with comments of 'best cab ride ever!' and paid about $15.
...and that my friends, is how my job goes from bad to good in a span of less than ten minutes.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Hand-Me-Down Taxi
After 3 taxi-free months I am finally back behind the wheel...and unfortunately my time off meant I lost my old ride and now have a new vehicle (even though it's still the ten seven).
I don't like it. It's new, and technically better, but it's different. Me and old taxi, we were good pals. She wasn't perfect but I knew her faults and I accepted them. We were comfortable with each other. She was like a pair of old shoes. This new taxi is like a new pair of shoes. I haven't accepted them yet, they aren't mine. They're not even good shoes...they're all beat up and shitty. It's not a new pair of shoes at all! It's a pair of hand-me-down shoes from my older brother.
I want my old shoes back god-damn it!
I have the following complaints about my new taxi:
1. I can't listen to my music
2. The radio is where I rest my knee
3. The side door doesn't close properly
4. I can't listen to my music!
5. The gas gauge does not work and goes from full to empty to full every 5 minutes
6. the steering wheel has tape on it
7. I can't listen to my music!!!
8. I have to adjust the seat manually instead of my old electric one
9. I Can't
10. Listen To
11. MY MUSIC!!!!!!
Okay, that said, I can listen to my music. However, I need my FM transmitter which only lasts 5-6 hours whereas my cables in the old taxi lasted all night long. Allll Night Looooooong.
In addition to all this: I drove a drunk lady who I had a marketing call with AIESEC. I was accused of smoking in my cab by some very drunk, angry ladies. I watched the pretty fireworks (which really weren't that great). At one point, they had 3 of 4 bridges in the city closed.
I have decided that I no longer wish to be called a taxi driver. That's kind of a shitty job to have. Instead, I'll refer to myself as a taxi pilot. Pilots are cool. I'll also add a 'Dr.' to my title because I have a PHd in driving your drunk-ass home. I could also throw a 'Cpt.' in front of that because I'm a captain of the evening roads.
Cpt. Dr. Carson Widynowski - Taxi Pilot
....I want business cards.
I don't like it. It's new, and technically better, but it's different. Me and old taxi, we were good pals. She wasn't perfect but I knew her faults and I accepted them. We were comfortable with each other. She was like a pair of old shoes. This new taxi is like a new pair of shoes. I haven't accepted them yet, they aren't mine. They're not even good shoes...they're all beat up and shitty. It's not a new pair of shoes at all! It's a pair of hand-me-down shoes from my older brother.
I want my old shoes back god-damn it!
I have the following complaints about my new taxi:
1. I can't listen to my music
2. The radio is where I rest my knee
3. The side door doesn't close properly
4. I can't listen to my music!
5. The gas gauge does not work and goes from full to empty to full every 5 minutes
6. the steering wheel has tape on it
7. I can't listen to my music!!!
8. I have to adjust the seat manually instead of my old electric one
9. I Can't
10. Listen To
11. MY MUSIC!!!!!!
Okay, that said, I can listen to my music. However, I need my FM transmitter which only lasts 5-6 hours whereas my cables in the old taxi lasted all night long. Allll Night Looooooong.
In addition to all this: I drove a drunk lady who I had a marketing call with AIESEC. I was accused of smoking in my cab by some very drunk, angry ladies. I watched the pretty fireworks (which really weren't that great). At one point, they had 3 of 4 bridges in the city closed.
I have decided that I no longer wish to be called a taxi driver. That's kind of a shitty job to have. Instead, I'll refer to myself as a taxi pilot. Pilots are cool. I'll also add a 'Dr.' to my title because I have a PHd in driving your drunk-ass home. I could also throw a 'Cpt.' in front of that because I'm a captain of the evening roads.
Cpt. Dr. Carson Widynowski - Taxi Pilot
....I want business cards.
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