Sometimes when I’m driving I get to thinking. Like there
are some things a man just don’t do. Not if he wants respect.
Funny how those things often get done anyway.
Yeah, and funny how cabbies don’t exist. People get into
the cab and talk to each other like the cabby ain’t there. They
think he don’t hear? We hear. I’ve heard too much. Times I
wish I didn’t hear. Other times . . . Well, once had a couple
stock brokers for a fare. Got a tip from them, not the cash
kind. They didn’t know they gave it to me, but they did. Made
a couple of grand, but you see what I mean. Cabbies just ain’t
there to lots of people.
It’s about 9 o’clock and the sun’s gone down. I’m at the
airport. I dropped off a fare and now I decide to hang about,
see if I can pick one up. So I’m in the line. Not much doing,
so I put on a Johnny Cash tape. Got the Man in Black singing
’bout a flood somewhere when I get the wave. I turn down the
volume and move up. It’s a young couple, maybe late twenties,
early thirties. I get out and open the trunk. Not too much
luggage like some people, but plenty enough. Three suitcases.
The couple get in the back and I close the trunk and get
behind the wheel. We start off and I ask them where to.
“To a hotel,” the man says. Real helpful, that.
“Which hotel?” I ask politely. You don’t tell your fare
that he’s stupid and still get a tip. ‘Sides, I can see he’s
upset. It’s in his voice and in his face when I glance back.
“How the hell should I know which hotel?” he growls. “A
good one. Downtown.”
I shake my head, a little disgusted, but that don’t come
through in my voice. “Main Street Hotel’s a good one and it
ain’t too far,” I tell him. It is and it ain’t. I don’t stiff
my fares.
“Fine, fine,” he snarls, then he starts in on the lady.
She’s a good looking one. A classy one. Like I said
earlier, some people think a cabby just ain’t there. This
guy’s one of them. Maybe he thinks we’re beneath notice. I
don’t like him already.
Anyway, Johnny’s singing low and the couple are talking
loud. Don’t take much sense to know what I’ll be hearing. I
pick up the mike and report in. “Car 14 leaving airport, going
Zone 1.”
“Car 14, roger.” It’s Jill, the dispatcher. She’s almost
laughing and I know she heard what’s going on in the back seat.
She’ll want the story later. Almost time to eat. Maybe after
I drop the fare. Pick up something to drink and go in and eat.
Pick up something for Jill too, probably. The usual. Hamburger,
fries and shake.
Seems like the couple is just in from Hawaii. Shoulda
known by their tans. Maybe not. Could get a tan here, too,
if that’s what you want. Never had no use for just lying in
the sun, though. Seems kinda wasting time. I donno. So,
they just get back from Hawaii and they have to catch a
connector. The guy’s plenty steamed ’cause she made a mistake
in the time difference and they missed the plane. He’s really
raking her over the coals.
Now I’m getting steamed. A man don’t do a thing like that,
cutting down his lady in public. Maybe it’s her fault and maybe
it ain’t, but that’s something you do in private if it’s got to
be done. Here he is doing it in front of me. The lady’s
embarrassed. I can tell by her voice and the way she’s trying
to get him to lower his. He don’t and, hell, I’m embarrassed
too. I don’t like it at all.
“You just didn’t fucking think, did you?” he rants at her.
Hell, I mean enough is enough. He’s told her ’bout ten
times and there ain’t nothing they can do now. The plane’s
been missed. I’ve had it. I should know better, but I’ve
just had it.
“That’s no way to talk to your lady, mister,” I tell him.
“What?” He’s mad now. I don’t care. “What the fuck is
it to you?”
“This is my cab, sir,” I tell him though he ain’t no ‘sir’.
Can’t be a ‘sir’ when you lose my respect. He lost it good.
“I don’t like that language in my cab.” I’m looking in the
mirror and I catch a glimpse of the lady’s face. She looks
relieved. At least he ain’t on her case no more.
“I don’t give a fuck what you like or don’t like.” He’s
losing it so I start to pull over. “What the hell are you
doing.”
“I told you, I don’t like that language.” We roll to
a stop. “I’ll call another cab for you.”
He looks around. It ain’t a good part of town. That
sobers him up. ‘Bout time.
“Never mind,” he says. “Just take us to the hotel.”
I wait a minute, just to make the point, then shrug and
put the car in gear. They don’t say another word, rest of the
way. Least now I can hear Johnny. Stupid of me. Ain’t my
place to go butting in.
I see Len. He’s doorman at the Hotel. I give him a
little wave as I pull to a stop. I turn off the meter.
“That’ll be eighteen forty-five,” I tell him. He gives
me eighteen forty-five. Exact change. Guess I didn’t expect
no tip this time.
Len, he comes to open the door for the man.