Where’s My Taxi?

March 17 15:59 2005 Print This Article

“Where’s My Taxi?”
Somewhere, someone is saying it… Hell, maybe you’re saying it right now, and reading this on some sort of palm pilot remote Internet access device.

Well, I’m on the other side… I’m one of the legions of noble cab drivers. Ok, maybe we’re not so noble. Maybe dozens of us are just scumbags… or even thousands. But we have feelings. And we need your money. And as long as it holds out, we’ll be your best friends. So one of us is on the way, or will be… sooner or later.

Feeling Lucky

Every once in a while Alex gets to drive a prostitute around the city, but does he get lucky?

Feeling Lucky?
by Alex Farr

One morning I’m in a good mood because, coming out of the yard first thing in the morning I had 2 drivers willing to give me some petty cash for a ride back to downtown. It’s maybe half an hour into my shift and I’ve already covered the cost of my gas and cigarettes!

It’s a beautiful day. With luck like that, the sky’s the limit.

The sky runs around $200 in Oakland.

Then I pull into the BART cab stand downtown, and I’m only 3rd in the line!

Yippy. Days like this don’t come often, and you’ve got to wallow in them when they do.

Maybe 5 minutes pass, when a relatively cute girl comes up to ask if I can take her to Telegraph and 30th… about a 20 block ride.

“Sorry, that’s the first cab over there…” I explain, pointing out a Yellow cab.

“No, he doesn’t wanna take me. Neither of those guys do.” she answers.

“Uhh…” I stammer. Upon a few moments’ reflection, she’s really not all that cute, and there’s this spooky red spot in one of her eyes like she’s been jabbed gently with a knitting needle. “Uhh…”

I should’ve known better. When the other drivers say no, there’s usually some reason. I should’ve demanded a deposit. I was an idiot though. I was feeling lucky.

Do you feel lucky? Huh, Punk? Do ya?

“Ok, I’ll take you…” I decided. She was black, but more of a sort of North African, Egyptian shade of black than the usual Nigerian or long-line-of-slavery shade of black… and she seemed relatively well spoken… and sometimes the Indian drivers around town let their tempers, and their experience, get in the way of a little gambling on humanity. I’d had such gambles pay off in the past. More than once. At least… six or seven times.

And I was feeling lucky.

It was about five blocks before the doubts started getting the better of me and I asked for a deposit.

“Ohh, my friend where we’re going is paying.” she explained.

I nodded, and quickly thought over whether or not I should pull over right there and tell her to get the fuck out.

“But, you know… if there’s any problem, well… we can work something out, right?” she added.

Which made one thing clear. She was a two-bit-Ho. I knew the type all too well, since one of my housemates a couple of years back when I lived in West Oakland myself was quite the patron of two-bit-Ho’s. I could tell immediately, for instance, that her name was China. I also knew that many of the patrons of her ‘art’ were very willing to pay cab fare for the girls to come by. My ex-housemate included.

2-bits… I guess inflation hasn’t hit the whoring industry

I wasn’t feeling so lucky anymore… but I decided to play my gamble through.

“So, you know your friend’s there, right?” I asked, getting more and more nervous as we went.

“Yeah, she’s there. But, if not, we can work something out, right?” she answered.

I was getting even more nervous. ‘Work something out?’, what… were she and her friend going to offer to double team me to cover a $6 cab ride? I was only maybe 5 blocks away by now though, so there was no point in going back…

So we get to the house, and she gets out to ring the bell. Feeling a little cautious, I get out and follow her up to the porch.

No one answers. And then, No one answers again.

“So, we’ll work something out, ok?” she says, smiling… almost eagerly.

I’d seen enough of two-bit-Ho’s and crack-Ho’s visiting my ex-housemate though… I wasn’t even curious. I did have to admire her for her obvious work ethic though… so rather than being pissed, I just wrote it off as a bad gamble, costing less than any of the many ‘Don’t Pass’ bets I’d made on myself on various craps tables over the years.

“Forget about it… take it easy.” I told her, and went back to the car.

Her smile had turned into a grin, as she followed me back to the car.

“It’s alright, forget about it…” I tried again, climbing back into the car.

She still followed, and I suddenly noticed that I’d left the front door unlocked after the other drivers that had ridden with me to downtown. She noticed it too, and she climbed in next to me… and then she started crawling her way toward me across the front seat.

“Look,” I asked, blocking her face from reaching my crotch with my right hand, “why are you so determined to give me a blowjob?”

It was really disconcerting. I’d had a down-on-her-luc- Ho in the cab before, that I’d let off on her fare… but she hadn’t been so EAGER. It was just plain wrong.

“Well,” she explained, slowly reaching one of her hands around my right and toward my fly, while she stared at my blocking right hand like she was going start sucking on it if she couldn’t get to my cock… “I was hoping, afterward, that you could give me a couple of bucks…”

“Uhh… no. Not gonna happen.” I said, using my left hand to ward off her hand, and keeping my right in her face. “Just get the hell out of here, there’s no way in hell I’m paying you!!”

She took the hint. She reluctantly got out of the car, and then started walking down the street like a lost puppy.

It was so sad I didn’t have any desire to kick her ass, as I drove away.

One thing was sure though, I could’ve gotten lucky.
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