Road Warrior with a Wheel Chair Ramp

Sabbaticle

2008-01-08T23:20:00.000-08:00

I know I haven't posted in roughly half a year, and I appriciate everyone who noticed and gave me a hard time for it. It was a rough semester, and to tell the truth, it started to feel like any story that I could have told, had already been told.

New stories are on thier way, though, but not about driving taxi...nope, we're going world wide: a semester abroad. The plane takes off January 29th, and you can here about my continueing adventures at . Hope to see you over there. Safe travels

Let's see here...Ford Aerostar or Dodge Caravan?

2007-05-30T15:22:00.000-07:00

In 1984, Don Henley heaped crap upon an unknowing public with a hit-song entitled "The Boys of Summer." This is what Wikipedia says about it:

'After a mid-way instrumental break is the song's most famous lyric:

Out on the road today
I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac
A little voice inside my head said,
Don't look back, you can never look back.

This image of once-countercultural Deadheads driving establishment status symbol Cadillacs immediately connected with Henley's age group, and neatly encapsulated the song's feelings of loss and aging. It is rumored that this line was inspired by Henley seeing Joe Walsh driving a Cadillac with a Deadhead sticker on it while on Sunset Blvd.'

In 2003, emo band, The Ataris (aparently wanting to get in on the crap-heaping action,) released the same song, only changing the 'deadhead' refrence to 'Black Flag.' I found it fairly funny in the sad kind of way because the song is so unpunk it should be illegal, but that's just my opinion.

I had my own crap-heaping moment today, sing along if you like:

Out on the road today I saw a WEEN bumpersticker on a Mini-Van.

...and now I've heaped that crap on you. Enjoy!!

BURN IN HELL, FALWELL!

2007-05-19T01:07:00.001-07:00

Woman's Work.

2007-03-27T18:55:00.000-07:00

I usually try to respect the privacy of the people I pick up. It means a lot to me to preface personal questions regarding medical problems with, "It's none of my business at all, but..." or "Don't feel the need to answer this, I'm just curious..." I don't ask the young ladies coming from the women's clinic anything about where I picked them up at. I don't ask people in wheelchairs how they ended up in thier chair.

The reason for all of this? Because an uncomfortable ride with someone who doesn't like you is a lot longer than a quiet, yet amiable ride; and I'm all about keeping my rides short.

On the other hand, given that I know how to phrase a medical question just so as to not give people any problems, I also know how to make someone feel fairly uncomfortable by pretending to act dumb and asking simple questions. I imagine everyone has this ability, I just happen to be put in the situation where I can use this power for good. (If you can't tell, I've been reading the comic books again. What can I say, Captain America is dead. Somebodies got to take his place.)

He came out of his apartment building. Mid twenties, roughly 260lbs, Oakley sunglasses, camouflage shorts, tight black T-shirt (accentuating the spare tire around his waist), shiny (really shiny) infantry boots, and a high and tight haircut (a good one too.) I was assuming him to be former military. Army or Marines. Definitely not Navy. (I didn't shine my boots when I was in the service, and there would be no way that I would do it now that I'm out.)

He lugged a huge bag and some laundry detergent, and threw all of it in the back as he said gruffly, "gotta do the woman's work today."

huh?

"I already think you dress and present yourself like a jerk-off, but now you're going to try and come off like you're too good to do your own laundry because you've got a penis?" Was my thought.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that he was a veteran from Iraq and that he was a little dinged the head because of it when, before I could even get used to not disliking him he started talking about how he's going into the army as soon as his medical waiver comes in.

He wasn't even in yet and was already acting like a prick. That's unacceptable. If you're active duty or deployed guard, by all means, say whatever it is you want to say...but I don't like wannabes acting and dressing tough, saying dumb sexist things cause it makes them feel more manly, and carrying on like they know a damn thing; and this is when I started using my powers on him by asking simple questions. (Out of respect or his privacy, I won't write his responses, trust me, it's embarrassing...)

"Medical waiver, huh? What for?"

"When you think you'll ship out? Oh that long?"

"Better keep your nose clean man...I remember when I got to basic, all kinds of guys got kicked out for having drugs in their system."

"Do you really think it works like that, cause I just got out of the Navy after five years and have never heard of anything like that."

"Do you really think the doctor was lying to you?"

It was a long and painful trip, but by the time we got to the laundromat, I could see by the look on his face that his ego had been taken down a peg or two, and from only a few simple questions.

Hubris is a word, and it can only be cut down by other words. Generally women are pretty good at doing that sort of thing, as they have to be sometimes when it comes to men; but when it comes to a moron like that guy, I was glad to be doing some woman's work.

Greatest Hits

2007-03-19T17:26:00.000-07:00

Being that I'm coming off of spring break week, it's a pretty lame excuse to say that I've got too much studying to get to to write, so I'm not going to phone this one in. (Besides, I was beginning to hear complaints.)

Today, work was like a greatest hits package featuring several people whom I have written about. I guess with the nicer weather people are finally thinking it's safe to come outdoors - or something. Whatever the reason is, it's been busier than I would like, which can be a pain, but I guess that it's all just part of Spring.

Speaking of Spring, Vernal Equinox is tomorrow...time to take down the damn Christmas decorations if you haven't already. For Christ's sake, please take down the Christmas decorations.

Anyway...as with everyday, Drunk W went home from the bar at four in the afternoon, and as always, after he plopped down in the passenger seat and started fiddling with the seat belt, (just to eventually grumble, "aww, hell with it," and give up on safety) I asked him how his day was going,

"Depends on what I get in the mail."

I told him that I understood and I thought out loud about how interesting it is that other people can affect one's day at the drop of the hat. (I mean, really, how often is that we really are in control of how nice a day we are having? Almost never.)

"Yep, there's still plenty of daylight left for someone to piss me off," was his response.

A half hour after I got Drunk W home, it was Mrs. G. It had been over a month since me and Mrs. G had seen each other, and the last time I drove her it was a very eye-opening and uncomfortable experience for both us, and I have been thinking of her and that Sunday morning often since it happened.

Every time that I work, I serve a disabled person of one sort or another. I see a lot of people in wheelchairs. I see the kind of people who use wheelchairs. Now, I tread on dangerous ground here, especially considering that I have no medical training whatsoever, but it seems to me that there are three different types of people who need wheelchairs: The first kind is the obvious kind, those who have lost their legs or had spinal damage. Basically, those who will never get better. The second kind are those who have degenerated to the point that they need one, the massively elderly and those with debilitating ailments that you just don't get rid of, like advanced Multiple Sclerosis. The second kind don't get better either.

The third kind is a little more tricky. Those who have had medical ailments at one point or another and ended up in a wheelchair, but gave up. They could've rehabilitated, some still can, but the effort involved is too great and they settle into that chair...and stay there. I am by no means criticizing these people, for many have been matched up against an adversity that I can never (and hopefully will never have to) understand or conceive, but it was preventable at some point, and that's a drag.

I see the third kind probably once a week (usually on Sundays for some reason)
and it always makes me think of Mrs. G. She belongs to the second group, but still tries to work that walker of hers. I know she has a wheelchair (a motorized one.)
I've seen her in it, but she hasn't given up on her walking yet, and even though it's a pain in the butt every time I have to pick her up, I hope she never does.

I usually bite my tongue about things like this, but this time I'm not going to: There is something so utterly american about people who didn't need to be in wheelchairs settling into them while others who do need them go without because they think that they can persevere.

but anyways...

Right after I dropped off Mrs. G, I found out that I was picking up The Grocery Shopper whom I've actually written about twice. I drive into his yard and start eyeing the mammoth dog that I may have to get around to knock on this guy's door so I can tell him that his cab is here, which happens roughly every time this guy needs to be picked up. I wait the arbitrary five minutes and was contemplating just saying to hell with it and driving off when the front door swung open abruptly. All of the sudden The Grocery Shopper is standing there waving his hands.

Call me crazy, but when somebody is waving their hands I generally think something is wrong. I quickly got out and started running towards the house thinking the worse (like I was going to find the guys care-giver lying there in a pool of blood or something.) Turns out he was waving for me to drive off,

"I can't find my billfold. I guess you can go."

Before I can even think about what I'm saying I say, "do you need help finding it?"

"You can't come into my house, and if you try I'm going to beat you up."

I left.

The rest of the shift was pretty much uneventful, so I guess that's it. Didn't phone it in this time, did I?

Incidentally, it is March 19th. The four year anniversary of the Iraq War. Four years ago today I was in the Red Sea taking part in the launching of tomahawk missiles at Iraq. Amazing where life takes you, huh?

Happy International Women's Day!!!

2007-03-08T09:20:00.000-08:00

Now, why don't he write?

2007-03-01T10:09:00.000-08:00

I know it's been awhile...and in effect, I kind of phoned in my last blog. To be honest I'm phoning this one in too.

In reality, I'm working a lot less then I was before, not to mention, it's a constant thing to stay ahead with school. (Amazing how much more seriously you take it after you have some perspective of the alternatives.)

So with that, I gotta run...I'll write when there's something to write about.

Happy Valintizzle...

2007-02-14T20:16:00.000-08:00

So...My girlfriend has a blog too. Check out what she wrote:

Happy Commercial Chocolate Heart Day
Ah, ladies, just what you needed to reassure that your love can't be bought and sold amid the flurry of Valentine's Day jewelry store commercials... er, wait.

J and I have elected to skip the "Oh my goodness, am I getting him/her the right gift?" madness and not celebrate Valentine's Day, per se. I mean, we go out to dinner a lot already and we're sweet on each other all the time anyways, so why condense it all into one particular day and buy crap we don't need/can't afford on this one particular day?

I wondered if we were maybe being too anti-establishment about it (because I can see us easily falling into that trap, with my 'up with women!' and his 'down with The Man!'), but it's really taken a load off my mind, knowing that I won't have to scrounge up money to buy him silk boxers he won't wear in the first place.I did get some lovely flowers in honor of President's Day, however. He knows it's hard for a gal to let go of the February Holiday thing.Me? I'm going to go celebrate my love with some sweet and stylish gifts. Nothing like some lingerie to say I'm always sexually available, or some makeup to say I could use a little touch-up here and there, right?

I only have one thing to say about her when it comes to this: GOD BLESS INTERNET PERSONALS!!! To everybody out there who has someone half as cool as I do: Happy Valentine's Day.

The Only Way Out is Through.

2007-02-11T12:16:00.000-08:00

For the most part driving cab is not a hard job at all, but it varies from ride to ride. Once that passenger is in your vehicle, for better or worse, the only way out is through.

I'd say approximately 60 percent of all the passengers I take are disabled in one way or another. Today I drove Mrs. G. I was aware that Mrs. G (so named because she used to be a Geography teacher) was afflicted with Multiple Sclerosis, and I had driven her around several times before without much problem. In fact, it's safe to say that I like her very much, I just wish she would use her wheelchair rather than trying to get around with her walker.

As soon as she exited the door of her house I knew that the trip was going to be ill-advised. She just seemed so much weaker and unstable than she had before, but I didn't want to suggest that maybe she stay in today. I should have been a little less polite.

The van I use for a cab has undergone extensive modification and is only about five inches off the ground. Unfortunately five inches was about three inches too high because she was unable to lift her leg high enough to make the step into the cab, and while she didn't quite fall, she did end up on her hands and knees and unable to do anything about it. It happened so quickly that I wasn't able to catch her, but she didn't fall violently enough to hurt herself either.

So now what? What is an appropriate recourse for a cab driver with no medical training other than a crappy CPR class from the military ( incidentally, I was told that I knew just enough to actually hurt someone in that class.)

I did the thing that made the most sense at the time, I picked her up and sat her in the back seat and asked if she really wanted to go out today.

"Yes!! I have to get to Church. They're having communion today."

I loaded up her walker and said OK.

On the way she asked if I had made it to church this morning. I told her that I spend my Sundays making sure other people get to church.

She didn't like that answer.

When I finally got her to the church, she had almost slid off the backseat and it finally dawned on me how bad-off she was. She could hardly move, but was still pushing herself up to make the fifty foot walk to the church doors.

I helped her down the ramp, than at the bottom she gripped her walker and looked up.

"What time is it?"

I told her the time and she asked me, "what time do services start?"

I told her that I had no idea, but that it was kind of late in the day for a church service to begin. I asked her when the service she wanted to go to was supposed to start and she looked up me with these hollow eyes and said, "I don't know."

I was starting to realize that this had all been a mistake when church let out. We were about half way up the walkway when people started to come at us from the doors we were tying to get to, like all of the sudden we were swimming against a current.

At that point her legs had apparently had enough and she mumbled something about sitting down as she gently settled on the cold pavement. I helped her to sit up and caught a glance from one of the parishioners as she walked by. Her face contorted and she didn't stop. In fact no one did right away. I just looked at everyone and they just passed me and Mrs. G by like nothing was wrong. Like the old lady with the walker wasn't actually sitting in the walkway in front of these people's church.

I couldn't believe it and ran inside to find a wheelchair; found an usher and asked for one. He said that they didn't have one. Which I later found to be incorrect. I found a chair with a basket of flowers sitting on it and knocked the flowers over grabbing the chair and received some attention as I ran out of the church with the chair, nearly knocking a fat guy in a Green Bay Packers jacket over.

When I got back out to Mrs. G there was a young man and a young woman seeing if she needed help and about six people standing over the three of them. Since the didn't respond when I said excuse me, the people were moved and the two young people helped me get Mrs. G onto the chair. Before I could say anything to anybody the priest was standing over us...with communion.

He gave it to her quickly and told me that his people would take care of her and make sure she got home OK. Just at that point Mrs. G made a joke about me being Lutheran and Is aw that she was taken care of and realized that I'd had enough...I left.

I still can't believe those people just walked by. Right as they're leaving church, no less. I could have been in the same situation outside of the local bar and had a whole lot more help.

There's no end to this story today because I'm still angry about the whole thing, but I guess it doesn't matter just as long as I got through.

Cold Enough For Me.

2007-02-04T14:24:00.000-08:00

So the high today is -8 degrees. Fine whatever, the weather has never really bothered me, but I can't tell you how aggravating it is to hear:

"Cold enough for ya?"

thirty times in a row. No joke...30 DAMN TIMES.

The only thing that could possibly be worse was the phrase that invariably followed:

"I guess this Global Warming thing is just a bunch of crap, huh?"

Only to be summed up with:

"So who you like in the Super Bowl?"

Funny thing about cold weather and me is that it makes me completely uninterested in what anybody thinks of me, so instead of the usual fibbing and placating that is involved with my small talk, I just told the truth:

Q: "Cold enough for ya?"
A: It's not the cold that bothers me as much as hearing about it.

Q: "I guess this Global Warming thing is just a bunch of crap, huh?"
A: Actually no...it's not.

Q: "So who you like in the Super Bowl?"
A: I haven't seen a super bowl in eight years and was either deployed or underway for the last four. Can't say I'm all that interested.

I don't know why I didn't feel like engaging in the banal nonsense today, but it sure felt good to not act like hearing the same thing over and over was good conversation.

Yeah, so I didn't brighten any ones day, so sue me...it's cold out there, in fact, as it turns out, it IS cold enough for me.

The Sunday Quote Service.

2007-01-29T10:12:00.000-08:00

"I'm a college graduate. I told them that I don't work for less than fourty dollars and hour."
-The Crazy Fox (So named because 1. The guy is the worst kind of crazy, and 2. fox is the name of the trailer court I pick him up at.)

"There's a hundered and two year old woman in there who's frisky as hell."
-Cassanova-90 (So named because...well...he's ninety. It should be noted that I picked him up going home from the (wait for it) HOSPITAL.)

Today's programming brought to you by the letter 'R'

2007-01-22T20:00:00.000-08:00

I have found myself astounded by the versatility of language recently. Particularly in speeling and regional accents.

I'll give you an example:

It amazes me how, despite excepted spelling, certain letters can be dropped or added to spoken words. Speak these two words aloud:

1. Library.

2. Wash.

OK...very good. Now that's the correct spelling. (I spell checked, just to be sure.)

When you spoke, if either of the words sounded like this:

1. Libary.

2. Warsh.

YOU ARE WRONG.

Please fix yourself.

MAKEUP is to FACE as...

2007-01-17T18:26:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's because I'm hypersensetive to bumperstickers since my little scavenger hunt on Sunday, but I seem to see them a whole lot more than I did before.

Like today I saw one that read:

MARY KAY: ENRICHING WOMEN'S LIVES

Maybe it's just me, but the only thought that went through my head for almost a half hour was,

"Enriching women's lives like farmers enrich fields with fertilizer."

...and now, thinking about it, just like too much fertilizer on a field makes it toxic rather than enriched...well, you figure the rest out for yourself.

Lipservice Wisconsin ( A photo essay.)

2007-01-15T21:44:00.000-08:00

I came out of work one day to see that one of my coworkers had on his dashboard two figurines. One was of Stuey, the malevolent little turd from the TV show, "The Family Guy," and the other was of Uncle Sam. Both were pointing in the same general direction and it made me wonder if the car owner quite got the nature of satire that Stuey was based upon. (Not that I know anything about satire, but come on...the two together? Not quite what I would think of when I would think of someone with a little bit of perspective. Unless the car owner was being IRONIC...in which case...they should be shot.)

Regardless, it made me think of car decoration and bumper stickers and air fresheners and all the little ways we try to give personality to our vehicles.

So...on a boring Sunday morning shift, in between taking old ladies to church and lecherous young adults back to their OWN homes, I decided to go on a little scavenger hunt.

89 miles, 5 hours, 3 Mountain Dews, and countless pieces of gum later:

I love that...On a MAZDA. It's like saying, "SUPPORT OUR TROOPS! BUT SCREW OUR AUTOWORKERS!!!"

Jesus is coming back, and he's driving a HONDA.

You know...I hate to think that this has actually happened, but I would lay money down that this guy has gotten some tail out of this sticker

Funny...I saw the owner of this truck walk into a GAY bar. Naaaawww....just kidding.

It's like Jesus is 'winking' at you.

hmmmmmm...

Heh...sometimes you just gotta shake your head and close your eyes.

You know, looking at the last four pictures...sometimes you have to wonder whats more annoying, the person or the person's persona.

Not to be condescending...but making something rhyme doesn't necessarily make your point carry more weight.

Yes...the tire is flat. Input metaphor here.

I like that, actually. Don't know if this is the point that is supposed to be taken away, but I've never responded well to the whole "born again" ideal. Someone who has taken a completely abrupt, 180 degree turn in lifestyle telling me that I'm not leading my life right. Ex-crackheads don't make good authoritarians.

Weird that people always put those things right next to the gas tank...

OK...so forgive me.

...but SCREW the (non-organic? (Can a a farmer be non-organic?)) farmer!

If you can't tell what this is...let me fill you in. The ORIGINAL sitcker reads "W '04" and has a little american flag. It has been covered by another sticker saying, "I -heart- the OC." Either this is the best act of grafitti, or someones way of supporting ongoing education.

Equal rights? Yes. Equal sense? Prove it and stop trying anger me into running you over...

Why yes, I DID find this vehicle at a Soroity house. How did you know?

I wish it were that easy...I'd LOVE for it to be that easy. We'll see. (...and I'd bet that it takes more than 100 hours to find out.)

I need one of my Catholic friends to tell me who the patron saint of lost causes is so that I can give this guy an idea for a personalized license plate.

Trying not to editorialize here, but I gotta say this: 1. The dog comment sounds a lot funnier in your head than it does to the rest of us. 2. The nose ring and spikey hair doesn't piss off anybody. It gives everbody a common cause in wishing you would shut the hell up...thanks for doing you part in bringing us all together.

Strange that at one time bikers were considered counter-culture, and are now just grown up frat boys who glorify a kind of annual redneck Las Vegas in South Dakota...

...and apparently they are so badass that they drive Toyota Corollas.

I was planning to make all this into a really snarky remark about hypocrasy and the things that we do to try and make our lifestyle platforms have more merit, particullarly revolving around the War in Iraq; and ask what exactly patriotism is.

I would be doing that right now, except for the fact that the other night I saw a yellow ribbon sticker with the phrase, "Keep them safe." In the end we all want the same thing when it comes to the War, we just have differant ideas about the best way to get a good end result. So I'll save the snarky comments for another time.

However, I would like just like to point out that all these pictures were taken within five hours. In these pictures you will find 88 instinces of either an American flag or a yellow ribbon. That's roughly 34 dead combat veterans for every sticker that claims to support the soldiers as of January 16, 2007.

Samaritanizing.

2007-01-15T21:11:00.000-08:00

Get a call to pick up a lady at one of the senior care facilities going to the clinic. Not out of the ordinary, but the dispatcher prefaces giving me the call with, "hope it's not a problem, but could you please please please help the old lady from the door to the van, and then help her into the clinic? She called and said that she would need a little help because she didn't want to fall on the ice."

The plea seemed a little weird until I thought about it and remembered that one of my co-workers was making a serious gripe the other day about being expected to help little old ladies to and from the car. At the time I wasn't thinking about what I said and had agreed a little too swiftly. This was mostly due to the fact that one of our regular customers was being a little to forthcoming with orders for my tastes and I felt that my generosities were being a bit abused.

Once I realized that the dispatcher had taken what I said to mean that 'I hate all old people and would rather die than help them navigate the ice between their meager home and the cab,' I was a bit embarrassed.

It occurred to me how lucky I am. I have a job where I get to help little old ladies that I don't have any relation (working or familial) with. How many other jobs are like that? How cool would it be if some more were? Just the ability for someone to take one minute (no joke...no embellishment...just one) and help someone else who will appreciate it. (...and that point can't be made enough: No pay, no benefit at all other than a smile and a thank you.)

It wouldn't change the world. It wouldn't feed anybody. It wouldn't change any states' color...

...but it sure feels good to be given the chance to help an old lady every once in awhile.

Especially when the old lady is cool enough to say as she takes your hand, "I've had the runs for four days and I got to go to the clinic so the doctor can look up my ass."

"Like, why even bother?"

2007-01-13T08:50:00.000-08:00

Been in a crap mood for a while now and am trying hard to figure out exactly why. I'm pretty sure there is only so much stand-offishness and staring into the distance that my girlfriend is willing to take.

I think that most of the crap mood comes from the second class citizen vibe I get from driving cab. That "servant" quality. Never bothered me when I drove cab before; of course, that was six years, a military enlistment, and a whole lot of experience ago. I guess I'm just tired of the automatic assumption that people make as soon as they get into the cab, or while they're waiting to be wheeled in.

I try to maintain a good attitude and smile and partake in the small talk, but the look of shock that I get when people find out that I'm starting school will never stop bugging me, nor will the conservative rambling (read: hate speak) of a couple of the old-time regulars, or the assumption that since I was nice and very helpful last time I drove you, that I respond to orders from anyone anymore.

I guess it's nonsense that a part time job should affect my whole perception, but it does. I think it's a coupling of that and the wait for school to start. A feeling of unproductiveness,

Not to mention outside events such as the war and the apparent lengths people will go to fulfil and provide for their own selfishness,

Not to mention the attitude that a major university can have when it comes to even KNOWING what the Montgomery GI Bill is,

Not to mention the student who couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that I was starting college at the ripe old age of twenty seven ("like, why even bother?")...

If you've read this far, my apologies; I'm just pissy. I'm sure next blog will be a little more entertaining.

Informed.

2007-01-09T07:46:00.000-08:00

I guess it's my fault that I had the news on the radio rather than something a little less conversational.

A report about Hussein's execution came on while I took two coworkers home from their morning shift at McDonald's. The younger guy in the back tells his middle-aged counterpart up front that he saw the execution video online. The lady (who was chowing-down on her "cherries jubilee") expressed absolute shock fairly well for having a mouth crammed full of cherry pie filling.

She asked if the executioners said anything. The young guy said that they were giving him a hard time but said that the video quality was so bad that he could not tell what they were saying. (Not to mention that they were probably speaking in Arabic, but I'm not going to see it so what do I know.) He mentioned that the onlookers seemed pretty angry and that after the hanging they started pounding on the body. (Again I'll reiterate...I didn't see the thing, so I have no idea if that's what happened, that's just what this guy in my cab said happened.)

She licked the cheery of her lips and said, "Well what do you expect, those poor people who lost loved ones in 9-11 have every right to be upset with that man."

Me and the guy in the back exchanged glances and, although we'd never met and didn't know each other, decided mutually and silently, to not press it and let this lady believe whatever she wants.

In my mind, though, it's a different story...

"No more NPR in the cab if all you're going to do when you get home is turn on Fox News or Rush!!! You people deserve to be lied too!!!"

From now on it's Nickelback, Pussycat Dolls, and the Eagles. Just like you all seem to want.

Modern Times.

2007-01-05T09:12:00.000-08:00

Two old guys...cocked of their rockers,

Guy in front (to me): We've had a bit too much to drink.
Guy in back (to guy in front): I don't know why you always bring up religion when we go out, Fred.
Guy in front (whose name is apparently Fred - to me): Don't mind him, he just gets worked up.
Guy in back (angry that we are ignoring him - to both of us): Now you guys should listen to me, cause I know what I'm talking about. You ain't a Christian or a Protestant or a Jew. There ain't such a thing. They're all just stuff on earth made by man that keeps man in power. You can say you are whatever you are, but you ain't shit. You ain't a Buddhist, you ain't a Muslim, you ain't a Mormon...

Guy in front has gotten sick of drunk theology and turns around and shouts as we cruise into his driveway, "...AND YOU AIN'T BOB DYLAN SO JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!!!"

An Account of New Years Eve.

2007-01-03T14:01:00.000-08:00

New Years Eve...

like all the other drinking holidays, it is a night for all you amateur drunks to come out and really let all those demons you got inside of you go free with minimal consequence.

Rest assured, it was indeed a privilege to cart your inebriated butts around all night.

Since I'm sure you all don't remember, here's what happened:

8:08 Chinese Restraunt - Downtown Bar (local)
- twenty something girl who was already completely wasted, accompanied by dirty old man who informed me he had plans for her, upon hearing me say that that was kind of messed up, he proclaims that he is, "just a man." Whatever the hell that means. I have heard this expression used for the worst kind of human behavior and I've gotten sick of it. Dollar tip.
8:24 Residence - Downtown Bar (local)
- Large group, semi-loud. Very Friendly. Five Dollar Tip.
9:00 Apartment Building - Downtown Bar (sports)
- Large group, all young women. Standoffish at first, then friendly. Three Dollar Tip.
9:23 Country Residence - Downtown Bar (upscale)
- Father-Son outing. Enjoy Frank Sinatra on the radio, talkative. Two Dollar Tip.
9:30 Hotel - Downtown Bar (hipster)
-large group of young men who claim that there was nothing to do in the Twin Cities, so they came an hour out of town across the state border, probably underage. Two Dollar Tip.
10:00 Apartment - Downtown Bar (local)
- After I spent twenty minutes looking around for a nonexistent address, gentleman calls to complain that I am twenty minutes late, finds out that he made an error, gives correct address. Upon entering vehicle (finally) is upset that his ride is late, despite the fact that he gave the wrong address. During the ride, he asks why there is no meter and finds out that since the cab company is run by the city, it is a flat rate of $2.75 per person. "Well since you're a city employee, and my tax dollars pay for your wage, I'm not going to tip you." Screw you pal. It's not like a get paid well, or get health care, or dental, or any pleasure from looking for nonexistent addresses cause you're either to stupid or lazy to find out just where the hell you are. No Tip.
10:15 Downtown Bar (local) - Trailer Court
- Regular drunk who got a DUI in August. Informs me that he's giving up drinking, and plans to open up his own private taxi service and that I should come work for him. Almost forgets case of beer in cab. Dollar Tip.
10:22 Downtown Bar (local) - Apartment Building
- Regular rider going home who is happy to have gotten a New Year's Hat (you know, the ones
with the rubber bands.) Twenty-five Cent Tip. (In her defence, she rides with us almost everyday, and always gives a twenty-five cent tip. I appreciate the consistency.)
10:46 Gas Station - College
- Stopped for coffee and was asked for a ride...figured "why not." I learned why not when he puked in the bucket I had strategically placed between the seats. Twenty-five Cent Tip. (PRICK!!!)
11:21 Hotel - Downtown Bar (Sports)
- Guy spending the night in town to visit girlfriend who had to work that night. Two Dollar Tip.
11:34 Residence - Hotel
- Very drunk young woman and very sober young guy taking care of her. While I wouldn't classify it as "puking," she too used the bucket. (Almost couldn't breath for a minute there.) Two Dollar Tip.
12:00 Make my way home to kiss a beautiful woman and bring in the new year right for the first time in my life.
12:10 High School - Apartment
- Regular who is confined to a wheel chair. Good to see a familiar face. Almost get stuck in his back parking lot due to snow accumulation. No Tip. (None Expected.)
12:30 Downtown Bar (hipster) - Residence
- same place as 8:24. Girlfriend had had too much to drink and boyfriend was seeing her home. Boyfriend insists that I take him back after he goes inside to pee. Says that he already has two out of three of his buddies all but laid for the night and is going back to work for the third. cont.
12:36 Residence - Downtown Bar (hipster)
- take the proxy-Casanova back, wish him luck. Five Dollar Tip.
12:49 Main Street - Downtown Bar (upscale)
- two guys flag me down...will be seeing them again. Dollar Tip.
12:59 Downtown Bar (hipster) - Apartment
- Some of the women who I took out at 9:00. Complain of being groped. I apologize on behalf of all men even though I have never groped anyone without permission. Five Dollar Tip.
1:18 Downtown Bar (Dance Club) - Motel
- Get the "wait one minute" finger for about ten minutes only t0 watch this young guy drag a very drunk young woman out from the bar and put her in the back. I wait for him to get in as he closes the door and comes up to my window brandishing a ten dollar bill. Tells me that the room they are staying is open and asks me to make sure that this girl who has just passed out in the back of my taxi gets inside. I tell him that maybe he should take her back and I could bring him back to the club, but he insists on staying, saying that he trusts me not to do anything to her.

Dude, I know that you aren't reading this, but I still have to say that you are a very bad friend, and if I was a couple of rungs down the morality ladder this girl could have been in serious danger, not to mention I could have stole all the booze you had laying about in your open motel room. Maybe I'm being uptight, but...whatever. I took her to the room sat her down on the bed and left.

People scare me sometimes.

Seven Dollar and Twenty-Five Cent Tip.
1:30 Downtown Bar (Dance Club) - Residence
- Large group, very drunk, very loud. Get concerned when I take a wrong turn and add three minutes to their trip. Thankful when I get them home. Girl who was in passenger seat falls on her butt in snow covered driveway and starts weeping. I get out to see if she is OK, friend who is consoling her say it's alright and I leave them to weep and comfort in their snowy driveway.
Five Dollar Tip.
1:50 Downtown Bar (local) - Residence
- It's the guys from 12:49. The whole ride back, the younger guy is on the phone with someone who appears to be very irritated. Gives the phone to me and asks me to tell his mother (!!!) that I am a cab driver and that I am taking him home. His mother is very drunk and starts yelling at me that her son shouldn't be out. I hang up.

Sometimes I hate people from Wisconsin.

No Tip.
2:13 Downtown Bar (local) - Hotel
- I was starting to get tired at this point and honestly don't remember a thing about it. Possible Tip.
2:31 Downtown Bar (sports) - Apartment
- a surprising lack of calls makes me park in front of the bar with the most people. A fella stumbles out and in a huff a yells incomprehensibly at the people who are cheering that he just got thrown out. He falls on the sidewalk and I help him up. He says he has no money. I take him home anyway.
No Tip.
2:43 Downtown Bar (local) - Hotel
- my mood was starting to wear a bit thin, but these people, although drunk, were in good spirits and enjoyed some of my lewder stories about driving cab. Good peeps. Five Dollar Tip.
3:05 Residence - Residence
- get the "just a minute" finger again for about five minutes (I was supposed to be off at 3:00) and get the a cab full of the most uppity little rich kids I've ever heard speak. One girl actually complained about how cold her toes were from the snow. Maybe it's just me, but I would reconsider the sandals if I were going out on a frosty January evening in Wisconsin.
3:15 Downtown Bar (local) - Country Residence
- Appreciative drunks who are glad to get a safe ride home and say that they appreciate me working on New Years Eve Night. Five Dollar Tip and Many Thank Yous.

Your Welcome. Happy New Year.

Update to "Equal Opportunity."

2006-12-28T13:33:00.001-08:00

Turns out that The Grocery Shopper is not actually mentally handicapped and actually has brain damage from a coma. The reason for the coma: a Blood Alcahol Level of 2.8 and a speed of 80 mph a couple of years ago.

Hey Ladies!!!

2006-12-27T16:35:00.000-08:00

I think I have figured out one of the reasons for the gender divide, at least in English-speaking cultures.

It's the use of the words "sir" and "ma'am."

Sir, obviously, is masculine and can denote a male of any age whom one does not know the name of. Respectful, quick, and easy. It's perfect.

Ma'am, on the other hand, denotes maturity, which can be a problem for some members of the female population, and is at very least, politely avoided by anyone with the smallest amount of tact, (or someone in a cab, trying to get a tip.)

Even the derivatives of Ma'am; Miss, Mrs, and Mizz are just as, if not more, off-putting. From there you can only reduce it to "Lady." Which, depending on your generation, conjures memories of either Jerry Lewis or the Beastie Boys screaming, "Hey Lady(ies)!!"

So what's a poor cabdriver to say when he wants to get the attention of a 30 something female whom he doesn't know the name of and needs to communicate the confirmation of a pick up time from across a parking lot to?

Hey You!!!

Naw, only joking, I used, "excuse me," but it made me wonder if there was anything to the argument that women have no identifier that is respectful yet still not age-identifying.

Oh well, not a big deal as far as gender politics (or anything for that matter) go, just a general observation.

Not unlike the observation made by drunk-dub regarding the unseasonably nice weather, "Well, this Global Warming thing is turning out to be alright, ain't it?"

He was serious. Guess he didn't hear (or rather doesn't care) about the Polar Bears.

A Visit from Santa's State Trooper.

2006-12-25T19:18:00.000-08:00

Hope everyone has had a very Merry Christmas (at least everyone who cares to.) I had the day off and went to spend the it with my parents who live an hour north on Highway Sixty-five.

The speed limit on Highway 65 just happens to be 55, which can be a bit of a problem when you see a sign that reads 65 and automatically assume that it is the speed limit.

Sing with me now, "Over the river and through the woods to receive a 186 Dollar speeding ticket."

Even better than the visit from Santa's State Trooper on Christmas day is the date I have in Cupid's Court Room on Valentine's Day to contest my season of giving.

This is what I get for daydreaming of a White Christmas while I am driving.

Happy Holidizzle!

2006-12-24T12:05:00.000-08:00

Working the morning shift on Christmas Eve Day could be a lot worse. Most of the college students are out of town, most of the Grandmas are with their families, and there was only one hardcore drinker who wanted to go to the bar at noon on a Sunday.

So, what could I possibly have to write about?

Only the greatest Christmas sentiment that I have ever heard:

"It wouldn't be Christmas without dinner at McDonald's," She said as we picked up her Big Mac, Diet Coke, and Freedom (her word) Fries...WITHOUT SALT!!!

God Bless us, everyone; indeed.

Schmoozin'

2006-12-19T19:55:00.000-08:00

Having had the experience of driving taxi in a small town before, I asked what my employer referred to as "a totally understandable question," my first day of training.

"So who are the regular customers who no one ever wants to take? You know...the ones that can never be pleased and end up complaining about everything."

Old Lady A. was the answer I received that day, and I had been kept away from her until tonight out of fear that I would quit after driving her.

So, you might be able to understand that I was a little apprehensive when I found out that she would be my last fare of the night. Yes, even big, mean, bald men who have been around the world can be afraid of little old ladies.

First off, like any hard to please costumer in any field of the service industry, she had the initial demands to be met. In my case, this meant picking her up in the back alley entrance of her house.

It should be stated at this point that while I am doing fairly well at learning all the ins and outs of this small town, I am not, however, very familiar with any alleyway except for the one I park my car in when I get home at night.

I was super-fantastically-aggravatingly-nice to her as she approached the vehicle, even going so far as opening the door, holding out my hand for her to hold, and using the hardly-ever-appropriate prefix: MIZZ.

On the way, Old Lady A. could not find anything to not complain about. Whether it was the small piece of trash that had blown into her yard, the bump of the car as I slowly exited the alley, the route I took to get her to the grocery store, or the parking lot at said grocery store.(Actually, I'm with her on that one. I'd say twenty percent of my calls involve that grocery store and the parking lot is indeed a death trap.)

I schmoozed the whole way, trying to get on her good side and seeing if maybe I could change her mood.

Which she must have liked cause at the end of the day, the only tip I got was from her. Now, this does not say anything about my service, this meerly speaks to the idea of tipping in the average small town Midwesterner's head.

Upon getting back to the office to cash out for the night the dispatcher asked how the ride went, chuckling. I told him that everyone should spend time with and old person like that at least once a week. He had never heard a diagnosis of Old Lady A. that resembled that before and I elaborated,

"You need to talk to people like that so that you can see exactly what not to become when you get old."

Me? I'll be curmudgeonly, grumpy, and frail, but by God's Grace, I don't want to be bitter.

Are you Ready for the Country?

2006-12-18T18:40:00.000-08:00

Being that it is the season of giving and stuff, I shouldn't have been too surprised that one of the elderly ladies that we at the taxi company transport everyday gave all the drivers and employees gifts. I will admit though, that I was shocked to find a nice twenty dollar bill in the card I got from her, which was identical in shape, color, and content as the rest of the employees' cards.

Happy Holidays indeed.

I don't know how to say that she is very nice for doing that without it sounding like a cliche, so won't even speculate, except for pointing out that this is one old lady will never ever be late for a Bridge game, EVER.

Unfortunately, the good will and mood would be strained through the rest of the shift, as hard as that may be to comprehend.

I hate the Wisconsin countryside.

I should say that I love the nice long curvy roads that you can get lost on during a Sunday afternoon and then find yourself five miles away from where you started, two hours later. The kind of roads that can only be found in Wisconsin.

What I mean is, PROFESSIONALLY, I hate the Wisconsin countryside.

Particularity at night.

After about a half hour of driving down mile long driveways, I finally found the one I was looking for. Up a winding gravel road into a grass yard with no definable driveway except for where the tire tracks had decimated the grass all the way up to the garage.

Only one source of light peaked through the cracks of the boarded up windows covered with plastic sheeting. The house looked as though it had been being remodeled since the early nineties with all the lumber stacked up outside and visible carpentry tools strewn about.

...And of course a very large, vary loud, very harry dog.

I waited outside for about two minutes, but wanting to get on with the night, I went up to the door and knocked. Almost removing the door from it's hinges. This made the dog bark ever more, not to mention jump up against the door. I don't know, maybe the dog was trained to do that so that the owner wouldn't be bothered with putting the door back on it's hinges. I doubt it though.

The thought that I may be in the wrong place occurred to me when I realized that I was in the middle of nowhere, trying to talk to the inhabitant of a decrepit house, with an address that was told to me by somebody who isn't the best reader over a CB radio that really kind of sucks.

The vision of a very large man with a very large beard and an even larger shotgun occurred to my imagination the moment I heard the guy yell at his dog to shut the hell up.

Fortunately, a small man with a grey handlebar moustache poked his head out the door and said, "'bout damn time you got here. I was supposed to get to the Red's Repair to pick up my ride an hour ago. You do know where Red's Repair is, don't you?"

Red's Repair was also in the Wisconsin Countryside. Go figure.

Equal Opportunity

2006-12-12T22:09:00.000-08:00

"I can tell that you guys are a bunch of Equal Opportunity Employers down there at the cab stand cause you got a bunch of handicapped people running the show and you laugh at them."
-The Grocery Shopper

If that sounds a bit befuddling to you, than you should try to imagine what it would be like to try and come up with an answer while driving through heavy fog at rush hour. (...and yes, small towns have rush hours, especially when they're only a half hour outside a major metropolitan area.)

I stammered like an idiot.

The live-in caregiver, who looked an awful lot like Sam Elliot in a Miller Lite hat, tried to bail me out by saying, "awww come on, he was just five minutes late, give the guy a break."

Thanks Sam...loved you in Roadhouse!

Trouble is, I wasn't late, but whatever, one never gets to far when arguing with the mentally handicapped. It's like trying to have an argument with a five year old, or a Creationist.

If you think that last statement to be offensive, I apologize, but I will also point out that you probably don't spend time with a lot of mentally handicapped people.

The entire ride to the grocery store was threatening to ruin my day, until we came upon the subject of women. He seemed to be of a better disposition when I assured him that I would do my best to find him a "sugar mama." (My words.)

Upon picking the pair up from the grocery store for the return ride home, the care-giver told me, as I helped him put the groceries in the trunk, that it was no wonder that the couldn't get a caregiver to stay with him for more than three months.

What a happy household.

The rest of the day was far less tragic except for one instance when I was dropping an elderly lady off at her group home. I was mentioning something about going to the grocery store after my shift to pick up a loaf of bread when she brought up that she was a mother of eight and had always made biscuits for her kids rather than buying bread. When she tried to make them earlier today she couldn't remember how. "Oh it's a shame to grow old and watch your mind begin to go. I just sat down and cried...but I'll be picking up a recipe tommarow from a friend."

She laughed at herself after confessing some of her personal life to a complete stranger, and went about her day as if it was an opportunity, rather than a gift.

Adversity, it seems, takes many forms, but if you think that her story is sad, you're looking at it in the wrong way. While most jobs in the American workforce are equal opportunity, growing old isn't, necesarily. We should all be so lucky to forget stuff when we're old.

Holy Crap!!! What a nice day!

2006-12-10T14:43:00.000-08:00

Just a beautiful day; mid-December and temperatures ten degrees above freezing are a boon if you have to drive a lot and worry a bit about the weather at times. The temperature also acts as a kind of "good will enema." Everyone just kind of walks outside, breathes it in; and upon realizing that the breath doesn't hurt or change they're body temperature, they smile.

Sundays are great as well...drive a couple old ladies to church, take Wheelchair M. to the movies, listen to some "Prairie Home Companion," and call it a day.

The part of the day that was the best, though, was when I saw the first fare I ever had in this town, the east coast fella who's habitating the rehab facility. Saw him driving his bike home from work sporting a Bosox hat and a smile. Taking in the beautiful day, and hopefully new found sobriety.

...and with that, here's to tomorrow. Hope it's as good as today, even though I doubt I will receive a can of Root Beer for a tip, or here Garrison Keillor's voice, or here a mother tell her child when the child questions the door of the church that they're being dropped off at, "Child! Has it really been that long since you've been here?"

Buy the Lord a round.

2006-12-07T21:07:00.000-08:00

Let's say that you drove truck for 40 to 50 years. Now let's say that you are a man who has out lived your wife. Let us also assume that you live in the same town you grew up in and have never really traveled that far out of the region. (Except for when you were driving your truck, but that doesn't count. Not really.)

If all these examples pointed to you than you might be a passenger I had today. Drunk W.

Drunk W. (Drunk-dub for short) is a regular, and after only working for a week and a half we are already on a first name basis. He's a really nice old man if you can get by the fact that he looks like he has been living in an ashtray for 25 years. Drunk-dub frequents one of the many local bars...and I mean frequently. He usually goes home, cocked off his rocker, at about four in the afternoon, so that he wont miss his programs.

Oh by the way, drunk-dub smells bad. Really freakin bad. (Worse than Drunk K. from a couple blogs ago.)

After the first time I drove Drunk-dub home, he kind of stayed in my thoughts for the rest of the night. I kept noticing that my thoughts would stray to him and how sorry I felt for his situation.

As it turns out, I could have spent my time better feeling sorry for myself, or Kevin Federline, or the Republican Congress or ANYBODY ELSE, cause Drunk-dub is in no need of sympathy.

I picked him up at four from his bar today, but just before he sauntered out to the cab, the dispatcher came over the radio requesting that I double up him and another fare coming from Pizza Hut. For those of you who are used to city cabs, you have to remember that this company is run and paid for by the town, and is considered a 'shared-ride taxi.'

Dunk-dub is in his usual 'spirits' and is talking my ear off even before he gets his bad leg in the car and has no problem sharing his ride with whoever we have to pick up at Pizza Hut.

Unfortunately the two fifteen year old girls who came out of the hut expecting a nice clean-smelling, unemotional, quiet ride home didn't feel the same way.

Public Transportation. The Great Leveler.

I would have felt sorry for them had they not acted like, you know, fifteen year old midwestern girls, but as soon as they entered the car I could feel the tarnished sense of entitlement and the disdain.

Drunk-dub could too.

To his credit, he ignored them completely and focused his attention to me, (Thank GOD!!!) and started in on the portion of his life story where he had left off on our last ride together.

It's only a three to five minute ride to his house, but somehow he managed to mention his former career, his deceased wife, his estranged son, how his town is going to hell, how the world is going to hell, and why his place is so hard to find in that time. All in grand drunken rambling.

The best part, though, was when he defended his lifestyle.

"Look! I'm sixty five years old, retired, a widower, and bored. I drink. A lot. You know, it's safe to say that I'm trying to drink myself to death."

"But why not? I've had a great life. I loved my job. I loved my wife. ...and now that they're both gone...there doesn't seem to be much more of interest for me. So I said forget that whole "going out gracefully" thing. (I'm serious, he did the whole fingers-in-the-air-quotation-thing.) I'm going out doing what I want to do, I'm taking the cab, not hurting anyone, not living offa anyone. I'm going to die like I want to cause there ain't no one left to please except me and the Lord and when I get up to heaven I'm going to buy the Lord a round for being so good to me."

He thought it was was pretty funny when I said that it might get expensive seeing as Jesus and his disciple might be there as well.

At that moment (like he was timing it for effect) we arrived at his place. He paid me, got out, looked at the two young girls and said, very gentlemanly, "ladies." then looked at me and closed the door, but as the door closed I could here what sounded like a cross between a drunken cackle and a boyish giggle.

I drove the girls home.

"Oh my GAWD! Did you smell that?"

"I know...GROSS!!!"

All I could say to them was that once you got past the smell, he is a pretty sweet guy, and I have to admit, given the situation, I can't think of a better way to go out.

Sweetly drunk, not hurting anyone, creeping the hell out of the local youth.

God, I hope my future wife outlives me.

50-50

2006-12-05T19:34:00.000-08:00

"One can either be adaptable or driven, generally not both. The people who are, are usually better off than most."
-Wheelchair M.

Sitting in his wheelchair with his legs crossed like some kind of shaman of the disabled, Wheelchair M. spits some of the most astute observations I've heard in a long time. He even focused his attention on me when we started talking about hobbies and about how one has to keep their mind occupied, or lose it.

He maintained that that's what crossword puzzles are for. I told him that even though I'm not the dullest crayon in the box, I officially suck at crossword puzzles. To this he observed that I'm probably quite terrible at Chess. This is correct and I asked him how he figured that. "Tunnel-vision. You see the best answer or move that occurs to you immediately and act on it, shutting out other possible avenues."

Spot on. I've been made by a guy hitching a ride to a bar to play magic cards.

Other than Wheelchair M, my cab was habitated with various other residents of this small bedroom community tonight. The woman with the sweet leather jacket with REALLY long fringes that paid me in dimes; the elementary ed major who complained about an argument she got into with an eight year old; the elderly stroke victim, Wheelchair C, who actually used his cane today to go get some acupuncture.

The last run of the night was the most interesting though. Student A. missed his regular ride home, and was able to finagle the dispatcher to bend the rules a bit...we should have been closing, locking up, and going home; but what are you going to do, you know? It's cold out there.

On the way, Student A. and me exchange military stories. He was in the Army something like ten years ago, stationed in Bosnia. He asked how I was adjusting to civilian life. To which I told him that everything is going as well as it possible could be. Which is entirely true.

I could tell, in the corner of my eye, that he was sizing me up. I asked him, "What?" He started in on how it took him a long time to really adjust to being a civilian. About how he had come up with the notion that you have to come up with at least a 50-50 percentile of the good things you look back on as well as the bad. He said that until he could do that, he carried around a bitterness that came out in weird ways and at weird times, directed at those he was closest to.

"It doesn't matter what you did or where you were stationed, the whole 'I own you' mentality, and having to listen to stupid people and having them make you do meaningless crap is enough to really look back at the whole experience with bitterness. Not because of what you had to do, but because of what normal people didn't."

"I was going around holding onto all this BS about how I had to do all this stuff when no one I knew had to go through any of it."
-Student A.

Not the most eloquent sentence I have ever heard, but in a strange way I knew exactly what he was talking about, and can relate it to my own life and feelings.

With that knowledge, will I be able to let go of my own bitterness? Who knows...but hearing a complete stranger talk about portions of my own thoughts has certainly given me something to think about. Will I be able to learn what he was teaching me? If I were a betting man, I'd say that the chances are 50-50.

...and lastly, I don't care how big your truck is, dude. Glass-packs are NOT COOL.

Now that my mission statement is done...let me tell you about my night.

2006-12-04T21:05:00.000-08:00

"Oh maaaaaannnn...your cab is noisy as hell, why don't you turn up the radio to drown it out. Have you ever heard that song 'Smooth' by Santana? Oh man it's the best song EVER!!! It's got that guy Rob Thomas singing..."
-K.

I haven't learned K's whole story yet, but I know that 1. He is the worst person I have smelled since I was in the Navy. 2. He is habitating the cheapest, crappiest motel in town. (and like all small towns, the crappiest motel always bears the name of the town.) 3. Tonight he may be getting ready for rehab cause instead of reeking like Johnny Walker, he reeked like Aqua Velva and Listerine and wanted to go out and get a "really good steak."

My heart goes out to him, cause unlike other heavy hitting drunks I have driven in the past, he really is quite pleasant. Not to mention a hell of a tipper, if one can get by the fact the he always talks about how much he made last month, which one can if one's financial situation resembles mine.

Why I matter.

2006-12-04T20:37:00.000-08:00

Nearly settled in. I still have boxes all over my new apartment, but most of them are empty; I haven't gotten used to my three room palace yet, but I like waking up here; enrolled in school and eagerly awaiting my GI Bill payments;

...and finally, a new job.

I drove Taxi in a smaller community the first time I was in college (1998-2001,) and now that I'm going back (in a differant state) it seemed like a reasonable side occupation. It's easy work, you know? You drive. That's it.

...but that's not the only thing. In a small town like this, the taxi isn't a taxi. It's public transportation. So much in fact, that my paycheck comes from the town's taxes, not a meter.

So what could I have to blog about that could be the least bit interesting? The elderly who's families are far away and are isolated to their worlds of wheelchairs and daytime television? The fellas at the half-way house working at Perkins, but working harder to stay sober? (or how about the guy at the hotel who is getting his last drinking binge out of the way before settling into said half-way house?) The 20 year old psych major who suffers from Cerebral Palsy who has been matched up against an advisary that I cannot begin to comprehend, and has been pulling it off with more class than I can ever hope to achieve. Like Henry Rollins said, "[He's] riding a wave of sheer terror...and getting a tan."

I drive these people around a small town. Not too hard, but I listen to them and try to joke with them...some rides are good, some bad. Just like days.