Day Cabbie

San Francisco taxi stories from one of the very rare female drivers

I made an assumption of prostitution

This morning around 7:30 I picked up a guy near Polk and Turk. He was the kind of person that makes me just a little bit uneasy. He was white and wearing baggy clothes. He may or may not have worn a baseball cap. His hair was brown and he had scars on his face. Something about him was fidgety and shifty. I thought he was in his 20's but he told me later that he was 33.



"Fulton and Cole."


I have to admit that for a moment I wondered if this was going to be the first passenger to ever rob me. I thought to myself: I'll try to be his friend. That way he can't rob me. That's what I have done with wild animals in my nightmares ever since I was a child. Make friends with the menacing creature, and they won't harm you.

"How is your day going so far?" he asked chattily.

"Pretty good. How about yours?"

"It's getting better." Getting better? It was only 7:30 in the morning. When had this guy's day started that there had already been enough time for improvement?

"Are you going to work?"

"Nah, I don't work right now."

"Good for you."

I now wondered if he was a drug dealer. Why else would he be going somewhere at 7:30 in the morning? Any normal person who doesn't work would still be sleeping.

"Well, I don't know if it's good.. I'm unemployed right now. My business went under."

"What kind of business?"


"What kind of work?"



"But I'm going to start another one real soon."

"Another construction company?"


I tried to keep the conversation going. I figured the more we talk, the more he would feel like he knows me, and the less likely he would be to rob me. Actually, I didn't really think he was going to rob me. But just to be safe.

"Are you sure that Fulton and Cole cross?" I asked. We were going west on Fulton near Buchanan.


"Where do they cross? Near Stanyan?"

"I don't know but I was just there yesterday. It was at Fulton and Cole."


The guy was typing on his cell phone during the ride. One time he responded to me with an absent-minded "Uh-huh?" because he hadn't really listened to me because he was too distracted by his phone. He told me he has lived in San Francisco all of his life. I told him that that was very rare. Another passenger had told me just last week how rare it was. He had been one of the rare ones as well.

I made a left on Cole. The house was on the left. A guy in pyjama pants came down the stairs. He had short dark curly hair and dark eyes, 35-ish.

The guy in my cab said "Ah, there he is."

The guy coming down the stairs looked at me with suspicion. He handed me a $20 bill, avoiding eye contact with me. He asked the guy in my cab "How much is it?" The fare was $8.25. The guy in my cab said "Ten dollars." I gave the guy in pyjama pants $10 change.

The guy in my cab got out of the cab and wished me a nice day. Both of them walked up the steps of the house that the guy in pyjama pants had come out of.


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