Day Cabbie

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


"I'm going to Summerfield Suites in Pleasant Hill. Do you know where that is?" the guy at the airport asked.

"No. Do you?"

"No. I'm from New Jersey." There was something very sweet and innocent about him when he said this.

"It's okay. I can find out, " I assured him and opened the trunk.

As we pulled away from the terminal, I called Buzz, the dispatcher, on the phone, and he referred me to Jeff, who knows the East Bay like the back of his hand. Jeff gave me directions. He also told me the estimated fare. It made my heart jump.

The guy in my cab made a couple of phone calls on the way there, and we chatted a little here and there. He was the national sales manager of a technology company, in town for several meetings. As we got closer to Pleasant Hill, I asked him to tell me the exact address of the hotel one more time. He looked it up on his blackberryesque gadget.

"It's 2611 Contra Costa Boulevard."

"Thank you."

After a beat, I said

"It's funny that it's 2611 because today is 6/11."

"Oh. Yeah."

"I always love little things like that."

"I totally missed that." Of course you did, I thought to myself. Only a numbers nut like me would notice such a thing.

"I always think that it means that things are as they should be, that you're in the right place at the right time. I think it means that you're going to have good luck during your stay here. Is there anything at stake in the meetings you are going to?"

He told me that there actually was something at stake. He said that he could either receive good news or bad news.

When we arrived at the Summerfield Suites, he asked me what my name was. I told him, and he told me that his name was Jeff.

"There is another coincidence. Your name is Jeff, and the guy who gave me the directions to get here, his name is Jeff too."

"Oh. Wow."

"I think that you're going to have really good luck here."

Jeff got lucky. And I did too because the fare was $135 plus tip.


At 6/12/2007 01:22:00 AM, Anonymous Kent Hall said...

I was just in Los Angeles, where the cab drivers don't talk to the passengers. There's a big wall between us. And they don't say if they've had a long day. But my driver back from SFO was in a bad mood too, so it's not just about the city. He didn't talk to me either.

But tonight, coming back from The Lucky 13, my driver was more than one could hope for. He loved driving, had been driving for 15 years and was looking forward to retiring to the Philippines. That made me happy.


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