tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-323632582024-03-14T02:27:08.636-07:00Day CabbieSan Francisco taxi stories from one of the very rare female driversVerahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-91170081475707994642009-06-09T20:16:00.000-07:002009-06-09T20:41:23.948-07:00The suspect dadHe flagged me down on Market between Franklin and Gough. There was something tentative about the way he flagged me down. I felt like he was hiding something. He had a stroller with him. I couldn't see what was in it. For a moment I wondered if he was the kind of person who uses a stroller to cart around personal belongings. He pointed at the stroller and said with a Spanish accent "Sleeping." I said "Ah." So there was a child in there.<br /><br />He put the child on the backseat. It was a one-year-old boy. He folded up the stroller, and I put it in the trunk.<br /><br />"Where are you going?"<br /><br />"Divisadero.. but first, I have to pick up some medication."<br /><br />"Where?"<br /><br />"Right here... No, here... One more block." This went on for a couple of blocks.<br /><br />He asked me to pull over at Market and Laguna. There is no pharmacy at that intersection. I was wondering what kind of "medication" he was picking up. He left the little boy in the cab with me. He was gone for about ten minutes. I am not a parent but this seemed kind of irresponsible. I tried to make the little boy laugh by playing peekaboo with him. I eventually succeeded. He bared his teeth at me. There was a huge gap between his two upper front teeth. <br /><br />The dad came back. "Thank you for watching him," he said. "No problem," I said. I wondered if he had just taken his little son on a drug run.<br /><br />"Where to now?"<br /><br />"What time is it?"<br /><br />"2:06."<br /><br />"Oh, we have time. She doesn't get off work until 3:30. Let's go to the Marina. The playground there on Chestnut."<br /><br />"Okay."<br /><br />We talked about the little boy, his mom. The dad told me they live in the Outer Mission. I told him I live in the Inner Mission.<br /><br />When we got to the playground on Chestnut, the dad pulled out a booklet of <a href="http://www.sfparatransit.com/general.aspx">Paratransit</a> tickets. I thought that was odd. People who use Paratransit tickets are usually old and/or disabled. But I didn't think too much about it. The fare was $17.05. I counted all the tickets in the booklet, and there was $18 worth. I also made sure that the white trip report sheet was on top and that it was signed. Without the trip report, the tickets aren't worth anything. <br /><br />After counting, I put the booklet down on the center divider between the two front seats. Then I got up to get the stroller out of the trunk. The dad collected his son from the backseat. We thanked each other and wished each other a nice day.<br /><br />After I took off, I picked up the Paratransit booklet to write down my cabbie number on the trip report. The white trip report was gone. One little corner of it was still there. The suspect dad must have ripped it off while I was getting the stroller and he was getting his son. Without the trip report, the Paratransit tickets can't be redeemed. He had literally ripped me off.<br /><br />Now I knew what he had been hiding. This whole time he had probably been wondering if he would be able to rip me off.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-18093438980844084902009-05-05T14:44:00.001-07:002009-05-05T14:54:11.732-07:00Love worksOn the way back from the airport I had a lady in my cab that I would describe as bitchy. I made this judgment after overhearing two of her phone conversations. The first one, I assumed, was with a client/customer. <br /><br />After establishing their names, she said to him impatiently "Can I help you?" And for the rest of the conversation her tone and choice of words made it very apparent that she had no interest whatsoever in helping him or talking to him. After hanging up, she said "God!" and I could hear her eyes roll back into her skull.<br /><br />The next thing I heard out of her head was "You are the most annoying person in North America!" I got really tense but then relaxed slightly when I realized that she was not talking to me but to someone on the phone again.<br /><br />"You knew I was flying to the West Coast this morning. What made you think I would be able to answer the phone?"<br /><br />Bitch, bitch, bitch, on she went. I noticed that my body was still tense, and I thought 'I can't wait to get this woman out of my cab.'<br /><br />She had two more phone conversations that appeared to be with family members or close friends and that were much milder in tone, in which she used words like "honey" and "love you."<br /><br />I was still slightly frustrated about the negative air with which she had filled my cab earlier, but instead of sending her negative vibes in return, I decided to send her love. I breathed out and imagined love emanating from my heart and finding its way directly to her.<br /><br />When I pulled up in front of the W Hotel a few blocks later, she said chipperly "Oh, we're here, aren't we?"<br /><br />"Yes, we are," I said, relieved.<br /><br />"I'm always surprised by the lack of hotel driveways here in San Francisco," she said in a honeyed voice. Then she told me that she didn't even remember which hotel she had stayed in the last time she came to San Francisco--from LA, she added--and that she was looking forward to dining at the Slanted Door later in the day.<br /><br />She gave me a big tip. I was torn between feeling proud and manipulative for having made her stop being a bitch.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-57947915908959308292009-03-27T18:45:00.001-07:002009-03-27T18:45:58.311-07:00Just so you knowI was going North on Columbus and about to make a left turn on Bay when I decided 'Nah, I'm gonna make a right on Bay instead.' Immediately it turned out to be the right decision because a doorman flagged and whistled me over to the Hilton. A lady got in. She was from Dallas, and even as late as the year 2009, she had the stereotypical big hair. I liked her subtle Texan accent.<br /><br />She worked for Nokia and needed to go to 650 Townsend, where the Nokia office is.<br /><br />"I used to work in that building," I said.<br /><br />"Oh?"<br /><br />"Yeah, Macromedia used to be in there."<br /><br />"Oh."<br /><br />After a beat:<br /><br />"I have to ask: How did you go from working for Macromedia to being a cab driver?"<br /><br />"Well, about three years ago I quit my job at Macromedia because I was tired of sitting in an office full-time. My intention was to become a counselor, but then I decided that I didn't want to do that full-time either. So I also started driving a cab, and three years later, I am still doing it, two days a week."<br /><br />In the rear view mirror I saw that she was smiling.<br /><br />"And I am going to keep driving until my taxi stories have been published as a book. I write taxi stories."<br /><br />"Oh, cool."<br /><br />"Yes. I am going to keep collecting taxi stories until the book is out."<br /><br />I was glad that I had decided to drive along the Embarcardero instead of through the Financial District because she seemed to enjoy the sunny and sparkly view of the bay.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-18825851780488021912009-02-21T13:10:00.000-08:002009-02-21T13:29:55.569-08:00UnnayAfter waiting at the airport for two hours, I finally got my passenger. She needed to go to the German consulate.<br /><br />I didn't know where that was so I asked her for the address. She said it was 1960 Jackson, which I guessed to be at Franklin, but it turned out to be one block farther, at Gough.<br /><br />"I am German too but I have never actually been to the German consulate here," I said. And this is when the conversation turned to German.<br /><br />She told me in German that she needed to get her German passport renewed. She said there was no German consulate in Seattle, where she lived, so she had flown into San Francisco for the day because San Francisco had a German consulate.<br /><br />She was originally from a tiny village by Nürnberg, and sometimes it was hard for me to understand her because of her Bavarian accent.<br /><br />She said she couldn't wait to move back to Germany because that's where she wanted her children to grow up. She had been in the U.S. for twenty years. Her children were 3 and 2. I loved what she called them: Their names were Joshua and Sophia, but she referred to them as Yoshi and Phia.<br /><br />I gave her my card so she could call me when she was ready to go back to the airport. She called me about an hour later, but I was stuck at the airport. On the phone, we were back to speaking English. I knew that her flight wasn't for a few more hours, so I asked her if she didn't want to see a little more of San Francisco while waiting for me. <br /><br />"Yes, but I am lost here."<br /><br />I told her to keep walking on Jackson until she got to Fillmore and then walk down Fillmore Street. It had lots of shops and cafes, I told her. She agreed to wait for me there.<br /><br />Another hour later, I called her to say that I was approaching Fillmore Street, ready to pick her up. She said that I had sent her to an interesting area. I was glad. She had walked all the way from Jackson down to O'Farrell Street. We were still speaking English.<br /><br />As soon as she got back into my cab, we started speaking German again. I thought it was curious but it also felt very natural. On the way to the airport, she told me that she had noticed a lot of people smoking on Fillmore Street. She said that she had been a smoker for a long time but that she had quit a few years ago. She said she really missed it and that she was considering starting again when she was 70.<br /><br />What I liked most about her was that her name was Anne but she didn't let people pronounce it the American way. Instead, she told people that her name was "Unnay" because that resembles how Anne is pronounced in German. She said that it made people want to put an accent on the 'e', and this annoyed her.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-1343253039830825492009-02-17T11:52:00.000-08:002009-02-21T13:35:50.199-08:00High school reunionI was leaving the taxi lot around 6am and felt called to drive up Potrero Hill rather than towards downtown like I normally do. At Pennsylvania and 23rd I looked over to see a figure standing under the 280 overpass in the rain. At first I thought it was a homeless person dancing with an umbrella. But then I realized that this person was actually trying to get my attention. I made a left on 23rd and picked the person up.<br /><br />It was a handsome young man with long braids. He needed to go to the Ferry Building to catch a ferry to Sausalito.<br /><br />"What are you doing in Sausalito?" I asked.<br /><br />He told me something about a <a href="http://www.tourofcalifornia-sausalito.com/">bicycle race</a>, Lance Armstrong, etc.<br /><br />"People are going there this early, on a holiday?"<br /><br />"Yeah."<br /><br />I am really glad that I asked what I asked next. I said<br /><br />"So what brings you to this race?"<br /><br />"Well.. I am a cyclist. But that's not why I am going. This is going to sound kind of weird. The first girl I ever kissed, in high school, is going to be there. I am 29 now, and we recently got back in touch, and I think we are going to--how do you say that?"<br /><br />"Start dating?"<br /><br />"Yeah, I guess. Is that how you say that?"<br /><br />"Maybe," I giggled.<br /><br />"She lives in Sausalito now with her parents. We spent all of yesterday together, and now I am going back."<br /><br />"Cool. How did you guys find each other?"<br /><br />"It's funny because I had actually been thinking about her all these years. It was only one kiss, and then we graduated, but I had always wondered what could have happened. So a couple of years ago I googled her name. And she is actually a famous opera singer now--or as famous as opera singers get. And I noticed that she was performing at Yerba Buena Gardens that weekend. So I went. And she recognized me. But she didn't remember the kiss."<br /><br />"Wow!"<br /><br />"At that time she was still with her husband, from whom she is now divorced, also a guy from high school."<br /><br />"No!"<br /><br />"Yes. I know, it's really weird. It all sounds like a movie. I am just going along for the ride and curious to see what happens."<br /><br />I am curious too. The guy had a really curious name too--a Nigerian name with almost 20 letters. I wish him and the opera singer all the best.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-21312337019900726382009-01-12T18:19:00.000-08:002009-01-12T18:35:03.596-08:00CoincidenceI was on my way to Ocean Beach to watch the moonset. A friendly-looking gray-haired guy was standing at a bus stop in the deep Richmond, and I pulled over. I knew right away that our paths had crossed before.<br /><br />He was going to the VA hospital just a few blocks away.<br /><br />"I am pretty sure I have met you or seen you before."<br /><br />"Uhhh.." He didn't seem to recognize me.<br /><br />"Do you work with the public?"<br /><br />"No, but I used to own a café." <br /><br />"Which one?"<br /><br />"It was on Page and Octavia-"<br /><br />"That's it!" I suddenly saw him standing behind the counter of that café with a friendly smile on his face. I recognized this image as a memory of mine. "I used to come in there all the time!"<br /><br />"Ah. What a coincidence."<br /><br />"I used to come in there for a bagel with sun-dried tomato cream cheese all the time." It is true.<br /><br />"You're making me hungry for some coffee or tea."<br /><br />When I dropped him off, I said "It was nice to see you again."<br /><br />"It was nice to see you again too. Coincidence."<br /><br />This was the second time he talked about a coincidence. But I knew that it wasn't a coincidence because earlier that morning I had been tired and cranky, and I had asked the universe to lead me to a better-feeling place. And after this encounter, I was feeling better.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-16979266128663647702009-01-05T18:28:00.000-08:002009-01-08T18:30:58.940-08:00WonderingsIt was the day of dead Christmas trees. They were on almost every street corner.<br /><br />A guy with stylish glasses and shaggy black hair flagged me down at Market and Van Ness.<br /><br />"24th and Church, please."<br /><br />I wanted to say "Hey, that's my neighborhood!" but I didn't. In fact, I didn't say anything during the whole ride, and neither did he. But the radio was playing Radiohead, and I got the sense he appreciated and enjoyed that.<br /><br />On 24th, right before Church, I said "Can I drop you off here?"<br /><br />"Across the street, please," he said, so I crossed Church.<br /><br />'I bet he works at the Shoe Biz,' I thought, so I stopped right in front of the Shoe Biz.<br /><br />I watched him after he got out of the cab, and he walked across the street, to a new clothing store called <a href="http://www.carylanesf.com">Cary Lane</a>. The store was still closed, and he unlocked it.<br /><br />Since 24th Street is my neighborhood, I knew that Cary Lane had only been there for a month or two. I also knew that before the store was empty for a few months, there had been a small grocery store in there that I had loved going to until it went out of business. I still miss it. I wondered if my passenger knew about the grocery store and ever felt the ghosts of vegetables and loaves of bread.<br /><br />A little later for lunch, I tried to go to the <a href="http://daycabbie.blogspot.com/2008/03/recommendation.html">Indian restaurant another cabbie had recommended</a> to me a while ago. Unfortunately it was no longer there, and a Thai restaurant was there instead. I decided to eat there, and the Tofu Prik King was actually really tasty. I wondered if the friendly girls working there ever felt the ghosts of Naan and Paneer Tikka Masala.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-27151560300731028822008-12-31T08:08:00.000-08:002008-12-31T08:28:43.028-08:00When a drunk made my dayHe ran into the street at Mason and Eddy and waved me over. He looked like a bum. My prejudices were surprised that I was pulling over, but I was. I wondered if he had any money but I also knew from experience that even bums (or people who look like bums) only flag down cabs when they actually have money. The people who end up ripping you off don't look like bums. It was a slow day anyway, so any fare was a good fare.<br /><br />He looked surprised that I had stopped too. When he got in, he thanked me. I can imagine that some cab drivers might have passed him by, and again, that's my prejudices talking.<br /><br />"Valencia and 14th, yeah, that's it," he said with a slurred speech and then "Merry christmas and happy new year and you're beautiful!"<br /><br />"Thank you," I said and smiled.<br /><br />"How is your day going?"<br /><br />I rounded the wide corner that swallows Turk at Taylor and Market and noticed that he reeked of alcohol. Maybe he wasn't a bum, maybe just a drunk with bad hygiene.<br /><br />I told him that my day had been okay, how about his. He said that he had seen worse, he had seen better, did I know? I absolutely knew. That's exactly how I was feeling that day.<br /><br />We chatted a little about New Year's, and after everything I said, he said "Yeah, alright, okay," perhaps to let me know that he had understood or perhaps to let himself know that he had understood. It made the conversation easy-going and pleasant.<br /><br />He commented on female cab drivers, and how there weren't many. He said he was glad he had a woman today because most of the men drivers, they weren't nice to him. My prejudices could imagine that some cab drivers weren't very nice to him. In fact, they could imagine that most people weren't nice to him. And if I had been around him for more than this seven minute cab ride, I might not have been nice to him either. I felt sad for him.<br /><br />He had me pull over at the liquor store on Valencia and 14th. He said "I am going to give you a huge tip. I am going to make your day."<br /><br />"Awesome," I said and smiled.<br /><br />"Well, I might not make your day, but I am going to give you a huge tip."<br /><br />I wondered what he meant by "huge tip." I have seen other people's "huge tips" be two or three dollars.<br /><br />The fare was $7.60. He gave me a twenty and got out of the car. To me, that qualifies as a huge tip. And you know what? It totally made my day. Unfortunately I didn't get the chance to tell him that.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-12109147015571091162008-12-11T16:50:00.000-08:002008-12-11T16:57:28.480-08:00Things that made me smile todayMy first passenger, at 6:45am, was a little old lady with a cane and a hunched back. She was on her way to her volunteer job.<br /><br />"I make sandwiches for homeless people," she told me.<br /><br />She said they usually don't expect her until 9am but she likes to get an early start, and it's okay if she shows up early. It takes her about two hours to make all the sandwiches. It's usually about 50, but sometimes 60. The homeless people pick them up around 4pm. She is long gone by then. She said the sandwiches are made every day. She makes them on Mondays and Thursdays; other people help out on the other days.<br /><br />"That's a really nice thing to do," I said.<br /><br />"Yeah, it gets old folks out of the house. And it gets them thinking about something other than themselves."<br /><br />A little later I had an Australian couple in their 60's in my cab. The guy sang along with all the RnB songs the radio was playing. And he called my Prius my "little Prissy."<br /><br />Then I saw a Volkswagen Beetle parked on the street whose license plate said LASAGNE.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-50086674790857203232008-10-15T11:13:00.000-07:002008-10-15T15:15:47.419-07:00I took a chance and gained lotsI noticed recently that I haven't been engaging in conversation with my passengers as much as I used to. I also noticed that I haven't been enjoying cab driving as much as I used to. I was sure that the two were related. I don't remember ever regretting venturing past the small talk threshold with a passenger. Once you go there, there is usually something interesting to be found there. I think I have just been feeling tired and withdrawn. So I resolved to engage in conversation more and to push myself if I have to.<br /><br />This week a youngish man flagged me down at Van Ness and Ellis. He was friendly and talkative. I was not feeling friendly or talkative. I felt like he was on a higher energy level than I was, and I didn't know if I could match it. He commented on my Prius taxi and how I must be saving a lot on gas. I am a little bored of talking about the Prius and how much money I am saving on gas. But I decided to push myself and stay in conversation with this guy. So during a break in the conversation, I asked him if he had ever driven a Prius before. He said no. And then I decided to ask him something that has been on my mind lately.<br /><br />"Have you ever been to a third world country?"<br /><br />And that's when we started talking about traveling, and that's when he told me that he was leaving for his honeymoon later today. He said that maybe I could drive him and his wife to the airport, and I gave him my card.<br /><br />Later I received a phone call from a woman who needed to go to the airport and who was at the same address where I had dropped the guy off. I told her that I would come pick her up and asked her if her husband had been in my cab earlier. She said no, that was her brother-in-law.<br /><br />When I arrived to pick her up, I found out that my earlier passenger's sister-in-law and her husband needed to go to the airport first. They had been in town for my passenger's wedding and were now heading back home. After dropping them off, my passenger wanted me to come back for himself and his wife to take them to the airport as well.<br /><br />So for opening my mouth and continuing a conversation I had thought I was done with, I gained not one, but two airport fares.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-86148768670349477072008-09-16T17:04:00.000-07:002008-09-16T17:28:28.990-07:00The job interviewHe was running towards me across the street and waving. He had long, stringy brown hair that was covering part of his face. At first I thought he was a woman. When I still thought he was a woman, something felt off about her, out of control, troubled, unsettled. <br /><br />I stopped to pick him up and his stringy hair and his messenger bag. This was at Waller and Webster. He said he had to go to 2nd and Market and that he was running late. I convinced myself that he was on amphetamines. He kept sniffing his nose. And each of his movements made the whole backseat shake.<br /><br />Near Market and Octavia he asked me about how many more blocks we had to go. I said about twelve. He received a phone call. <br /><br />"I'm in a cab. I'm almost there. Am I in trouble?"<br /><br />-<br /><br />"What is the exact address that I can tell her?"<br /><br />-<br /><br />"Oh, that's at 2nd and Bryant?"<br /><br />- <br /><br />"It's at 2nd and Bryant," he said to me.<br /><br />"Oh, that's a little bit farther."<br /><br />"That's a little bit further, she says," he said into the phone.<br /><br />I turned off of Market at 11th and took Folsom instead. Just before we turned on 2nd Street, he leaned forward to look at himself in the rear view mirror and said<br /><br />"How do I look? Do I look okay?"<br /><br />"Um.."<br /><br />I wanted to say that he looked strung out. I wanted to say that he looked a little tired.<br /><br />"I'm going to a job interview. Do I look okay for a job interview?"<br /><br />I wanted to say that he looked like he was on drugs and that the people interviewing him would probably be able to tell.<br /><br />"Maybe push the hair out of your face," I said. He pushed the hair out of his face.<br /><br />"What kind of job is it for?"<br /><br />"It's an art director position. I really need this job."<br /><br />I dropped him off at 2nd and Bryant.<br /><br />"Good luck," I said. He ambled towards a door on 2nd Street, shifting around his messenger bag, his hair hanging into his face. I looked at his clothing. He was wearing slacks and a dress shirt. I hadn't even noticed.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-28606627569812492042008-09-09T20:39:00.000-07:002008-09-09T21:01:15.629-07:00AngelsI took a couple from a hotel downtown to a car rental place at Fisherman's Wharf. It turned out that the woman was German. She had moved to America at the age of 18. I had been 20 when I came. She felt like the kind of woman my mom would be friends with. They were about the same age too.<br /><br />We spoke in German for a little bit but then switched back to English so that her companion could understand us. She was from Berlin. I told her that if I had stayed in Germany, I would have wanted to live in Berlin. We agreed that Berlin and San Francisco had a similar feel. We also agreed that Cologne was a great city but a little stuffier than Berlin. She told me that she loved America and loved living here, but that she was German at heart. She asked me if I felt the same way. I told her that I was going through a phase where I was feeling very bitter about my German upbringing and that I was having a hard time seeing any positive in it. I asked her how she was able to prefer it here while at the same time appreciating her Germanness. She told me that some of her American friends of 40 years have helped her see how valuable some of her German traits were, such as that she was honest and hard-working.<br /><br />I told her that I hoped to some day get to where she was today, and that it didn't feel good to be so negative about one's origin.<br /><br />I dropped them off near Fisherman's Wharf, we shook hands, and I found out that her name was Dörte. I was about to get back into the car and leave.<br /><br />"Vera," she called me back, pronouncing my name the German way. I turned back.<br /><br />"One thing only: Keep the faith. You will get to where you want to go." She held both of my hands in front of her chest and said it with such emphasis and sincerity that I almost started crying.<br /><br />Later, at the corner of 9th Avenue and Irving, I saw a couple standing on the street, kissing and hugging good-bye. When the girl had left and the boy was facing the street ready to cross it, our eyes met, and I wondered what he was thinking.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-51177676142269389212008-08-04T18:38:00.001-07:002008-08-04T18:40:36.236-07:00Phew<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/verabug/2708148203/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3142/2708148203_11c4404487_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/verabug/2708148203/">Me after</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/verabug/">Verabug</a></span></div>It was my first day driving with my new haircut. I was afraid of people judging me. My first customer that day was extremely pleasant. It was a guy who appeared to be in his 50's. He got into my cab at the Marriott on 4th Street. He was very friendly and asked me how I was doing. He had no luggage and was going to the airport. He said he wanted to go to the International arrivals terminal. I told him I didn't think I had ever dropped anybody off at the arrivals terminal. It was always the departures terminal. He said <br /><br />"It's nice to contribute to the diversity in someone's day."<br /><br />"Indeed. I think that's something we can all inspire to," I said. And to myself I thought 'I feel like that's what I'm doing with my new haircut. I'm glad he understands.'<br /><br />He was picking up his son, who had just been in China for a year, teaching English. I asked him what his son was going to do next in life, now that he was coming back from China. He said he didn't know but that he was thinking about working on an oil rig.<br /><br />"I told him to do everything he wants to do while he's young. It's not good to look back on your life later and regret things you didn't do."<br /><br />This pleased me. I think it's a great attitude for a parent to have, a rather uncommon one too, what with all this striving for productivity and getting ahead. I told him this. I also told him that I used to put a lot of energy into getting ahead, and that I didn't start doing the things I wanted to do until I burnt out.<br /><br />"And that's why now, in my early 30's, I am driving a cab because that's something I had always wanted to do," I said.<br /><br />"You're in your early 30's?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"No. Let me look at you. I thought you were much younger."<br /><br />I laughed. I also wanted to kiss him, not only because he thought I looked much younger than I am, but also because he didn't mind looking at me with my new haircut.<br clear="all" />Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-4582313664329376442008-07-22T14:43:00.000-07:002008-07-22T14:46:11.461-07:00The nephewI picked up a guy at the airport. He appeared to be in his early 20's. He had a huge plastic case and a huge duffel bag with him. He wanted to go to 201 Mission.<br /><br />"So what are you doing in San Francisco? You don't live here, right?" I asked.<br /><br />"No, I'm from New York. My uncle lives here, I'll be doing some work here this week, and I'm doing a sailing competition this weekend."<br /><br />I found out that the work he does is something non-profit that has to to do with transforming congress. I also found out that the big plastic case did not hold golf clubs, but a rudder and a pole for his sail boat.<br /><br />"So where I'm taking you right now, is that where you work?"<br /><br />"No, actually, that's a Bistro Burger."<br /><br />He told me that his uncle was the founder of Bistro Burger. There were four or five of them in downtown San Francisco. He said he was meeting his uncle at one of them. I asked him if they had any vegetarian burgers. He said yes, there were several vegetarian burgers.<br /><br />I said "I'm starving. If I find a parking spot, maybe I'll try out your uncle's burger place."<br /><br />I did find a parking spot, less than a block away. I went into the Burger Bistro and ordered a BBQ Veggie Burger. Right around the time that my food was being delivered, my passenger and another man walked in. My passenger waved at me, and they both walked over to me.<br /><br />"So you're the uncle?" I said to the older man.<br /><br />"Yes, I'm the uncle. So you're the cab driver?"<br /><br />"Yes, I'm the cab driver."<br /><br />"Have a soda on the house, okay?"<br /><br />"I will. Thank you."<br /><br />They ended up sitting at a small table next to mine. Far enough away so that they could have their own uncle and nephew conversation, but close enough so that the uncle could turn to me and ask me how the food was.<br /><br />When I was finished, I thanked the uncle for the drink. And to my passenger I said "Thank you for the tip. I always love it when a passenger tells me about a place I haven't been to before."<br /><br />And the uncle said to me "Thank you for taking such good care of him."<br /><br />I never found out either of their names, but that's okay.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-23612981348044475902008-07-15T16:58:00.001-07:002008-07-15T16:58:04.568-07:00Babe Cab<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/verabug/2669024929/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3045/2669024929_aa10e89b9b_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/verabug/2669024929/">4 girls, 4 green cabs</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/verabug/">Verabug</a></span></div>Yesterday all Green Cabs had to go to the airport for a GTU (Ground Transportation Unit) inspection. It was pretty cool to have<br />all Green Cabs at the same place at the same time, which doesn't happen often. But afterwards, something even cooler happened. We now have four Toyota Priuses and one Honda Civic hybrid. It just so happened that that day, all four Toyota Prius drivers were women. We decided to caravan through the airport line together, trying not to get separated. First we had to drive from the GTU Inspection place <br />to the airport parking lot. Lizzie was first in 914, then Carol in 1202, Raqya in 1106 and finally me in 690. It was super fun to be driving around the airport as part of a four-Prius all-female caravan. It gave me a sense of belonging and pride. I took a lot of pictures of my dashboard and the three Priuses ahead of me. Once in the parking lot, we caused quite the stir. "One... two... three... four! Wow," we<br />heard some drivers say. One guy came up to me and said "How did you guys time it just right?" I said that we had all just been at the <br />GTU inspection and decided to all get an airport fare afterwards. <br /><br />We had to work with the dispatchers in each of the three lots to make sure we didn't get separated. They were all very cooperative. Only<br />the guy in the last lot said he couldn't interrupt the regular flow of the airport line, which was understandable. So we waited outside until all four Green Cabs had made it out of the lot before continuing on to the terminal. It was a wonderfully unique experience.<br clear="all" />Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-8307277379688646382008-06-06T11:58:00.000-07:002008-06-06T12:26:19.620-07:00Jessica from PortlandToday I stopped for lunch at the <a href="http://www.herbivorerestaurant.com/">Herbivore</a> on Valencia because I was craving their shawarma. I sat down at a small table. At the small table next to mine was a girl about my age, studying the menu, also by herself. After both the girl and I had ordered, she turned to me and said<br /><br />"Excuse me. Do you know the best way to get to Fisherman's Wharf from here?"<br /><br />I asked her if she was driving. She said no and that she was going to try to take BART or walk. I chuckled, and she asked if it was difficult to get there.<br /><br />I said<br /><br />"No, it's just that I'm a taxi driver, and my taxi is right outside. I can take you there if you like."<br /><br />"After we're done eating?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"About how much will it be?"<br /><br />"About twelve dollars."<br /><br />"Okay. That sounds good."<br /><br />We chatted a little while we were eating. She was visiting a friend who had just graduated from UCSF. Today she was checking out the city while she had a little time to herself. She said she hadn't been to San Francisco in over ten years. I also found out that she doesn't eat wheat because it makes her nauseous.<br /><br />After we were both done eating and had paid for our food, I asked her if she was ready. We walked outside and across the street to my taxi.<br /><br />"The green one?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"It's cute."<br /><br />"I know."<br /><br />"Can I sit in the front?"<br /><br />"Sure."<br /><br />"I feel like I know you now."<br /><br />I took Mission Street, turned left on 7th and took Leavenworth all the way up to Fisherman's Wharf. That way I serendipitously got to show her Lombard Street even though I hadn't even planned for that.<br /><br />I asked her if a friend had recommended Herbivore to her. She said no and that she had been looking for <a href="http://www.cafegratitude.com/">Cafe Gratitude</a> instead. But she had gone the wrong way from the BART station, towards Valencia instead of Harrison. That's how she had found Herbivore.<br /><br />"And that's fine," she said, "because that way I also found a ride to Fisherman's Wharf."<br /><br />When we got to Fisherman's Wharf, the fare was $13.90. I told her that I was only charging her $12 because that's what I had told her it would be. She gave me $17.<br /><br />We didn't exchange names until the very end.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-10714304367686636312008-05-30T11:59:00.000-07:002008-05-30T12:28:11.681-07:00Another memorable Memorial DayI love driving on holidays. As a day driver, I rarely have to deal with drunk humans, for which I am thankful as a rule, but it's entertaining to entertain drunk humans once in a while. That's why, <a href="http://daycabbie.blogspot.com/2007/05/costume-cabbie-lady-leblanc-live-action.html">for the second year in a row</a>, I kept going to the End Up on Memorial Day morning because most of the humans there were intoxicated and had been up all night.<br /><br />It's so interesting to be a sober, well-rested observer of the party scene. I can sometimes be found partying and being intoxicated myself--though rarely at 8 in the morning. Seeing the humans pile out of the club, I wondered if, when intoxicated, I, too, am that sloppy, talk that loudly, have such lumbersome motor skills. I cringingly admitted to myself that the answer was probably yes, though I told myself arrogantly that I did it with better style than "these people."<br /><br />Yes, I was having a judgmental morning. With every other human that exited the club, I thought "Oh, I hope I don't get <span style="font-style: italic;">them</span> in my cab." It didn't help that a very haggard-looking guy in pinkish sweatpants was milling about outside, who kept getting into altercations and mini chases with the doormen and who had now pulled down his sweatpants and was whirling around his penis at the doormen. I guess that's how he expressed his contempt.<br /><br />I was lucky in that all the fares I ended up with were, in my estimation, respectable intoxicated beings and didn't make me too uneasy: a guy with an Eastern European accent who didn't talk at all, a girl who recounted her entire night to a friend on the phone, three Thai kids on Ecstasy who asked me how old I was and told me that I was "so cool." Then there was the guy with whom I had a conversation abut the very thing I had been contemplating all morning: being the critical sober observer. He had been there himself, even if this morning he was neither observing nor sober.<br /><br />Around 11 I had my first non-End Up fare, and that marked the end of the intoxicated humans and the beginning of the humans just going about their holiday. When I was sitting and knitting at the taxi stand at the Marriott, two guys who were cute in a geeky way and reminded me of Harold and Kumar stood outside my window and stared at me with curiosity. I rolled down the window and said "Yes?" I wasn't next in line yet, hence the hesitation. "Can you take us somewhere?" Looking at the three cabs in line in front of me, I said sure, justifying it with the fact that they had chosen me as their Memorial Day cab driver, and who was I to deny two cute geeky boys their Memorial Day wish?<br /><br />"So what are you knitting?" one of them asked as they slid into the backseat. I folded the knitted rectangle around my hand and said "Fingerless gloves. See?" "Ah."<br /><br />Later, at Gough and Market, a beggar stood on the corner with a cardboard sign. His long hair and Native American looks tugged at my heart. I rolled down the window. He, sensing motion in his peripheral vision, looked my way and then walked over to collect the dollar bill I was holding up. He thanked me, blessed me and smiled, exposing a swollen lower lip. When he was back at his corner and after I had rolled up my window, we glanced at each other one more time, both smiled shyly and quickly looked away again. Now <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> was a memorable moment.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-65856902842543047122008-05-25T14:22:00.000-07:002008-05-25T14:28:44.712-07:00A final partyI was dispatched to 16th and Guerrero. After waiting for about five minutes, a hurried-looking girl with glasses and a huge yellow vintage duffel bag carried a tray of food to the cab. The smell of the food reminded me of my mom's homemade pizza.<br /><br />"Is that... pizza?" I asked.<br /><br />"No. But I'm glad you think so. It's a vegan dish with lima beans."<br /><br />"No tomatoes?"<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />"Hm. I wonder what reminded me of pizza then. Maybe some kind of spice?"<br /><br />"Thyme."<br /><br />"Yes, thyme. That must be it."<br /><br /><br />After a beat:<br /><br />"I feel bad. I'm running late for my final."<br /><br />"Your final at school?"<br /><br />"Yeah, this is the only final I am actually participating in. The teacher is really cool. She said 'Final? What's a final? Oh, you mean the final party!' So today we're having a potluck and clothing exchange."<br /><br />"So that bag is full of clothes you are getting rid of?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"How cool."<br /><br />"I know."<br /><br />Hearing that people were having a final like this at SF State made me seriously happy.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-10566907474145065132008-04-22T20:31:00.001-07:002008-04-22T20:32:40.028-07:00This made me laughA guy got into my cab.<br /><br />"Can I take you to the opera?"<br /><br />"Uhhhh.."<br /><br />"I mean, can <span style="font-style:italic;">you</span> take <span style="font-style:italic;">me</span> to the opera?"<br /><br />"Yes, I can."Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-62986847650973717022008-04-22T20:01:00.000-07:002008-04-22T20:29:57.958-07:00Poopie cabsPeople often complain to me how hard it is to get a cab on Friday and Saturday nights. I drive during the day on Mondays and Thursdays so I can't really help with that. <br /><br />The problem is that the same number of cabs, i.e. all cabs in the city, are out at any given time. That's because it is in the cab companies' interest to have all cabs out all the time because that way they get paid for every cab for every minute of the day. This is a problem for customers because it means that during the really busy times it's hard to find a cab. And it's a problem for drivers because during the really slow times it's hard to find a fare. But that's the way the system works right now, and there is nothing I can do about it, and I have come to accept it as a driver and also as a passenger. On a recent New Year's Eve, for example, I would have liked a cab home but ended up walking the whole way because all the cabs that passed me were unavailable. That's just what happens sometimes, and it didn't make sense for me to get upset about it, especially since I have a perspective from the inside of the system and know how it works.<br /><br />But I understand that it is frustrating for people who really need a cab at a busy time and can't get one. I got to experience that first-hand last Saturday.<br /><br />It was about 9pm, and my boyfriend and I were on our way to the Mission from Cole Valley. We started walking down the hill of 17th Street, trying to flag down every cab that passed us. They all, well, passed us.<br /><br />"Nobody is stopping for us," he said.<br /><br />"Well, they are all taken."<br /><br />"I don't think so."<br /><br />"Yes, they are. I looked inside of every single one, and there was always somebody in the backseat."<br /><br />We ended up walking all the way home, but not before my boyfriend said it well in behalf of all San Franciscans who have ever had a hard time getting a cab.<br /><br />"They are all poopie cabs."Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-71008975956054465592008-04-15T11:45:00.000-07:002008-04-16T14:27:31.046-07:00The day of huge tipsIt all started with the orchid tip I received that day. A woman had flagged me down at 5th and Bryant. She needed to transport about fifteen bouquets of flowers to North Beach. I found out she works at a flower shop, a family business. The first thing she gave me was a single orchid blossom. I put it on my dashboard for good luck. When we got to the shop, she ran inside and brought me a couple of orchid twigs. I love the random gifts I sometimes receive from passengers. And it seems that the good luck orchid on the dashboard definitely worked because look at what kind of tips I got that day!<br /><br />A lady way out in the Sunset had called for a Green Cab. The dispatcher recommended I give her a call before driving out there to make sure that she would wait for me. I called her. She laughed and said that yes, she would wait for me. <br /><br />A few minutes later, she called me back and said "Can my dog come?" I said sure.<br /><br />I took her and her dog to the Richmond. We talked about Priuses, dogs and sheep. The fare was $15; she gave me $25.<br /><br />Then I took an architect from Baltimore to the airport. He said that I was a nice cab driver but that many other ones weren't. He said that some of them seemed like they were on crack.<br /><br />"And those Slavs, they are all racists."<br /><br />"Hm." In my head, I laughed.<br /><br />He paid with a credit card and asked me to calculate 20% for the tip.<br /><br />"Is that the going rate for a good tip?"<br /><br />"Yes, it is."<br /><br />The fare was $35.50. I told him that a 20% tip would be about $7.<br /><br />"Make it ten," he said.<br /><br />"Thanks," I said.<br /><br />Then there was the well-dressed blond woman. She was going to the Radisson at Fisherman's Wharf. I thought for sure that she was a guest at the hotel, but when she asked me if Green Cab was hiring, my assumptions about her started changing. It turned out she was concierging there. She asked me all about cab driving. How long had I been doing it? How much money was I making in a day? What did I have to do to become a cab driver? It sounded like she was seriously considering switching from concierging to cab driving, and I gave her a lot of information she didn't have before.<br /><br />She tipped me really well as well.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-40902181529813919652008-04-08T11:40:00.000-07:002008-04-16T14:15:13.738-07:00This wasn't going to be a story until he asked for oneI picked up two men in the Castro and took them to the Oakland Airport. They had been visiting a friend here in San Francisco and were going back to Dallas, TX. They asked me if I had ever been to Texas. I told them that I had been to Austin once and that I would love to visit Dallas and Houston. I told them that the reason I wanted to see more of Texas is to fight the stereotype and to form my own opinion. Then I paused and said<br /><br />"You do know about the stereotype of Texas that exists here in California, right?"<br /><br />"Stereotype? What? No..."<br /><br />I couldn't believe that their friend hadn't told them. I told them that some of the words used to describe Texas are "hick", "cowboy", "conservative", "redneck", etc. Then I felt really bad for revealing these prejudices to their ignorant souls.<br /><br />I don't remember how it came up but I also told them that I'm a writer. I told them that I write taxi stories.<br /><br />Shortly before arriving at the Oakland Airport, one of the guys turned to the other and said<br /><br />"I don't think she's going to write a story about us."<br /><br />And that's when I knew that I was going to.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-41292322967926329762008-04-02T11:39:00.000-07:002008-04-16T11:39:53.631-07:00The old manHis cane was on the backseat before he was. He threw it in and it hit the opposite door with a clunk. A moment ago, he had used the cane to flag me down by holding it straight up into the air. That's what old men like to do, I have noticed. I'm thinking they either find it difficult to raise up an arm, or they don't trust their arm's visibility as much as their cane's.<br /><br />He was excited to be in a <a href="http://www.greencabsf.com">green cab</a>. He thanked me about three times for driving a green cab. <br /><br />At Sutter and Webster, he said <br /><br />"There are some nice pink blossoms to the left, if you can catch them."<br /><br />I looked over and saw some pinkly blossoming trees. "Oh yeah, they are beautiful."<br /><br />"It's always so nice to see them; I'm not sure why. But I like to notice them."<br /><br />"I think that blossoms can make you feel peaceful and content. That could be why."<br /><br />"I think you're probably right."<br /><br />I was glad he had pointed them out to me. I always appreciate people pointing out little bits of beauty.<br /><br />When I dropped him off at the medical center he was going to, he apologized for being slow to get out of the car and said<br /><br />"Don't ever get old, okay?"<br /><br />"Okay, I won't."<br /><br />"If you can help it, try not to."<br /><br />"I'm always trying."<br /><br />"Thank you for giving me such a nice ride."<br /><br />"You are very welcome."Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-56890464509731595502008-03-24T17:38:00.000-07:002008-03-24T18:14:54.235-07:00Irritability breeds irritable peopleI was being irritable today, so people started acting really irritably towards me. I take full responsibility for attracting this kind of energy to my cab today, but I also need to vent about it. <br /><br />I won't even mention the guy who honked at me and flipped me off when he was already half a block past me. I'm sure it was justified, at least in his mind. But there are two people I will mention.<br /><br />The first one was another cab driver. He was in the cab behind me in line at the airport. I guess I was a little slow today. The first time we started moving, I had forgotten that I had turned off my car, so it took me a few seconds to get going, and he, I guess, didn't like that. Then, when we had to pay our parking fee, I took a little bit longer than he did, so he actually ended up in front of me, but then stopped to let me go first. I passed him and waved to say thanks. I really appreciate it when drivers remember who was first and maintain the original order. It's common courtesy and practiced by most drivers. But when I passed him he yelled "Come on!" I would have preferred "You're welcome" to my thank you wave but I can let this one slide. But then. After the line stopped again, he got out of his car, and as he walked by mine he said<br /><br />"You're lucky that you're cute."<br /><br />And then he just kept walking and left me sitting there with my mouth agape. I wasn't quick enough to say anything back to him but what I should have said is FUCK YOU. And what if I wasn't cute? Then what? Would you yell at me some more? Would you beat me up? Would you curse me for being a little slow today?<br /><br />I was really, really angry at this guy. I don't want to mention words like <span style="font-style:italic;">sexist</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">sexual harassment</span>, but I felt that that comment was not only unnecessary but also completely inappropriate.<br /><br />And then there were the two ladies who flagged me down at the California Pacific Medical Center. I think they tricked me out of my tip but I'm not completely sure. I might be wrongfully accusing them due to today's irritability but here is what happened.<br /><br />The first lady said <br /><br />"We need to go to 101 California but I only have ten dollars."<br /><br />"Okay."<br /><br />"If it gets to be more than ten dollars, you can just let us out at ten dollars."<br /><br />"Okay. I don't think it's going to be more than ten dollars."<br /><br />"Well, sometimes it isn't but sometimes it goes up to eleven. I do this ride a lot."<br /><br />"I see."<br /><br />I decided that I would just take the ladies to their final destination and accept the ten dollars even if it was a little more. It ended up being $9.85. So I didn't really get a tip. I saw the two ladies giggling after they got out. Maybe I'm just paranoid but here is what I suspect happened:<br /><br />The lady who did all the talking gets into cabs all the time and says "I only have ten dollars." It seems smart because I suppose it ensures that the driver will hurry up and get her where she is going as fast and as cheaply as possible. <br /><br />I am perfectly happy foregoing my tip if somebody is really short on cash. But I have a feeling the lady played a trick on me (and regularly plays it on other drivers as well), especially since she said she does this ride all the time. I found it a little suspect that neither of the two ladies had more cash OR a credit card. They could have paid with a credit card! <br /><br />Here is why this trick is messed up, if it was indeed a trick:<br />- Wanting the fare to be ten dollars or less, I started speeding.<br />- I got practically no tip. Cab driving is not a very high-paying profession, even including tips. <br />- If there had been traffic, which would have been out of my control, the fare would have been higher, and she would have cheated me out of my tip AND part of the fare.<br /><br />Maybe in taking this ride all the time, she noticed a difference in price and blamed it on the cab driver going too slowly or not taking the most direct route. The "I only have ten dollars" is one way to keep the driver in line. But as a rule, the driver will be in line anyway. Such a measure is not necessary. And it robs the driver of his tip and possibly more. I really hope that the lady was telling the truth and this was a one-time occurrence. If she did this regularly, that would be very irritating.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32363258.post-33362516379389861262008-03-17T17:19:00.000-07:002008-03-17T17:33:35.571-07:00A recommendationCab drivers love to pull up next to another cab and say something. What results is a mini exchange between two people of the same profession; then you move along.<br /><br />Last Thursday I had a little time before picking up my regular customer Luc, and I hadn't eaten yet. I got a salad from <a href="http://www.mixtgreens.com/">Mixt Greens</a> and then ate it in the car near Luc's location. I parked in a yellow zone on Clay between Kearny and Montgomery and put on my hazard lights. Even cabs aren't allowed to park in yellow zones, but if we turn on the hazard lights we might get away with it because the meter maids might think that we are loading, i.e. waiting for an order to come out of a building.<br /><br />I noticed that a Yellow Cab was parked behind me, also in the yellow zone, also with hazard lights on. I also noticed a new Indian restaurant to my right. I decided that I wanted to eat there soon.<br /><br />After a while of sitting there eating, a man came out of the Indian restaurant and got into the Yellow Cab behind me. He pulled out of the parking spot, and when he was next to me--I think both of our windows were already rolled down--he said<br /><br />"If you like Indian food, you should try this place sometime."<br /><br />"I love Indian food! I will definitely try it."<br /><br />"Good. A friend of mine just opened it."<br /><br />So today, Monday, I went there for lunch. I didn't park in the yellow zone this time because it feels too risky when you don't stay in the car. Instead I parked a couple of blocks away, on Washington and Montgomery. When I walked up to the restaurant, I noticed another Yellow Cab in the yellow zone with the hazard lights on and the trunk open. "Looks like they're loading," I thought.<br /><br />Inside the restaurant I ordered Paneer Tikka Masala and sat down. And that's when none other than the cab driver from last Thursday walked by.<br /><br />"You came to try it!"<br /><br />"Yes, I did."<br /><br />"Thank you. Have some tea."<br /><br />I found out that the owner of the restaurant is his best friend.Verahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15783287689839403437noreply@blogger.com1