The Lighter Side of Yellow

1967

The Circus Comes To Town

When I first began driving a taxi, I thought I knew the streets pretty well. I couldn't have been more wrong. The company I drove for is in a city that has its share of gangs, pimps, hookers, drug addicts, thieves, and thugs. If that's not enough, honorable mention must go to the colorful array of hooligans, braggarts, brawlers, and bullies.

A former co-worker of mine was a retired police officer. He once told me there is a saying in law enforcement that goes, There are only two kinds of people out at three in the morning, the cops and the crooks. I never realized what an understatement that was.

In my first two or three years of driving, I worked the city until three or four in the morning. Occasionally, I was lucky enough to stay busy until dusk. I've always been a night owl, so the late hours didn't bother me.

When business was slow, I spent my down time sitting in a gas station parking lot near one of the main intersections. It was a central location, and the main boulevard ran east and west directly in front of me.

I used to tell people it was like sitting in a theater and my windshield was the big movie screen. I watched the spectacle every night and believe me—it was worth the price of admission. I could watch all of it from the comfort of my cab.

Occasionally I got bored, and tried to synchronize the music on the car radio to the action happening right in front of me. If a brawl or an argument broke out, I tuned in to some heavy metal or hard rock. If a homeless person on a bicycle gracefully rode by, I turned on some classical or blues.

Most of the nocturnal activity occurred right across the street. There was a fast food restaurant on the southeast corner with a bus stop right in front of it. Next door to that was a budget motel. It had either the word auto or lodge in the title. I can't remember. There were rarely any cars in the parking lot. Almost every night, the city's finest were there answering some sort of disturbance call, whether it was a domestic dispute or a violent crime.

Almost every night, I was parked in the same spot, waiting for the next call, enjoying the show. The only thing missing was some soda, popcorn, and a man in a red coat with tails, black top hat, and a megaphone.

I could picture him standing in the middle of the intersection, announcing the next act that would come up on stage. With the spotlight beaming down on all the action, he would cry out like a huckster selling his wares.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Come one, come all! Maggie the Meth Freak will astound you! She's so skinny, when she turns sideways she disappears!

Ah, yes. I could see it all now. The lights, the crowds, the animals, the sideshow freaks. I might have to go for more popcorn. Wait a minute! He's announcing another act!

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Come one, come all! Let Sammy the Snout amaze you! This cocaine addict has a nose so big, he can inhale an entire city in one death-defying snort!

Every night I was parked at that location, it didn't take long before I was approached by someone asking me for loose change. Shortly after that, another lowly character would try to sell me some drugs. The scammers and swindlers were too numerous to count.

Uh-oh. I think I hear my favorite crier announcing another act. Hey! Down in front! Take your seat, lady! I'm trying to enjoy the show!

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! I am pleased to introduce you to Louie the Lifter! He won't steal your heart! He won't steal your wife! He won't steal your girlfriend, but he will steal your wallet! Watch him as he uses his deft touch to rid innocent bystanders of their money and valuables! All in the blink of an eye!

Ah, yes. The streets. Where bizarre is common and the oddities are endless. If you ever decide to drive a taxi, make sure you bring plenty of popcorn.

Remember, the show must go on. It always does.

The Power of Peppermint

A large percentage of the calls I did were account calls. They were usually rides given to seniors and/or disabled passengers. One older woman who used the account calls became a regular passenger of mine. In the early part of our relationship, we established an understanding with each other. I don't think either one of us was ever the same after that.

The first time I picked her up, she was at a popular market in one of the neighboring cities. As it turned out, she only used the market address as a pick-up location. She was never at the market. She was at a gaming parlor nearby. It just happened to be in the same center as the market.

The parlor was small. Customers usually sat at the four or five small tables inside, playing mah-jongg. They wagered money in miniscule amounts, but some of them seemed excited. I knew this because I once had to get out of the cab, go into the business, and ask for my passenger.

That's when I noticed all the activity. Some of the gamesters looked very serious, as though their mortgage payments were in jeopardy. Some of them looked overjoyed, as though they had just won the state lottery.

Getting back to my passenger.

She was a polite woman in her seventies and very spirited. Not like your average high school or college cheerleader. No. I would say she was more like…..a banshee, or a poltergeist.

The first ride I gave her was a trip home from the market. For her, it was simply a ride home. For me, it was nine miles of complete misery. The entire time this screaming specter was in the back seat, she wouldn't calm down. Not for a single moment.

She spent most of our time together pointing in the opposite direction of her destination. She constantly hit me on the shoulder and shouted at me in foreign expletives. If you paid close attention to her body language, you would have thought she was angry. Screaming and hitting, hitting and screaming. I wasn't sure which hurt more, my ears or my shoulder.

What's your problem, lady?! I'm trying to get you home, and you want to go in the opposite direction?! I'm getting too old for this!

Our quality time together finally came to an end. She paid me and grudgingly got out of the cab, still muttering in foreign expletives.

Flash forward approximately one week.

I received a ride through my cab's computer. Lo and behold, guess whose ride I was lucky enough to get? You guessed it. The screaming shrew.

Good grief! Do I really have to pick this woman up again?!

The pick-up address was the same market. I knew exactly where to go to find my beloved banshee. On my way over to the market, I came up with an idea. I wasn't sure if it would work. At the very least, it would be a kind gesture—a way to make amends, in case I had offended her on the previous trip.

I pulled up to the front of the business, and honked the horn a few times. My passenger exited the building, and appeared to be distraught.

Oh, great. She's gambled away this month's rent. This can't be good.

I always kept a small bag of peppermints with me in the front seat when I drove. It was just in case my mouth got dry, or I needed to keep my mouth busy. My mind raced with thoughts of kindness and endearing pacification.

The wagering wonder got into my cab. I said hello, and handed her a peppermint.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

I waited for her to start screaming. I waited for her to hit me on the shoulder. I even tensed up my right side, expecting the barrage of bruising to commence.

Tick tock, tick tock. It never happened.

Instead, she accepted the peppermint, smiled, and said thank you in very broken English. I pulled away from the business, and could hear her ripping the plastic wrapper off the candy.

A minute later she was extremely calm. She was smiling, humming and not saying a word. Not a peep! I fought off the urge to burst out laughing. I couldn't believe it. You would think I gave the woman a valium. Or two.

Peace at last, peace at last! Praise the taxi gods, I have peace at last!

For the entire nine-mile trip, she didn't say a word. Every time I looked in the rear-view mirror, I enjoyed what I saw. The banshee was busy enjoying all of the scenery passing by her window. All she had time for was sucking on that peppermint.

She was smacking her lips and grinning from ear to ear. That was the only noise I could hear over the car radio. Sucking and smacking, smacking and sucking.

We finally arrived to her house. She politely handed me the fare, smiled, and said thank you. Once again, in very broken English. That was it. No hitting or poking took place, and no cab drivers were injured during the ride home.

She soon became one of my regular passengers. Each time I picked her up I gave her a peppermint, and she thanked me.

I thanked her, and my ears thanked her. My right shoulder thanked her the most.

The Accidental Waitress

Without getting too sentimental or spiritual, I believe all souls have a certain path they travel while here on Earth. Sometimes, two different souls come from completely different regions. Regardless, they cross paths, which leads me to my next memorable experience.

Most cab drivers have a certain area they like to work. The company I