Eclectic Views

    
I have the license to drive around and beep my horn. Let me tell you
about it.
  

    
I have been driving around San Francisco a lot. Really a lot.

Yesterday was my third day as a San Francisco Taxi driver. It is
exhausting work, even though I am sitting on my butt all day. I think
that need some sort of pillow for my behind. The cab seats have been
sat on for 24 hours a day for a couple of hundred thousand miles. Since
I have all gut and no butt, I am sore back there.

My neck gets sore from constantly scanning for homeless jaywalkers and
Infiniti SUV red-light runners. And hands. I am looking for hands all
day. Somebody please raise a hand! I try to go slow enough so that I
don't have to make a dangerous maneuver, but fast enough not to impede
traffic. 

The daily fees and "tips" are tremendous, so it is hard to break even.

On my first day, I netted $0.
On my second day, I made about $25
Tuesday, I made $50.

If this keeps up, I will be living in a cardboard box very shortly.
However, I am learning how the game is played, I will soon get a
regular schedule and I am learning the City. The furniture show is in
town this week, so I should be able to make some fares. Technically,
the furnature mart is on Market, but you need to approach it from the
proper side so that you passengers can get to you. I try to go up 11th
and turn right on Market. There is no taxi zone to wait in and the Muni
busses honk at you. Yesterday, there was a genuine SF Policeman
hanging out at the door. (I say "genuine" to differentiate from the
ones that are in between SFPD and armed Security guards; those that are
in the employ of the merchants due to some obscure historic law.) 

I got a couple of fares from there yesterday, but the main attendees
haven't shown up yet, so this was just minor loads from exhibitors and
distributors. I probably won't be able to get close to the building on
Friday: there will be too much competetion from the other cabs.

A typical fare is $10. I need about 30 of these, and right now have
been getting fewer. A ride to the airport gets me about $40, so a
couple of these give me cheer. The problem is that all the cab drivers
sit at the airport waiting for such a fare, and the competition is
tough. The wait at the airport for a fare back to SF is usually about
two hours, and I won't play.

I get radio calls, but the dispatcher gives those to who is closest,
and invariably I am just a few blocks too far from the pickup.
The call is often from a place that I was just at, and am at no
longer. It works like that. Maybe I should just sit at Geary and
Masonic. Maybe I should just cruise Chestnut. It's all luck and I am
still learning. I hope to do this cab driver thing for no more than six
months and until the economy improves.

I also hope to get a 'regular' car. Yesterday, I drove a Dodge
Intrepid. Those are complete junk with a significant blind spot.
The day before, I drove a Mercury Marquis. Those cars have quite a bit
of pep! They also have lumbar support. Yaay!

Anyway, my days now start at 0400.
  

    
(settling in)
  

    

Very interesting.   Looking forward to these reports.
  

    
Yes, please post more.
  

    
I have an aunt who just retired this year after being a cabbie in Boston
for some 20 years. It was hard, but she liked it.
  

    
Great topic title, <static>. Of course, I expected no less from one of
our master punsters.

How many days a week are you working? 
  

    
My cab is orange. I drive for Big Dog Citywide, and they are radio
dispatched. 

Citywide is the radio dispatch part, and the smaller cab companies are
forced, by law, to have a radio dispatch. What they do is use
Citywide's service. For example, I am competing for radio calls with
the folks from Metro and Royal. It's a huge city, but with over 100
cabs trying to get each radio call, it is almost not worth it trying to
compete. 

One has to have the mic in their hand, know where the call is (the
dispatcher calls the cross streets) and be within a few blocks to play
the game. It is very easy to cheat: all you have to do is know the
cross streets within a few blocks of the destination and claim that you
are there, even if you are out on Sloat.

Hear a call, if you are within a reasonable distance (say, five
blocks) call back only with your medallion number and cross streets.
("782: Franklin/Geary") The guys with itchy trigger fingers instantly
step all over each other. The dispather notes where they are in
relationship to the fare. Meanwhile, you turn the cab around, step on
the gas and try to get within strinking distance. The cab driver then
asks "Anyone else?" and a few more try their luck. At that point the
dispatcher awards the actual street address and apartment number to
some lucky driver.

Who, as it often turns out, was not even in the neighborhood at all.

The cab drivers (who are, in general, a group of fucking thieves) lie
all the time and sometimes get caught. The dispatchers are all former
drivers and know *exactly* how long it takes to get from one district
to another, and will award the pickups to honest drivers and ignore the
cheats after awhile. 

I can only hear what the dispatcher is saying, I cannot hear Omar or
Ahmed pleading his innocence, but I *can* hear the dispatcher chewing
them out or asking them to explain their logic or wondering outloud
what sort of rocket engine their cab is equipped with.

The dispatchers are avuncular, cruel, extremely quick-witted and
patient. Except when they are not. On Tuesday, I got chewed out by
Sammy the Greek when I was late getting to my call (1700 16th Street).
I was late getting out of the lot I couldn't figure out how to move the
seat up. It wasn't obvious. I had to fiddle around in the dark,
reaching all around under the seat, when the controls turned out to be
on the door. It was about 5:00 am. It was pitch black, I am doing this
in the dark, searching for controls with my Maglite.
I will get to know this car eventually.

I am learning every day. I make plenty of mistakes every day, I plan
to make all of them before I die, and I am tackling a great amount at
once. I am fucking up with alarming results.

Which way can you turn? (only left, and I wanted to turn right)
Does that street suddenly become a one-way? (yes!)
What time does Caltrain stop bringing in people? (about 10:30)
Where are clean restrooms? (Cathedral Hill)
  

    
I am from the East Bay, not San Francisco. This is a big disadvantage.

Sure, I know how to get from the East Bay to various concert venues
and major places, but not to neighborhoods. Since media is, for the
most part, San Francisco-centric, I have *heard* of all these places,
but don't really know where they are. They exist in advertisements or
in conversations. Noe Valley? Sure. Heard of it. Know where it is on
the map, but how do you get from point 'A' to point 'B'? Bernal
Heights? buh? 

Of course, I have been driving around here for thirty years. I have a
significant advantage over my colleagues, who are from places much more
exotic than here and know nothing about the City.

How do these neighborhoods interconnect and what major street connects
them and isn't all stop signs? Which do you use to get from the Hilton
to UCSF? (Go out Market, cut up over the hill)

In the week-long, required-by-the-Taxi-Commission "Flag-A-Cab" class,
we were repeatedly made to write down three different routes to get
from point 'A' to point 'B'. (Ft. Miley to Palou @ 3rd, for example)
Reading maps and knowing the tricks are two different things.
Things that I will have to learn very quickly.

I do have some advantages: In San Francisco, a taxi may legally use
the diamond lanes, with or without a passenger. I have to carry the SF
traffic code with me because often the Black & Whites don't even know
this. So get out of my lane, unless you are a bus (Busses are the Kings
of the road, taxis are the Queens) and no Sir, you cannot double park
your Mazda minivan there.
  

    
Great topic Joey!
  

    
I hate to drive without my seatbelt, and it feels odd not to do so.

When I am driving around by myself, by law, I must wear my seatbelt.
When there are passengers in my cab, I don't have to. By law.
If you have a passenger in the front seat, *they* must wear theirs.

Why the exception? Because a passenger will wrap that shoulder harness
around your neck as they rob and kill you. 
Yep, I'm gonna die out there.

The doors lock when the cab is moving. Sorry, no jumping out of the
cab without paying (which happens frequently).

I decide just who to let into or out of my cab. Stumbling drunk? No.
Young gang member with baggy pants? No. Is that legal? Not at all.

I cannot refuse to convey, unless they are drunk or unruly. Does it
happen? Yes. All the time. Will I pick up a solo 25-year-old male at
6th @ Misson? Not a chance. An older couple? Sure. But I try to avoid
that neighborhood, except as a way to get from the airport to the
Hilton.

There is a camera in my car. It takes *very* good digital photos.
Photos that get convictions. Only the SFPD can download the photos.
They only do it after a crime. Word is, that drivers use the cabs as a
love-suite, and that the crime lab gets photos of hairy butts.
(That's not a rumor, that is what Sgt. Paul told us at 850 Bryant)

I keep my change in my chest pocket. Here: have at it. Have the car
too. It's not mine. I roll up my windows when I roll through dicey
neighborhoods, and the doors are always locked. The rest of my money is
in my sock. I won't drive nights anyway.

It is not street hoodlums, robbers or gang members that worry me
though, it is the homeless. Not the begging homeless, the crazy ones.
They cross the street anywhere, at any time, as though they are
begging to be hit. I am never the leader of the pack, I always let the
little red Honda Civic take the lead. "Go ahead Pal, you be the first
one across that intersection" 
  

    
This is gonna be better than the cabbie column in the Chron.
  

    
It's the truth Joey and you are wise.
A couple years back, I was driving to the top of my street at sundown,
heading directly into the blinding sun. I am driving slowly as our
neighborhood oozes housecats from all directions. Several of those cats
are mine. As I come to the stop sign before heading into my right
turn, a scruffy woman on a crusty bicycle riding on the wrong side of
the road glides gently into my car. The impact is nearly insignificant.
For several seconds it looks like she isn't even going to lose control
of her bicycle, much less fall off. But then, she looks directly at me
and a strange dawning expression crosses her face. She lays her bike
down in front of my car and casually falls down on the payment. I'm
amazed she fell. But I could tell that no damage was done. Her pale
lavender leotards showed nary a run, snag, or other sign of impact.
Nonetheless, she cried loudly "You hit me, you hit me, oh no!" I
responded patiently and with concern. "What can I do to help you?
Should we call the police?" Her response was quick and efficient,
twenty dollars would be just fine, no need to call the police.
  

    
Apparently they do that in Tijuana.  With cars.
  

    

great topic. three of my good friends in Portland drive Radio cabs. one of
my dearest friends & musical co-conspirators, actually, was profiled by the
Mercury -- you might find it amusing:

http://www.portlandmercury.com/2003-05-01/ex.html
  

    
I used to call Veteran's Cab, because they are or used to be ten
blocks away. Now I will call <static>.
  

    
Me too.  Great topic, Joe!
  

    
I am not working today. 

I don't have a regular schedule yet, but my underworld contacts
impressed upon the owner to bump me up to #1 of replacements. 
(When I used to engage in mischief, I always paid my bill. The favor
is being returned now.)

It is likely that a driver will fail to show up or will cancel or
something, so I was hoping to be on today's day shift. I was told to
call them last night "before I go to bed". If you have to get up at
0400, that means that watching David Letterman is out of the question.
I now go to bed at 8:30 pm. 

When I called at 8:30 pm, the dispatcher knew who I was ("Oh Joe,
you're the new driver") and was polite, but there were no slots
available. She suggested that I call this morning. At precisely 0400,
my three alarm watches and a clock radio woke me up. I called the
dispatcher on duty (Manny the Greek) who was friendly enough, but he
said that there were no shifts. He suggested that I try back at about
0830. Wide awake, I pretended to go back to bed but the brain started
working so I just layed there and listened to my snoring dog.

Taxis are like Policeman: there is never one around when you need one.
During the dot-com boom, more taxi medallions were issued. When the
dot-com boom was over, there were suddenly too many taxis. Plus, there
is competition from the limousines and the airport shuttles. Now, there
is BART from SFO. There are a lot of desperate drivers right now who
will do alomost anything to make a buck.

What with the depressed economy, it being the gloomy, non-tourist time
of year, just after the holidays, business is slow. Very slow.
The gate fee (what I have to pay, whether or not I pick up any fares)
is still high. $98 for a day shift, $110 for a night shift. In my
opinion, they should have lowered the gate fee after Christmas or until
the economy improves.

When I was taking Flag-A-Cab class, we were recruited by various cab
companies all of whom were hoping for fresh meat. You see, they make
their money even if there are no loads. The driver is an independent
contractor. The taxi company is just a glorified car-rental agency.

The companies have various enticements: Metro promised "no grease",
referring to the $10 "tips" (bribes) that drivers have to pay the
dispatchers. 

National sent over a tall transgendered creature who promised lower
gate fees ($79) and personal attention ("the owner comes out and talks
to you. We really care") and the first five Sundays for free *if* you
work fulltime (50 hours a week). 

Yellow Cab does not have a radio in the car, so you don't get the
dispatcher's banter. There is no competing for calls, they have a video
screen inside the car and they get the most business. The drivers are
treated like numbers and many won't even work for Yellow.
But who does a tourist call? the only cab company that they know:
Yellow.

Fun fact: Yellow drives only Crown Vics or Mercury Marquis'. They have
*only* two keys; one for the newer models, one for the older ones. As
long as you have that key, you can drive any Yellow cab.
When the dispatcher hand you the medallion, he tell you the car number
and you already *have* the key.

Medallions look like miniture license plates, you display it on the
dash and the cops should leave you alone. The medallion number matches
the number on the cab, unless it's a spare. Every cab company has a
specified percentage of spare cabs, since cabs are out of service so
much. For example, brake pads must be changed EVERY WEEK. Not
surprising, considering the way the drivers treat the cars and how
steep the hills are.
  

    
Does Citywide still have a really fat guy named Kenny dispatching?  I
took so many cabs in SF in the mid-90s that I got to know his voice
really well.  I've never seen the guy, but I know he was fat from the
jokes all the drivers made about him.
  

    
I don't know him, but then again, I am new at this. 

New = still honest, still cheerful, still hopeful.
  

    
Joe, this topic is just great. Thanks.
  

    
I found out that Kenny is now dispatching for Desoto.

As it turned out, I *did* work today. I called in at 0900 and got a
'half-shift'. I showered and went in at 11:00 am. My jalopy du jour was
an orange Mercury Marquis with only a couple hundred thousand miles on
it. This car sported medallion #872. 

I hung a right onto Army and took 280 into town. I made a beeline for
the Furniture Mart and sat in line. My first fare was from a
well-dressed Asian man. He got in, expressionless, and told me to take
him to Old Navy. It was just before noon. 

"Doing some shopping during your lunch hour?" I asked.

"No," he said, "I just have a meeting down there." I drove down Market
and took a right on Fifth, and dropped him near the corner. The fare
came to $6.00. He gave me exact change and asked for a receipt. I
wished him well (even though he didn't tip) and then drove west on
Mission, trying to get back to the Mart. Heaps of double-parked trucks
and merging Hyundais, but I made it back to the line and sat.

My next fare had luggage. That is very odd, since the show is not a
hotel and the show had just started. I popped the trunk and got out to
make sure that the garment bag got in safely. "To the airport" was the
only thing that I was told, by the suit.

I went down Market to Sixth, and started working my charm (or at least
attempted) to soften up this visibly stressed businessman.

I sized him up as some sort of big shot, and told him that he must
have come from a meeting, [for when I worked my previous industry's
show] the big money meeting happened on the first day and during those
shows I would always make an effort not to disturb those meetings.

He loosened up a bit and confirmed my suspicions. 

"Yes, we had a meeting. It was about proposed tariffs on
Chinese-sourced furniture. That's where we get our production from"

"Who is your largest customer?" I asked.

"Walmart and Sam's Club. I live in Bentonville, Arkansas"

He was adamantly against the whole tariff idea, and told me that it
was a scheme by the owner of (domestic producer)Bassett Furniture to
corner the market.

I meekly suggested that he simply produce in one of the adjacent
countries that would not be affected by the Chinese tariff, such as
Vietnam.

"Won't work in Vietnam" he said. "The government imprisions Christians
for simply practicing their faith" He said this in a way that told me
everything that I needed to know: I was talking to a devout Christian.
Time for me to shut up.

He continued: "Anyway, Walmart won't sell products sourced in Vietnam.
Too many of their customers are Vietnam veterans, and that wouldn't
fly"

I changed the subject to his preferred airlines; we discussed the
finer points of Singapore Airlines, Emirates and Turkish Airlines.
We finally made it to Terminal 3, United and American. I unloaded his
luggage and placed it on the curb. The fare only came to $33, but he
gave me two twentys. I gave him a receipt and wished him a nice flight.

Since I was already at the airport, I drove down into the bowels of
the terminal to hang with all the other cabs.
  

    
Since I was already at the airport, I found my way down into the lots
where the taxi drivers wait. 

They wait in an immense, underground garage. No sunlight or
dispatcher's banter penetrate this space. Hundreds of cabs wait in
orderly lines for a chance to get a fare back to the City. The wait is
usually two hours. Or more.

All for a chance at $35-40.

The drivers get out of their cars and meld into ethnic groups: the
Russians over here, the Arabs over there, etc. I was hanging near the
Cantonese speaking folk. I don't know anybody, and these drivers know
each other since they spend hours a day stuck together in the airport
taxi gulag.

They smoke. They gossip. They play cards. They gamble. They eat. They
read the paper in their original language.

I chatted with an Asian driver for awhile who told me that his name
was "Myron". I had never met an Asian Myron before, though he was
friendly enough and was happy to give advice as he chain smoked his
Marlboro lights. Myron drives for National and he was in a yellow and
green checkered Crown Vic. 

Myron reassured me about the learning curve that I am going through.
He told me that it will get better, especially during the summer when
the people are out and about. He also repeated the now-familiar
complaint about the Towncars.

The Towncars are the not-quite-limousines that are stealing business
from the taxi cabs. Here is how the deal is supposed to work: You book
your Towncar at least three hours in advance, it comes to your hotel
specifically to pick you up and take you to the airport. The fare is
around $60. Here is how it really works: the hotel doorman calls the
Towncar on his cellphone as if it's a taxi. The doorman gets $20 for
doing so. It is illegal. The taxi loses out on his fare.
 
There is no enforcement because everyone hates the taxi drivers.
There is demand for Towncars because everyone hates the taxi drivers.
(especially the doormen, who don't get $20 from the taxi drivers!)

After talking to Myron for awhile, I get back in my car and attempt to
listen to 'Fresh Air', but the reception is very poor underneath all
of that concrete and steel. After about an hour, our line moves up into
the secondary position. Only about one more hour to wait.

While waiting, I am not making money. The cab costs me money to lease
even while I am talking to Myron. I say "screw it" and get out of
there. I head back north on 101 and switch over to 280. The Mercury's
powerful V8 has trouble keeping under 80 mph. I slow down to 70.

Back at the Furniture Mart, I get a fare consisting of two women in
their 70's and a man of about 50. They are furniture buyers from Texas,
and are going to the Ritz Carlton at Union Square.

"Had any great meals while you have been here?" I ask. (This is always
my opportunity to suggest fresh, cracked Dungeness crab)

The man replies "We ate at Morton's last night. We heard good things
about, what's it called? POSST-Tree or something like that"

I suggest that they would be happy at Tadich's. At the Ritz, I help
both of the women out of the car. They are very happy.
  

    
All foreign language groups? Any bilinguals to tell you the news from
their country or their news perspective on the States?
  

    

I'm LOVING this topic.
  

    

This is the best topic on the Well.