May 12, 2008 – The $100 tip

            Got a call from Catherine earlier today...

            Me: Hello

            Catherine: Hi

            Long pause…

            Catherine: It’s Catherine

            Me: I know.

            Another long pause… 

I’m not sure why every call from Catherine needs to start out this way.  It’s as if she is just waiting for me to volunteer something or another.   It’s a little strange, especially after the first few calls.  I don’t take the bait.

            Catherine: Were you working at 3:30 a.m. last night?

            Me: Yes

            Catherine: Do you remember that?

            Me: I remember working at that time.

            Cathereine: Did you pick up someone at 321 Main Street and go to 123 Second Street?

            Me: Yeah

            Catherine: They said that they accidentally gave you $100

            Me: No they didn’t, I think I’d remember that.

            Catherine: Are you sure, they’re adamant that they gave you $100.

            Me: I think I’d remember that.

            Catherine: Could you check your trip sheet to see how much they paid you?

            I don’t see the point of that.  I’ve already made it clear that I hadn’t received a $100 bill, and further explained that if I did that it was something that I would have remembered.

            Me: Truthfully I’m pretty lax about keeping those.

            Catherine: There’s a problem right there.  It is imperative that we keep trip sheets.

            Me:  Ok, I’ll do that from now on.

            Imperative? 

Perhaps I should have responded with something along these lines –

“Affirmative.  The requisite level of comprehension has been established.  How shall I proceed?”

May 11, 2008 – Party Cab

             Today a cab patron of mine told me that there is a driver downtown who calls his taxi “Party Cab.”  I guess that there’s a spinning disco ball dangling from the ceiling and loud music.  Oh, and drinking too, and not just by the passengers.  The driver drinks too.  He’s in there slamming beers with the passengers.  What the fuck?  I can only imagine how many laws are being broken by that guy…

            The passengers think that this is cool too, at least the ones that I talked to.  I guess the guy that drives “Party Cab” is some hippy that’s been driving a cab for years downtown.  From what they described he sounds like a real space cadet.  The creepy old guy that goes to the high school parties.  To each their own, but I think the first thing that I would look for in a taxi driver was that they were sober?  Otherwise what’s the point of me taking a taxi?  I could save a lot of time and money by driving around drunk myself.  

May 10, 2008 – Jorge’s Junk Mail

             I heard another funny story about Lenny today.   Turns out that Lenny receives mail for Jorge.  Jorge lives in Tijuana (big surprise), when he isn’t living in the taxi that is.  I’m guessing to work for the taxi company he has to have a United States address listed as his place of residence.  You might think that speaking English and showering were requirements as well.  Not so.

            Lenny collects Jorge’s mail for him – and sells it to him, for a dollar per item.   What a nice guy that Lenny is.  Real sweetheart.  Even the junk mail, although I doubt that Jorge get’s too many credit card offers.  I bet the supermarket circulars don’t waste their time with him.  He must not know about P.O. boxes.  Jorge doesn’t strike me as someone who get’s many important letters.  I doubt many people probably know he’s even alive.   I didn’t know myself till I saw him moving in the taxi. 

What can you get for a dollar nowadays anyways?  I'm fully aware of the rudimentary nature of my drawings and I don't care, I think they're cute.  Catherine, probably not so much...

May 9, 2008 – CHiPs

           And the award for worst penmanship goes to…

            Well, it goes to this son of a bitch.  I wish I could read his name.  I’d like to write him a nice letter.  Actually he was very nice, I’m just bitter about yet another ticket. 

            I gave him a good laugh.  I was singing in my car as I was speeding down the freeway, a deserted freeway I might add, in the middle of the desert.  Just outside of El Centro, the shitty little hick town that it is.

            Officer: Do you know why I stopped you?

            Me: Yeah

            Officer: Do you know how fast you were going?

            Me: More or less.

            Officer: Ok

            Me: So what are my options with this?

            Officer: Well you can pay your ticket, or you can call the number on the back            

of the ticket here and they will arrang---

Me: Sorry, I was hoping to get traffic school.  I was wondering what my options were for that.

Officer: You won’t be eligible for traffic school at the speed I clocked you, but I didn’t sign the ticket yet.  I could put that you were going 10 mph slower.  That would make you eligible…

Me: That would be much appreciated.

Officer: You saw me back there didn’t you?

Me: No, I didn’t see until you pulled me over.

Officer: Yeah, I thought you saw me when I clocked you.  It looked like you shouted “Fuck..”

Me: No, I was actually singing.

Officer: Yeah, I was behind you for a full mile or so.

By the way, “appreciated” is an underused word nowadays.  Give it a try, and say it with sincerity.  People love to be appreciated.  Perhaps I realize this now more so since I work in such an underappreciated profession.  Taxi drivers keep people from killing other people on the road, from getting DUI’s, providing, at times, the only way for people to get from one point to another. 

Catherine has this policy where drivers have to tell her about any encounter that they have with law enforcement regarding moving violations, any violation involving a vehicle for that matter, regardless if the driver is engaged in company business or not.  Why would I do that?  What benefit would that serve?  I’ve talked to drivers who say that Catherine just tries to use this as leverage when they get into trouble - for whatever.  She told me that it is so that she knows all of the facts and that she can be more effective in defending us when the City of Cortez wants to revoke our taxi permit.

That’s absolute nonsense.  Catherine has no pull with the courts.  She can’t even corral a few rouge employees.  All that the city cares about is that you don’t have too many points on your license.  I don’t know the specifics, but I think it may even have to be suspended by the California Department of Motor Vehicles before you aren’t able to drive a taxi.  Bottom line is that I got this in my personal car and I’m not going to tell her.  I’m sure that I’m not the only one.  

April 18, 2008 – Lenny

             So let me tell you about Lenny…  Lenny’s been with the company for some time now, as is reflected by his attitude.  There seems to be a correlation between the amount time a driver has been with the company and their morale.  A positive correlation I might add.  And lets not get a positive correlation confused with a positive attitude.  At any rate, suffice it to say that Lenny isn’t too happy with things here at Cortez Cab.

            Lenny isn’t exactly an ideal employee, in Catherine’s eyes at least.  I have to admit that it’s becoming less and less clear exactly what that is nowadays…  Lenny gives me a good laugh though.  I like him and he’s a nice guy.  Not to be confused with an honest guy though.

            I picked up a lady from 123 Tangerine Avenue the other day, who we'll call Mrs. Smith.  Nice lady.  Our conversation quickly centered on a particular driver.

            Me: Hi

            Mrs. Smith: Hello, how are you.

            Me: I’m well.  Where are you off to?

            Mrs. Smith: I’m going to the airport.  Southwest please.

            Me: Sure

Mrs. Smith: You seem like a nice driver.  Who’s the ***** guy who drives the van?

Me: That’s Lenny.  Why do you ask?

Mrs. Smith: He tried to steal $100 from my son last time he went to the airport.

Me:  That doesn’t surprise me in the least.  Unfortunately Lenny is known for that sort of thing.

Mrs. Smith: He took my son to the airport and was given $100.  (The fare was probably about $24 at this point.  My son gave asked for $70 back.  He said that he got out of the taxi and started to walk to Lenny’s window after getting his bags out and Lenny just drove off.  My son called me what happened and I called the company and told them to send the taxi that picked up my son back to my house so that I could have a word with him.  When the driver got here I told him that I would take the entire hundred dollars back.  He didn’t say anything.  He just gave me the money and walked back to his car.

Me: Yeah, our boss is well aware of the behavior of some of our employees.  I apologize for that.  I can’t believe that he though that your son wouldn’t notice.

Mrs. Smith: He stole that money.

Me: I’m sorry about that.  Here’s my card, so if you want you can call me directly.

Mrs. Smith:  Thank you.  I will do that.

          Another dissatisfied customer.  Lenny’s lucky that she didn’t call Catherine, or the police for that matter.  In addition to most likely violating some company policy (Although I suppose you could plead ignorance on this one since there are no defined company policies) and being dishonest, Lenny committed theft. 

          Why is there no formal written company policy anyways?  I’ve never heard of such a thing.  It’s like Catherine just makes up rules on the fly.  Also, then an employee can’t say that something isn’t violating company policy – because there isn’t one!  It’s purely discretionary.  If something is completely discretionary I would think that it might make sense to have a someone who isn’t off balance making judgment calls.

          One time one of our drivers was pulling into one hotels when a man on bicycle was flying down the street not paying attention and crashed right into the side of the taxi.  The bicycler hit it so hard that the front fork on his bike broke.  The police came, it was quite a scene.  The bicycler was adamant that it was not the taxi drivers fault.  Oh did I mention that the guy on the bicycle was drunk?

          None of this dissuaded Catherine however.  How did she react?  She reacted by castigating the driver for not being more careful and tried to instate a new policy so that drivers couldn’t cross the street to go into the hotel drive anymore.  They would have to leave the taxi stand, drive up the street to the stop light, wait there until they got their green arrow (which can take 3 minutes sometimes), make a U-turn, and turn into the hotel.  How fucking silly is that?  And how does that insure that an accident would be avoided anyways?  I would have to think that a U-turn is a more dangerous maneuver than a left turn.  I think most rational people would agree.  All the drivers got a good laugh about this one.  I don’t think one single driver complied.

(I couldn't find a map that was big enough and not color coded.  The coding is due to the fact that it's a zoning map.  Just ignore that.)

Also, the hotel has a reputation for being impatient, and if we aren’t able to get there immediately then they are likely to just put the fare in an out of town cab.  This is illegal because we are the only company that currently is allowed to pick up within the city limits of Cortez.  Not because we have a “monopoly” as our mushy headed owner believes.

This is not to say that all of our drivers play by the rules either, although I believe that the misconduct on our sided is due in large part to situation such as the one at the hotel.

When Lenny drops someone off at the airport he looks to see if anyone else needs a ride.  This is strictly forbidden.  Not only by Catherine, but by the City of San Diego as well.  Taxi drivers need a special permit to pick up at the airport, and probably an additional one to pick up in San Diego (Since the airport is within the city limits).  If Lenny doesn’t find anyone at first glance he’ll simply circle the terminal until he finds a fare.

April 16, 2008 – The Crazy Lady Going To I.B.

            Picked up this real nut earlier.  She didn’t look like your typical weather beaten crazy on the street.   She actually seemed pretty normal at first.  Well dressed, articulate, polite, didn’t smell.  It’s always nice when your cab fares don’t smell, and for the most part they don’t.  Except if they’re in the Navy.  Then they usually do.

            So this lady was pleasant, and going to Imperial Beach.  Probably a $30 ride or so.  Anything over like $12 I consider to be a good ride.  The lady, who we’ll call “Beatrice”, was quite talkative.  Lots of questions, which I don’t mind, unless they are about “Taxicab Confessions” or “Cash Cab.”  I hate those questions.

            Beatrice was going off on and on about all of these backdoor political scandals, that apparently only she was privileged to know about.  The stories all seemed pretty feasible, and I didn’t really have any way of knowing because she was talking about CEO’s of major, but lesser known companies, and how they were all engaged in malfeasance in some form or another.  This was all premised by the “fact” that she was a lawyer, or an attorney as I believe they like to be called.  I thought that I heard that “lawyer” has a negative connotation attached to it. 

            Regardless. So as Beatrice keeps blabbering away I began to wonder.  First off, I don’t think lawyers are allowed to tell me about on going criminal cases.  I would just smile and nod.  That’s really the best way to deal with people like this.  Then she dropped the bomb on me.  She had “people” that were on to her.  After all, she was on to them.  She knew about their surreptitious dealings.  She told me that she could be killed for talking about this, yet she just kept blabbing away.  And what was the bombshell might you ask…?  Well it was that she had $20,000,000,000 in secrets stemming from political pawns to the upper echelons of Congress, and even the White House, sitting I a safety deposit box somewhere in San Diego.  That’s not a typo – 20 Billion.

            Really?  So why are you renting, in Imperial Beach of all places, in some run-down apartment building.  I mean if I had 20 billion dollars I sure as hell wouldn’t be living in Imperial Beach, in the hood.  It must be too dangerous right now to sell those secrets.  Perhaps the Russians are watching her.  It’s no problem to spill your guts to a total stranger though, a cabbie I might add…

            But there’s more...  As she got out Beatrice noticed a car in the dark alley.  Could it have been a government agent?  An assassin?  Someone getting off the night shift at work?  She ran out and jotted down the license plate and told me that I absolutely was forbidden to repeat anything that we talked about.  Until now.  I must break my silence.  The world needs to know…

April 14, 2008 – The Rim Turns?

           Heard a good one from a fellow driver the other day.  Bobby had brought the car into the shop yesterday to pay his lease, as many of the drivers do, when he bumped into Catherine.  Some small talk ensued.  I don’t like small talk – what’s the point?  It’s a little scripted for me, although admittedly, I can be a little brash – especially with that toilet mouth of mine.  I appreciate when people are direct, when they tell me what’s on their mind.  To a point that is.  Once years back when I worked at a gas station I ran into such a situation.

             Me: Hello

            Customer: Hi

Customer: Give me a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes. (Please would have been nice)

              These are simply DREADFUL by the way.  Especially the ones in the orange pack.  I don’t ever want to be so poor that I have to smoke Pall Mall cigarettes.

            Me: Sure thing.  How’s the day going?

Customer: Shitty.  Just found out my wife’s pregnant.  She’s banging some other guy.  Kid’s not even mine.

Me: Oh.  Sorry to hear that… That’ll be $4.17.

              Not a very smooth transition, I was caught a little off guard though…  I don’t know what surprised me more that he would volunteer such intimate details of his life to a gas station attendant of all people, or that he was married.  It was strange nonetheless.  He was awkwardly staring at me as if waiting for a rebuttal of sorts.  I admit, I was a little confused.  And so I digress…

            So back to the case at hand, with Bobby and Catherine.  There was a problem, a big one – in Catherine’s eyes at least.  A scuff on the rim.  Bobby explained how the car had grazed a curb as it was pulling off of the road.

            Catherine: But Bobby, I don’t understand.

            Bobby: Why?

Catherine: I don’t understand why there isn’t damage to the fender (that surrounds the wheelwell.)

Bobby: Because I bumped into a curb.  It was only like 6 inches tall so it didn’t make contact with the body of the car.  Just the rim.

Catherine: Bobby.  The scuff is all the way up here though.  How can there be a scuff this high up on the rim without any damage to the body of the car?

Bobby just stood there stunned.

Bobby: The rim turns Catherine.  It was at a different position when I bumped the curb.  When I drove the car here it just happened to stop at a different point.  (In this case the wheel had rotated 180 degrees.)

Catherine: No, that doesn’t make sense. There would be damage higher up as well.

              I mean this is pretty basic shit.  You don’t have to be a mechanic to know this, although the mechanics that she hires probably don’t.  I use the term “hire” loosely as well – not really sure what sort of arrangement she has going. 

Hasn’t Catherine ever watched the Price is Right.  You know the part, when they spin that big fucking wheel to see who is going to get into the “Showcase Showdown.”   Guess what, it spins on a big axle as well. 
 

            Catherine probably thinks when one of Bob’s (not to be confused with Bobby) contestants spins that big wheel that it stops on a dollar every time.  Maybe she thinks the wheel is stationary and it's the room that's spinning.  I wonder if she thinks that the Earth is flat…  I mean she believes in Jesus.  Don’t get me wrong, everyone has the right to believe in whatever they please – no matter how silly those beliefs may be.

What's with this?  And where did all the cougars go?  You should be ashamed of yourself CBS.  By the way your station sucks.  All you do is Create Bullshit Sitcoms.  I'd rather smash my finger with a hammer than watch "Everybody Loves Raymond" or "The King of Queens."  Shameful.

Looks like Bob's still holding it down though.  Never looked better Bob.

            I go in and pay my lease at night just so I don’t have to deal with shit like this.  It makes me dizzy talking to those people.  I just drop my money in the little black safe – which is a joke in itself, I’ve seen sturdier mailboxes.

April 12, 2008 – A Call From The Office

Ring, Ring...

            Me: Hello

            Catherine: Hi *****

            Me: Hi

            Catherine: It’s Catherine

            Me: I know. (No Shit)

            Catherine:…. 

            Me: Yes…

            Catherine: *****, do you know what this is about?

            Me: I’m not sure.

            Catherine: ***** were you driving yesterday at 4:50 p.m.?

            Me: Yep

            Catherine: Do you know what I’m referring to?

            Me: No, I’m not sure.

            Catherine: At 4:50 p.m. were you driving on 6^th street?

            Me: It’s quite possible.

Catherine: Do you remember an incident with another driver near the library.

            Me: I do.

            Catherine: Do you remember what happened?

Me: Yeah, I remember coming across this guy that threw a fit for no reason.  Was it that guy?

Catherine: The man who called just wanted to say that he was disappointed.

Me: He was disappointed?

Catherine: Yes *****, he was disappointed.

Me: Well, I’m not really sure how to help him.  I didn’t do anything wrong?

Catherine: He said that you went around him when there wasn’t any room.

Me: There was room because I passed him. If there wasn’t any room I wouldn’t have been able to do so.

Catherine: Do you see what this is about *****?

Me: It’s about some guy that got frustrated for no reason.  I don’t know what to tell you.

Catherine: Do you see what the problem is?

Me: No I don’t.

Catherine: *****, in Cortez we are held to a higher standard.  We have a monopoly here in Cortez.  We could lose this at any time.  We have to be careful.

By the way, there are no monopolies here in the United States.  We have anti-trust laws against that sort of thing.  And what’s with all of the repetition?  Just because I drive a cab doesn’t mean I’m slow.

April 6, 2008 – The Rules Of The Road

          Driving around lately I’ve noticed that not everyone out there seems to be too familiar with the rules of the road.  Not necessarily laws, but courtesy and common decency as well.

1. This is a huge pet peeve of mine.  When you are driving parallel to me and to the rear and you see me put on my turn signal.  Don’t speed up and try to block me from moving over.  This is rude, and dangerous.  Don’t try to be sly and stare straight ahead as you do this to avoid eye contact.  We both know that you’re an asshole.  I see what you are planning on doing and I’ll just move over anyways.  I’ve dealt with your kind before.  All you’ll be able to do is slam on your brake’s and curse in your car.  Have a little dignity.

2. If we are stopped in traffic and you see me with my signal on, let me in.  It’s polite and won’t prolong your trip.  If you don’t let me in I’ll just point the nose of my car in and go anyways.  All you can do is sit there steaming mad in your shitty little Honda. Yeah, the one with the coffee can muffler.  You’ll look ridiculous. 

3. Don’t tailgate me.  If you feel I am going too slow you can either pass me or change lanes.  If you persist I’ll may slam on my brakes and give you one hell of a scare.  If you rear-end me it’s your fault and you’ll be getting the ticket.

4. You know those entrance ramps that lead on to the freeway, you know why they’re so long?  It’s so you have time to get up to freeway speed.  Don’t try to enter the freeway going 35 mph.  That’s dangerous.  Also, it’s YOUR duty to merge onto the freeway, it’s not my responsibility to accommodate you.  It’s not safe for me to have to suddenly slow to 35 mph.

5. Use your turn signal.  Often times I see people looking over to the lanes to the right or left and trying move over.  Then they’re angry that no one will let them in.  At any rate, you have no right to get mad at someone who won’t let you in if you don’t use your turn signal.  If your turn signal doesn’t work you can use a hand signal.

6. Don’t block the intersection during rush hour.  You’ll be pretty embarrassed when someone needs to cross and you may get blasted with a horn or two, and rightfully so I might add. 

7.  When I use my turn signal, slow to a stop in the right lane and put my reverse lights guess what I am doing.  See that open parking meter 20 feet behind me to the right?  Could I be parking there…?  WHAT THE FUCK ELSE WOULD I BE DOING!  Why don’t people don’t understand this.   Don’t pull directly behind me so I can’t back up.  You’ll get flustered.  You’ll look ridiculous.  And I won’t be moving unless it means that I will be backing into that parking spot.

"See It, Touch It, Trust It." ?

April 3, 2008 - Catheter Cab

           Today a new nickname was coined for one of our fellow drivers.  His taxi in particular.  “Catheter Cab”. Not too long ago one of our other drivers, Bogna, who’s a piece of work herself, found a little surprise under Jorge’s seat.  What was it might you ask.  Oh, well it was a milk carton full of pee.  Jorge though he was being sly when he told her that it was “lemonade.”  Lemonade?  Really?  Bet it didn’t smell like lemonade…

            Jorge pretty much never leaves his car for anything.  Not even to go to the bathroom.  I hope that he doesn’t poop in there, although I wouldn’t be surprised.  I’d imagine that at some point in his 19 hour shift he would need to go number 2.    What would he tell Bogna that the poop was?  Cupcakes? Brownies?  Whatever Jorge said would probably be illegible anyways.   You ever find a frequency between two radio stations that pulls in a little from each channel.  They overlap, like Jorge’s Spanish and English, although here it sounds like the Spanish station is in much closer proximity.  I’m always amazed when people move here and reside in the states for years and never seem to acquire an English proficiency greater than that of a 7 year old.  My coffee table probably has better English, and people skills, than Jorge.  The microwave too.

            Another time one of the drivers happened to find chicken bones under the seat.  Why would you discard the bones under the seat?  Me, I’d probably throw them out the window.  At least if I was Cortez.  They probably have had to hire an extra employee to pick up all of my trash.  I could be creating jobs for people.  Maybe they would put a detective on the case, although given what I’ve seen so far I’d have no reason to be worried.  They seem pretty harmless.  Don’t get me wrong, I think police do a great service to the community, however I think that their attention could be focused elsewhere sometimes.  Here in candy ass Cortez at least.  Underage smoking, jaywalking, and walking home drunk don’t strike me as huge problems.

            “Catheter Cab” seems fitting but I’ve come up with a few nicknames of my own.  How about “Commode Cab”? “Toilet Taxi?”  Maybe “Cadaver Cab.”  Son of a bitch looks half dead most of the time anyways.   Maybe it has something to do with his 90 hour workweeks.  I can only imagine how many transportation regulations he is violating.  He used to have rows of books piled up on the dash.  So tall that you would have trouble seeing over them. One of the drivers said that Catherine became aware of this and told Jorge that he isn’t able to live in the car anymore – one of the few sane things that I have ever heard of her doing by the way.  Jorge would just work as many hours as he was physically able to do without passing out and then go to sleep in the back.  Whenever he woke up he would go back to work.   

April 1, 2008 – Our Shitty Old Cars

             My car is in the shop today.  No surprise there.  In the meantime I have a loaner to drive.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that I have something do drive but I’m amazed that some of these things are still on the road.   This one’s a baby, relatively speaking that is…  Only 128,480 miles, although I wouldn’t be surprised if the odometer had already rolled over.  Hell, I can’t really complain, they don’t have me driving that shitty old station wagon anymore.  You know, the Griswaldmobile.

            As bad as these cars are it’s fun to talk to the other drivers about what they had to drive in the past.  Makes these things look like Caddilacs.  Doors falling off, wheels falling off, you name it.  Maybe I don’t have it so bad.  Driver safety doesn’t really seem to be an issue however.  Just look at the tires, the steel is poking through.  Our boss thinks that used tires are a good investment.  She buys tires that only have like 10,000 miles left on them, so typically they are good for like two months tops.  Of course she has to pay a shop to put them on and balance them each time.  She doesn’t pay much though, and it shows.  Usually when I pick up my car from the shop it is littered with wood screws, duct tape, and mismatched spray paint.  I'm surprised it isn't on fire.

Pretty sure when you get a new set of tires you get an alignment.  Although the tires really aren’t new so maybe Catherine thinks that alignments aren’t needed.  I bet if Jesus told her that the cars needed an alignment she would have a change of heart.  I’m surprised she doesn’t try to bless our cars.  Well, not that I know of.  Not much surprises me here anymore…

            I like the cigarette burns in my seat and the rusty gear shift.  Nice touch.  I really wish that she wasn’t such a pain in the ass about washing the car.  Will people not notice that it is a piece of shit if it just went through a car wash?  I should roll the windows down when I bring it through the wash.  I’ll notice something – my wallet being lighter.  Not that it’s too heavy after working here.  Guess it’s been 8 months or so now.  The other day Catherine told me that the car needed to be detailed.  Fuck that.  I could think of a hundred better things to spend $50 dollars on.  None of them involve Jesus. 

March 29, 2008 – Tourists

            I’m often amazed by some of the questions tourists ask…  There are a number of rumors in Cortez but here are two of my favorites.

            Cortez has a bridge that connects it back to San Diego, which is an alternate route from the point where Cortez connects on the south end by way of a state highway.  Anyways, somewhere or another someone decided to start a rumor that if the bridge ever fell into the bay that it would float.  Really?  This two mile long fifty foot wide mass of concrete and steel weighing hundreds of thousands, if not millions of tons, would just float in the water???

            Ok, lets just roll with this for arguments sake.  Suppose that the bridge fell into the bay and was floating there like some bathtub toy, blocking access out of the bay, and one of Navy vessels needed to make their way out to the ocean for whatever reason.  They would be shit out of luck right.   Nope, that’s where Cortez’s exploding highway comes into play.  Some people believe that there is enough dynamite laid under the state highway, which happens to be like a quarter mile wide, to blow a gaping hole in it to let ships pass through to the ocean.  Not to mention that this opening would have to be hundreds of feet wide and dozens of feet deep to give a proper berth for such huge ships…

            Well, those are my two favorites, but I heard another absurd one from a tourist today.  Apparently one of the employees on the ferry that shuttles tourists from San Diego to Cortez is telling people that Cortez has a zero percent crime rate.  Really, that’s fucking unbelievable.  Literally.  So lets assume that this crime rate is averaged throughout the year, thus the city would have no annual crime.  I’m amazed that this isn’t national news, a city with no crimes at all!

P.S.  - You're welcome to make fun of my shitty drawings all you want.  Therein the charm lies.

March 25, 2008 – Showdown With The Sarge

So once again, here we are, mono a mano – me and The Sarge.  He turns at me with an surprisingly imposing glare, despite his short stature.  His mustache is neatly trimmed.  Braun?  Shall I ask him?

  I nod politely.  I admire his panache. 

Today is the day I prove my innocence.  I stroll in looking quite dapper myself.  I dress up and put on a tie.  It was a real struggle putting on a tie this morning, it’s been years since I wore one.  I had to use a diagram that I found on the internet.  And even then it was only occasionally.  Judges notice these things.  Dressing up shows respect for the court and what it represents.  Me, well I just am interested in winning my case.   This day has been months in the making.  It can be rather intimidating contesting the officer in court, I wouldn’t bother if I didn’t think I had a shot.  But I brought pictures, diagrams, and one hell of a compelling story.  This all weighs in as well.  Here is a person who is willing to take the time to not only dress up, drive to court, wake up at 6:30 a.m., take time to take and develop pictures, draw diagrams, and take time off work to come to Chula Vista of all places.  I was already off of work, I work nights, but the judge probably didn’t notice. 

So I explained how the officer’s view was obscured by the curving, dimly lit road – State Road 57.  I explained to the judge that I was headed South and turned to the East just as another vehicle was headed West and turned North.  All at the same intersection, all at the same point in time.  The amazing thing was that these events happened nearly simultaneously with two nearly identical late model sedans giving the impression that I illegally took a u-turn instead of heading eastbound.

Then the pictures and the diagram came out.  The Sarge threw his hands up in disbelief.  The sea was angry.  He made it a point to correct some of my sketches more mundane details.  I held my composure and stated my case.  No theatrics, no bravado, just a well planned defense.  I came out on top.  I won.  The Judge did have one request however – my trip sheet.  I didn’t have it with me, but I agreed to bring it in at a later date.  I was informed that my case would be dismissed upon my submission of this.

The Sarge stormed out of the court after quickly gathering his papers.  He was not happy in the least, but that was to be expected.  If I was worried about hurting his feelings I never would of came.  But that’s not something that much bothered me.  I’ll have to be more careful from now on, and do my best not to garner any additional scrutiny in Cortez…

March 5, 2008 – Frank Menderson

            So a few weeks I brought up one of our notable customers – Frank Menderson.  He’s one of the local trolls that we have to cart from time to time.  None of us drivers are too fond of him.  With Frank you get the same old shit every time.

            Frank’s like clockwork.  Pretty much every day, except Sundays, Frank takes a taxi between 6 and 7 p.m.  Here at the company we have an option of “holding.”  This means that we are opting to be available for a much narrower range of possibly fares.  For example since we know that Frank will be coming out from a residential address, we will “hold the base,” which means that we will only be accepting calls from the Navy base – not that those are any more desirable usually…

            So every day a handful of drivers, myself included, hold the Navy base in hopes of getting a better ride.  Frank only ever goes out to one of his two favorite local restaurants.  The fare never comes out to more than $5 or $6 and our tip usually consists of rounding up to the next dollar.  Were not impressed.

            If we just accept calls from the Navy base there is a chance that we will get a ride that just goes a few blocks as well of course, but we may get a great ride too.  Sometimes you get hundred dollar rides out of there.  Sometimes if you don’t hold the base you’ll get a call at a different residence.   Those can be good too.  Often times they go to the airport.  But by holding were guaranteed that we won’t have anyone grasping on to our arm with their long crusty fingernails and clammy hands, they won’t be carrying around a bag full of outdated tattered newspapers, they won’t have been wearing the same clothes that they’ve had on for the last 6 days, and they probably won’t smell like pee.

March 3, 2008 – Fender Bender

            Got into a little fender bender today.  Just a minor one – no damage.  Everyday around rush hour (between 3 and 6 p.m. here in Cortez) there is a giant traffic jam.  There are two main roads in and out of Cortez.  These roads take the brunt of the traffic in and out of the city during these times.  They’re a mess.

            You have A street that takes you over the bridge into Cortez, and B street that takes you out back to San Diego.  There is a way to bypass this and take the highway on the south side of town and go around the bay but it is much longer. There are two ways to get across to the other side of Cortez. You can stop at the stop sign at A street and dart across the road, which you have to do across B street as well.  If you’re able to get across this is much better than going to the stop at the first main intersection to cross.  MUCH quicker.

            Cars pile up at the stop sign that crosses A street because it’s well known that this is a much faster route.  What you have to do is watch for the car to merge onto A street, quickly look to your left, as it is a one-way street, and shoot out if the coast is clear.  So the guy in front of me darted out and I looked out to the left to make an entry onto A.  Coast was clear.  I darted out as well only to find that the car in front of me had hesitated and stopped 20 feet directly in front of me directly in the roadway.  What the fuck!  Anyways, I just bumped him.  He was cool with it since there was no damage.  We parted ways.

            Catherine has this policy that ALL accidents need to be reported, regardless of who is at fault or if there is any damage.  She has these accident report forms that are nearly unreadable because it looks like the original has been photocopied dozens of times.  Actually it’s like the original was photocopied, then the photocopy was photocopied, and that photocopy was photocopied and so on…  Say fifteen times or so. 

Those accident reports are unnecessary in my opinion, and I don’t have time to do that.  Other drivers tell me that even when you are not found to be at fault Catherine will try to hold past accidents against you.  Even if you got rear-ended.  Unbelievable!  We also have a deductable of $1000, which is quite high in my opinion since we drive around 40 or so hours more per week than most people.   Even as good drivers were much more likely to get into an accident because we drive more than most people. Some of the more veteran drivers tell me that Catherine gives them an ultimatum, although perhaps not directly, that if they want to continue work there that they have to pay for the damages out of pocket - even if they exceed $1000.  That doesn’t strike me as fair. 

Since I work in transportation the reporting of accidents may be a federal requirement.  I’m not really sure, or worried for that matter.  

March 2, 2008 – Town Drunks

            After a while of working in Cortez you start to notice a pattern.  I have recently noticed one.  Cortez is full of drunks. You know the ones that are out at the bar every day at 5 p.m. and make a total ass of themselves, or start crying telling you some personal detail of their lives, or being to drunk to remember their address, or what they’ve already asked you, or asking the same question over and over, or leaving their beer bottles in the back, or trying to smoke in the car with the windows up, and so on…

The NAVY is the worst!  They smell like B.O, don’t know which Navy base that they are trying to get to, and worst of all is when they try to pick a fight with you.  The sad thing is sometimes you see them doing the same thing every night.

                   They’re not bad people, sometimes they are quite pleasant.  Some are real nice to talk to.  “Smokey” is no exception.  We all love picking up Smokey.  He is one of the best tippers out there.  Not really sure what Smokey’s story is, all I know is that word around town is that he is an excellent golfer.  Smokey usually takes several taxi’s throughout the night, but the optimal time to catch him is on the ride home from the bar.  Smokey is quite the conversationalist but usually easily gets confused and says “I don’t know man” or “I like your style.” Statements like this have become the norm and are expected on a ride home with Smokey.  

                  Sometimes I pick up Smokey from the golf course when he is moderately sober and bring him to the bar or back to house and he will usually give about $4 dollars on a $6 dollar fare.  A pretty average to substantial tip, and on top of that he is a nice guy and we all like to pick him up.  However, if you get him leaving the bar at the end of the night he is more likely to give you a $14 dollar tip on a $6 dollar ride, which is an excellent tip.  Well, tonight I was lucky enough to pick up Smokey and give him a ride home from the bar, and boy he was on a good one.  When we got to his place he gave me $30 dollars for that $6 dollar ride.  Funny thing was that he said “Here’s $50.”  Apparently he was too drunk to count his money and thought he gave me more money than he did.  I was more than happy, I didn’t see any need to correct him and tell him he was $20 short.

            We have a long list of town drunks in Cortez.  Interestingly enough most of them live on Margarita St...

March 1, 2008 – The Coat Hanger Car Burglar

           Tonight I locked my keys in my car.  Wouldn’t be the first time.  I usually keep a spare in my wallet in case of situations like this.  My spare key however has strangely disappeared…

            I was lucky enough to find a coat hanger near by so I gave it a shot.  I have an older model Jeep and the locking mechanism isn’t all that complicated.  There’s no alarm either which is good, I’d hate to have that going off as I try to jimmy the car lock open.  So I unfold the coat hanger, bend a small hook on the end of it, and slide it into the door between the window and the frame.  I don’t have to break into my car often so naturally there’s a little trial and error.  This isn’t the ideal tool for doing this either so things aren’t going as smoothly as I had hoped.

            My Jeep is parked on a side street and there is almost no street lighting which complicates the process, not to mention making things look a little suspicious.  I’m not worried though, it’s my car after all.  I would imagine most people in Cortez call a locksmith when they lock themselves outside of their car.  Not me.  Locksmiths are expensive.  A locksmith probably costs $50 or so, and quite possibly more here.  I only made $85 today and I’d like to keep that.

            So after 20 minutes or so a patrol car speeds down the street and boxes me in.  And guess who it        was.  My buddy, “The Sarge.”

            The Sarge: Stop right there, get up against the car.

            Me: Ok

            The Sarge: What are you doing out here, are you trying to break into this car?

            Me: This is my car, I locked my keys inside.

The Sarge: Krinkle right, I remember you. (With a big shit eating grin on his face)

Me: Yep

            The Sarge: You stay right there.

            Me: Feel free to run the plate, you can see my keys in the ignition.

            The Sarge: Oh we will.

            The Sarge: Lets see some ID.

            Me: It’s in the car.

            The Sarge isn’t happy right now.  His partner that he is with looks like a rookie - asking a lot of questions but trying to appear professional.  I’m not fooled.  They both have this look on their face like they’ve just stumbled upon a big one. 

            Ok, now lets look at the facts.  If I were a car burglar why would I come to Cortez to break into a shitty old Jeep?  And why would I fumble around in the dark with a coat hanger for 20 minutes?  Was this my first caper?  Wouldn’t I bring some of my own tools with me?  Doesn’t it seem odd that I would come to a city that is crawling with overzealous cops, a city that I work in, and come and try to break into cars?  Equipped with a coat hanger of all things?  Am I fucking MacGyver or something?  That guy could probably get into a locked car with nothing more than a napkin and a large flat rock.  

           A city where I’m driving around all day in, working in the public sector.  That doesn’t strike me as very smooth.

I’m sure that they had the best of intentions, and had every right to be suspicious and inquire about what I was doing here, but after 10 minutes or so wouldn’t they be able to piece it together?  These guys couldn’t find their way out of a wet paper bag.   I’d sure like to meet the detectives that work here, I sure hope that I never have to file a report for anything.  After another 10 minutes or so they were on their way and I was left to my own devices once again.  There was no offer to help me of course, nor was I expecting one at this point.   From what I’ve seen professionalism doesn’t seem to be one of the departments virtues.

After tinkering with the lock another few minutes I was in and on my way home.  I was quite careful with my driving though as I was a marked man…

February 26, 2008 – Parking On The Sidewalk

This morning I came to the taxi to find a nice buttery yellow parking ticket.  My first one in Cortez.  How exciting!  $25.  For what might you ask…  Well, for something I didn’t do of course.  Typical.  I’m beginning to think the cops are a bunch of assholes over here.

I was given a ticket for parking on the sidewalk.  Could it have been an oversight on my part?  Doubtful.  Accidents occur, sure, but it would be pretty hard to park on the sidewalk accidentally now wouldn’t it?  I think I would have remembered it.  I would have had to drive over a six inch curb to get up there. 

Sometimes you get a parking ticket for something that you thought that you could get away with right?  We’ve all done it.  Like running into the store just for a second and not paying the meter.  Most of the time you are able to get away with it.  But parking on the sidewalk…  Now that’s a bunch of shit.  I’d fight it on principal, but it’s only $25.  Not too happy about this.  Not because I got a ticket, but because some son of a bitch completely made it up.  Not just some son of a bitch, Officer Harris to be exact.

February 17, 2008 – Creepy Dennis

           Pretty quiet night tonight.  Every night we get a lull in business between 11:30 p.m. and 1 a.m. so the drivers gather around and chat and line up our cabs for potential customers.  Some of us are more personable than others, and then there’s drivers like Dennis…  A few minutes ago a couple came up to Dennis and asked for a ride.

Customers: Hi

Dennis: (Says nothing)

Customers: Are you available? (This is an honest question, there are several cabs lined up in the area, and it’s possible that Dennis is just taking a break.)

Dennis: No, I’m just here for my fucking health.

Customers: Excuse me?

Dennis: I said I’m just here for my fucking health.

Customers:  Ok…  Nevermind then.

The customers ended up taking Dennis later that night - I can only imagine how awkward that was…  Some of our customers refuse to ride with Dennis for some reason or another.  Most likely because he’s a prick. 

Frank Menderson is one of them.  He’s a character himself but that’s another story.  My best guess is that Dennis tried to fondle Frankie at some point.  Dennis is a creepy old man who has been driving cab for like 15 years who is seen by other drivers frequenting transvestite bars outside of work.  He’s in his 60’s, and looks like your typical sex offender.  Quite like Kirk actually.  Something off of Broadway I believe, I think it’s called “Chee Chee.”  I have no idea what goes on in there and honestly I don’t care to.  Hey whatever, to each his own.

If nothing else it looks like total shithole – don’t think anyone is going to debate me on that one… Just another wack-job that Catherine keeps around because he works a shift that no one else wants to work.  

February 2, 2008 – Our Awful Dispatchers

           It’s 9:40 p.m. and Julie will be leaving in 20 minutes.  What a relief.  Everyday except Sunday Julie comes and dispatches from 4 p.m. to 10 p.m.   No one likes Julie. To say that she was simply mean would be an understatement.  Julie is presumably in her mid to late 60’s with beady little eyes and granny glasses with freckles and an ass so wide you couldn’t fit it on a park bench.  From what I understand she was a secretary for like 20 years, don’t know how she ended up here...  She could have easily passed for a school bus driver in some little hick town.  Every town has one of those, you know the ugly fat bus driver who screams at the kids.  I digress.

"Julie"

            Not that any of that really matters, it just seems fitting…  The reason that none of us like Judy is because she is constantly SCREAMING, and if that weren’t enough she is TERRIBLE at her job.  To work for her is simply DREADFUL!  Imagine being yelled at all day for mistakes that you never even made.

Julie is a woman with a mans ego.  Under no circumstances have I ever heard her apologize for a mistake that she made.  NEVER.  I have never in my life met a person as stubborn as Julie. There have been numerous studies over the years that suggest that there is a correlation between temperature and aggression.  Perhaps it isn’t really Julie’s fault.  After all, the office seems to be too cheap to use air conditioning.   Although the office wasn’t too cheap to add an addition on, that is before they were forced to tear it down due to a tip to the city.  Pity, a permit would have solved all of that.

When Julie leaves the problems don’t cease however, this is when the overnight dispatcher comes in.  His name is Mendoza and he is every bit, if not more, inept than Julie.  We don’t get screamed at though, so things are much more relaxed.  Problem is that Mendoza is dumb, I mean really, really, fucking dumb.  This guy couldn’t solve a puzzle with 9 pieces.  He would have been a good Walmart door greeter.  There’s speculation amongst the drivers that Mendoza is high and/or drunk at work, which would explain a lot.  I once caught him peeing in the bushes just down the street from the cab office at 6 a.m.  I don’t mean discretely either, right next to the trolly in Old Town.  Yeah, you know the one that shuttles the tourists around…  Welcome to San Diego!