I'm going to investigate a Wi-Fi Card for my PowerBook. The only publicly accessible wireless zone that I feel might work late at night (or at all) is Bryant Park. Also worth snooping around for a cnx: the Apple Store SoHo. Hell, there are probably tons of unlocked 802.11 force-fields of love out there in the canyonlands and foothills. I'll report anything worth reporting, if only to remind myself where to find stuff.

Acquiring one of these is unlikely to have me spending rush hour blogging. More of a 2 am, I havethiscardandhadbetteruseitnoworitisabigwasteofmoney type of concept. Taxi drivers, we think big.

Club/bar mentions this week: Sway, APT, Heaven.

That's it for now. Starting to get a handle on what might go in this blog. Or not.
#481206

On Tuesday the money was: OK
On Wednesday the money was: LAME
On Thursday the money was: VERY OK

Taxi 3G15 rules! I drove 2G24 Wed. night, and it sucks, man. I'll call it "Mr. Creaky." Previous front-end damage w/ airbag deploy. about 40k miles. Stable, but crappy turning dynamics.

I got a flat on Thursday. You can drive on these if you accept Allah as your savior. Thus I made it back to the garage without needing road service. Then I renounced Islam (again). It just wasn't the answer.

I'll say this, besides the psycho woman on Monday, women have been abnormally chatty this week (in a good way). Chalk it up to pre-Valentines' Day cockiness. Also, breakups were busting out all over, either reported to me in technicolor or referred to in hushed tones by the subject's peer group/gawkers/friends/vultures. You definitely do not want to take someone out on V-Day who you're gonna dump soon, so take the trash out now. It'd be awkward. This is just something I've heard.

It took an hour and 20 minutes to get to La Guardia Airport on Thu PM rush (fr 21st/8th Av). That makes it a Top 10 awful airport job. Fortunately, it was one of those aforementioned cool young ladies, heading to CO for some skiing.

#481206

Night drivers have no lives. This is a known fact to taxi drivers. Either that, or their wives (or husbands, as the rare case allows) don't mind plenty of free time to get into trouble with.

And it's not a situation that's forced upon us. At the garage at from which I lease my taxi, drivers are encouraged to pay in advance for the next week's set of shifts. Guess which night sold out first? No, not Monday.

Valentine's Day happened to fall on Friday this week. Friday already is popular with drivers, for what should be semi-obvious reasons: a) money, b) money and c) money. Calculus is difficult, I've heard, but some taxi drivers are incredibly good at it. So much so that if you happen to get in the way of their excellent theorems, you get really pissed-off mathematicians that are wielding two-ton-plus Ford Crown Victorias.

So, it was a Friday that sold out. I missed out. Poor me. Fake consolation #1: Traffic probably was really awful. Nyah nyah nyah. Fake consolation #2: The money turned out to be weak. Suckers.

No, instead, I decided to visit the mothership and get needled by my 80,000 year-old step-father. After some cursory yelling and screaming about, really, nothing, I hit the road. And went home.

What I don't quite understand, yet, is how people manage to maintain normal jobs and lives, and also sit and write their journals/blogs, everyday. I mean, I already can't do the first two. It would follow, then, that a blog is impractical. After 15 hours away from home, most of it driving, several days in a row, things start falling off. Like brain function and little things like that.

One for the ages, a day after I start blogging.

Attention prospective customers: driving smoothly up a nearly empty avenue at 1am, making all the lights, is not grounds for a) telling me I'm driving too slowly;

b) reminding me that you're paying for this ride. I sure hope so;
and then
c) threatening me with non-payment. Oooh, them's fighting words.

So yeah, I had the archetypal mean-spirited awful middle-aged lady with yapping Pomeranian doggy. I am not kidding. How rich is this?

I even told her so. I think it was after she got done telling me that black was, in fact, white.

I started to laugh. I told her that this must be some elaborate put-on. Only one other time in 8 years has someone gotten it so completely wrong, and so completely on purpose. That last time (years ago) I was as angry as I could possibly be. I took the bait that time.

This time, it was the source of some seriously forced mirth. It was made clear to her, via a pose of comic disbelief, that it was impossible for a rational actor to behave this way. I don't have any other options to cope with such a deeply damaged person. I mean, it was apparent that she meant to fuck with my head. It was my job to reject the nit-picking premise. These are the wages of a veteran driver: I have little left to prove, especially to losers like this lady. The last frontier is integrating that fact into my deepest assumptions about what I do.

So the destination is 84th and York Av. The fare is $6.10. Disregarding her own threats, she hands over a crumpled $10 bill. I could guess what's coming next; I hand her 3 singles, and root around for 90 cents. While I'm doing this, she says (about 5 times), "you want the dime, right?". Look, what I want is for you to never take a yellow cab again. (I didn't say that.) She hands me a dime, I give her a dollar. We're even. I say "Thank you."

Then she says something weird. "You think that since I live on the Upper East Side I got it made. Well, I don't!" And that's it. She goes to close the door. Ok, yeah, that class warfare thing is definitely at the top of my list. Especially since I grew up on the Upper East Side myself. Die, yuppie capitalist bitch etc.

Instead, all I say is the standard, "ok, have a good night." Hope your dog gets run over, preferably in the next 5 seconds.

Back on the main branch: I'll introduce some driving concepts I've come across, in my travels, soon. Also some history.

On Monday 2/10/2003, the money was: CRAPPY. Looks like we've got a recession going on, and building, even. The streets were clean by 10:30 pm. I got locked out of working on Friday night 2/14 (Valentines' Day) by my long-suffering garage/fleet (more on that entity later).

Notes: Fatal Truck overturn 125/1 Av. 3 dead @ 1:40pm; details, i.e. who screwed up, unclear.
Fire or bldg collapse and closure of Greenwich Av near 6th Av.
Extensive police presence tunnels, synagogues, anything that 'counts'. I trust the NYPD and the PAPD. Until they give me a ticket for some bullshit.

#481206 3G15 - ok, who fucked up the driver power window switch?!?!

This'll be about my exciting life as a taxi driver. Based on the previous 8 years, you can expect random diatribes, semi-meticulous dissections of the taxi industry and other (any)things that may occur to me (with a multi-hour delay, I don't plan on publishing the blog from the taxi...yet.)

#481206 @ in general, 3G15. Deviations will be noted.