Taxi

Dorsai Taxi

1

Judd Hirsch had it right.

In the first episode of the TV series "Taxi", he said that he was a cab driver. Everybody else in the shop was something else – boxer, actor, artist, something. Me, I'm a cab driver.

I was in my Junior year of college and studying for Finals. I was trying to bone up for an advanced Philosophy class, which was my Major, and suddenly realized that the book I was reading was utter, total, complete bullshit.

Once I understood that, I thought about the other Philosophy books I'd read – and knew that once I'd gotten past the true classics such as Socrates, Plato, des Carte, Kant, Kirkegaard, and even Ayn Rand, the rest of it was so much people blowing smoke; either to try and justify their salaries, or believing their own publicity.

When I understood that "modern" philosophy deserved the low opinion most people have of the subject, I packed up the little bit of stuff I had at school and dropped out. I simply couldn't see any point to busting my butt to get a degree in something that had come to have virtually nothing to do with the reality that most people live.

The thing was, I still had an interest – a passion, even – in philosophy; just not the modern crap they were trying to teach me in college. So I thought about all the different jobs that I could get that would let me meet a wide variety of different people from a wide variety of different lifestyles, occupations, races, religions, and so on. I considered a lot of different jobs: cop, barber, bartender, and so on, but I finally settled on being a cab driver.

Starting out, I was "the New Guy", of course. I got the crappy cabs, the crappy hours, the crappy fares: I've made my share of runs to get a bleeding gunshot or knifing victim from some dive of a bar to the hospital. Sometimes I got them there in time; other times, not. Either way, I caught shit from the other drivers when I was cleaning out the back of the cab back in the shop. I admit, it was one hell of a change from the upper-middle-class life I'd grown up in. But I was actually learning something about Real Life along the way, so I stuck it out. It took only a few years before I was one of the 'old-timers' in the company, and with the increase in status came better cabs, hours, and fares. It even got to the point where I was able to lease my rig, and pretty much set my own hours; and I'd developed something of a 'regular clientele' that would ask for me by name. Other times, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time to basically just fall into some pretty unique situations.

I've been at this job for a long time, now, and I'd like to pass along some of the experiences I've had along the way. Not so much to 'brag', but to let people know what can happen if you're willing to be 'open' to new experiences – and maybe teach folks some of what I've learned about Life, the Universe, and Everything as Douglas Adams put it.

It was a Tuesday night and getting toward the end of my shift, and I got a call from central that one of my regular fares, a lady by the name of Edith, had called for me. I'd gotten to know her a little bit, and knew that it was the right time of the year for her to be working late on some quarterly report she had to do; when I'd dropped off my previous fare, I'd found a spot not far from the office building she worked, so that I'd be handy if she needed a ride home; if she didn't the spot I was in was pretty good for picking up another fare, so I had my bases covered.

I ten-foured the dispatch, and made my way to where I knew she'd be waiting for me – only to be surprised to see her waiting with a guy. Not that it was any of my business, of course, but I'd never heard her talk about boyfriends or going out with guys or anything like that. So, like I said, I was surprised. I get parked, and the guy has to help her out to my cab; I see them coming, and I get out and open the door for them. He gets her in the back seat, I close the door, and get back behind the wheel. The guy asks "You know where she lives, right?"

I tell him I do, and he says "Let's get going then. I've got a big night ahead of me."

Hearing that, my ears perk up, you know? I mean, I know her to some extent, and she doesn't seem like the kind of woman to just jump in the sack with any old guy.

I start checking them out in the back seat, and I can see that Edith is kind of 'out of it'. She isn't passed out or anything, but she's definitely not as chipper as she usually is, either. While I'm driving, I keep looking back, and I finally see him reach over and start playing with her tits through her blouse. I see that, and I know things aren't right. She's a real classy lady – always dressed nice, polite, sociable, the whole thing; so I'm thinking that she isn't some bimbo that lets guys just start grabbing her tits in the back of a cab.

So to try and find out what's going on, I ask the guy "She doesn't look too good. Is she going to be okay?"

The guy tells me to just shut up and drive, and I told him "Look, mister, she's a regular fare, and she always tips me good. I just don't want her to think that I did anything but drive tonight, okay?"

He gives me some kind of look and answers "Don't worry about it. We had a few drinks at a little party we had after we finished a report we were working on, and she invited me back to her place. Maybe she just had one too many, okay? I think she'll be okay in an hour or so."

I tell him "Sure, okay, I can understand that." – except that I'm thinking that she doesn't look drunk to me, not even a little bit. I mean, I've taken her home after some of the after work dinner-and-drinks things she's been on, and she told me one time that she never has more than two drinks – ever. And God knows, I've seen enough people that have had too much liquor in them, and she just doesn't look right.

I take another look in the mirror, and I see that he's got a hand up her skirt while he's trying to lick her tonsils. And she's hardly moving, and not SAYING anything. I'm starting to think that maybe he doctored her drink; nothing like Rohypnol or anything like that: she isn't completely out of it like that crap does to a person. We stop at a light, and I can finally see her eyes: it's like she's begging me to help her; I mean, I can SEE that she knows what's going on, but just can't do or say anything for herself.

That's it. That's all I need before I pull over and tell the guy "Look, mister – I told you, she's a regular fare, and I don't think she looks right. I think maybe you need to get out so I can get her home safe."

He starts bitching and fussing, and I finally tell him "Look, either you get out now, or I hit the panic switch I've got up here, and you can explain to the cops what's wrong with her, and why you're going home with her. If you ain't outta my cab in five seconds, I'm hitting the switch."

He gets real pale, which tells me that I'm probably right: he's drugged her, and still has the stuff on him – and it's probably something the cops would recognize if they found it on him. He opens the door and gets out before the five seconds are up. I've got no panic switch, but he doesn't know that. He's real pissed off when he wants to know how he's supposed to get another cab. I tell him "Turn right at the next light, and down a couple blocks as you'll be at the Kings Arms Hotel; they've always got a couple cabs waiting there."

He slams the door, and starts walking; I don't mind the noise or the names he's calling me – I just pull out and take Edith the rest of the way home.

When I pull up in front of her apartment building, I call in the end of the fare, and tell them I'm going off shift. When I get the OK, I shut the engine off and get out. I open the back door, and I can see that Edith is in worse shape than I thought – but her eyes are still alert, and she's watching me. I ask if it's okay if I look in her purse for her keys, and figure her eyes are telling me to go ahead. I find them easy enough, but there's nothing on them to tell me what apartment she's in. Nice and safe and sensible – and no help at all in the current situation. After telling her what I'm doing, it's back into her purse for her billfold so I can check it; her driver's license tells me what apartment. I make sure she can see me putting everything back, then I wrap the strap to her purse around the back of my belt a couple of times to keep my hands free. I tell her I'm going to have to get her out of the cab, and ask her to understand that I'm not trying to get fresh. Again, her eyes tell me it's okay, so I reach in and finally manage to get her out and more-or-less vertical.