Skip to main contentTime to break out the gypsy cab. The night shift is beginning, and a day driver has brought in a girl who wants to go to Pasco, Wash.
She has a friend's credit card number, but no expiration date, so we can't accept it. I watch her sitting in a corner of our driver room, crying, trying everyone she can on her phone.
I remember when I was homeless, what it felt like to be crying in a public place, hating the knowledge that people were watching you break down. I sit down next to her and ask if there's another way she can pay us.
There are friends at the destination, three hours away, but no sane cabdriver would take a fare like that on a contingency. But sanity has never been my
strong point, and the superintendent has told me that I'm not going to get a cab this night anyway; I'm too far down the list.
So I ask the girl if she has gas money, at least. She does, so we get into my personal car and head east.
I have nothing to lose except my time at this point. We stop at a rest area along the Scenic Highway, and I ask her if she's ever seen Multnomah Falls. She has not, so we stop there. Her eyes shine, and she thanks me.
I don't even care all that much about getting paid at this point. Like a wise friend once told me, we're all stakeholders in the karma economy.
WWeek 2015