The old man is drunk, and furious that I was unwilling to make an illegal turn through busy traffic.
“Hey, I told you I’ll knock a buck off, just chill.”
“You piece of shit, it costs $8.70 this way, and $8.30 my way!”
“So we’ll call it $8. This isn’t a big deal.”
When we reach his retirement home, the meter does indeed read $8.70, and he begins again. “I know what you just did to me! I know how you cabbies are, you can’t fool me.”
“Look, I said it’s eight, calm down.”
“I should call the police on you, you little motherfucker,” he growls as he offers up the money.
“Hey, just keep it and get out, all right? You can have a free ride, that’s how greedy I am.”
And he spits in my eye, and the blood burns my cheeks, and I’m screaming as loud as I can. I call him a pathetic, washed-up drunk, a disgusting old fuck, and countless other vile things. I berate him out of the cab, his pupils dilated with fear. I’ve lost all control, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.
When he’s gone, I turn off the MDT, pull into an empty parking lot, and collapse into my seat, disgusted at my treatment of someone old enough to be my grandfather. The epiphany is as clear and unmistakable as it always is: I’m burnt out, and I need to get out.
Night Cabbie is now off duty. Contact him at nightcabbie@wweek.com.
No one expects you (or any other cab driver) to be a saint, so there's no reason to be so hard on yourself over a very understandable reaction on your part. Sounds to me like dealing with this sort of crap comes with the territory, unfortunately; only you can decide whether or not it's worth it... or continues to be worth it.
I drove cab for 14 years. The last 2 years right here in Portland for Radio cab. My last night was VERY similar to yours. I had a gun pulled on me by a kid not more than 16. I could see the cylinders were empty so I grabbed it and grabbed him by the hair and beat his ass with the gun. I then drove back to the barn and parked it. My hands are shaking even as I type this out. Cab driving is in the top 5 most dangerous jobs in the world. You'd be a lot safer driving the haul road in Alaska my friend. At least you know what can kill you. Take some time off, write a book about your experiences. Do something else. You could have a sheet full of good customers and be having a great night and one nasty old fuck can ruin your whole day. I know, BTDT.
Take care I will miss your wonderful stories of fair Portlandia. If you ever want to talk ask WW for my email address.
Dave
What was Colin Fletcher's phrase? "The mounting peroration of calumny..." It was like a Monty Python routine. You drew this fare-from-Hell with a few clear words, to the point where every sentence made me laugh harder than the one before ... and I love the ending. What a fucken climax. You didn't stomp him into mush, and instead let him live: what a fitting punishment.
Better to burn out, than it is to rust. Write on, as Damon Knight used to say. Hope to read more of your work wherever.
I think you should get a job as an EMT. Whatever happens, best wishes. Thanks.
NC3, don't let the bastards grind you down. If you do, they've won, but you know that.
Oh won't you lay your head upon your saviour's breast
I love you, oh but Jesus loves you the best
And I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
And I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
And I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight