Wanna Be a Cabby?
Posted 01-09-2009 at 11:47 AM by SPBeachBrat
When you hear the words "Cabby," what comes to mind? Probably not a spike-haired, blonde chick, in combat boots and spandex, in a spotless Toyota, but here I am! In my 9 years of driving a taxi on the streets of Pinellas County, I've known many "professionals" who drive a cab. Lots of lovers and losers, boozers and users, all mixed in with college students and moms and dads who just don't want to be part of the business world rat race any more, some who are between jobs, or are just down on their luck. Some of us who just don't know what we wanna be when we grow up! Loners by nature , the cabby exists in a world closed and veiled to the outside world. You see cabbies nightly cruising the streets near the busiest bar or restaurant, or after a game, waiting by the hour for a fare. Some nights, we come home with only a few dollars, after gassing up; others are great. It's a good night if I make some money and haven't had my cab puked or peed in and no one has called me names or made me call the cops. We operate from automated dispatch using Nextel phones. Summoned at any hour, the cabby responds to the text on the Nextel phone to the unknown. One moment I am in the company of tourists, driving them to a fine restaurant. The next, with a sweating junkie in search of his supplier, paranoid and shaking. An hour later, I may become the unwilling party to a dangerous domestic dispute or may be driving a crying mom to the ER to see if her kid is still alive after who knows what. After 10pm, drunks are the norm; some canbarely walk and tell us where they live! (Hello? You don't know where you live? Ok, what do you live NEAR? O yeah - that palm tree with the flamingo in it - I'm ON it!) Some, the police set in the cab and say, "just get him out of our city". If the cop has them put the money in my hand, and the customer isn't puking or peed on, maybe. We cabbies do all the things your mother told you never to do. Not only do we talk to strangers, we let them sit in the seat behind us - or beside us - (I prefer they sit beside me where I can see what they are doing) as we drive them to places your mother would never allow you to go - and then we ask them for money! If smart, the cabby asks for the money first; if not, all the while, the cabby crosses her fingers that at the end of the trip, money will change hands, and it will be in her favor. The street is no place for a faint heart or slow thinking. We just don't know what will happen next. The new cab driver, if she survives the dangers and temptations of the street, will not only develop a sixth sense, so-called 'street smarts', but she will experience a marked personality change and she will never, ever, see the world quite the same again. . . kind of like police officers must experience. I have had several cops tell me they wouldn't do my job - we deal with the same people; only they are trained and we are not. We learn, and too often, the hard way. Cab drivers speak a language of their own - this job is no place to be a prude or prim and proper. Cabbies have their own language, little of which you would hear in a Sunday school class. The lingo of cabbies is brutal, nothing is sacred. Most drivers can swear fluently and not blink an eye. Emotions run high. Another driver will steal your fare. A guy will run without paying. Your fare may say, "I have to go up and get the money, I'll be right back." Do I believe her? Do I dare to go with him? Do I play dumb, or do I say I know what he's up to? Split second decisions must be made and can change our life forever. One gunshot, one knife, one wrong place at the wrong time and it could be all over for the cabby.
In this real-life drama, cabbies are faceless and nameless, a shadow-like presence. In one twenty-minute encounter, cabbies may hear the most intimate secrets, things most people would not tell their minister, lawyer, spouse, or therapist. These people are they interested in my opinion. It's as if they feel compelled to speak only their innermost secrets in the presence of another human being; this time it's me. When they have finished, they will look into my eyes and silently beg me to forget what they have revealed as they put their cash into my hand. Then, as if they had never been there at all, they are gone. And I am left alone, wondering, "Why did I have to hear that?" and "what do I do with it?" Not really involved, yet never untouched. The streets leave their mark on the cabby. I think of it as similar to what police officers must feel and to the full-time cab driver, it is essential to have the ability to detach. I had 2 years' worth of cabby experiences written to be published as a book and the 1 night I had it with me in a backpack, before I'd typed it into my computer, a drunk walked off with it. By the time I realized my backpack was gone, he had disappeared. Bummer. I've never become motivated to try to remember all that stuff to rewrite it, but I want to - there are experiences every night that would make some interesting reading.
Intuition, the cabby's ability to quickly sense danger, is a trait she has in common with the police. Only the cabby has no training to deal with what she encounters, as police officers do. Every time I have had trouble, 'my gut' told me beforehand. The police probably view the cabby as a kind of freelance freewheeler of the late night and one to be watched. Cabbies are known to be drunks and potheads, runners of illegal stuff. While this may sometimes be true, it is the exception rather than the rule (I hope so, anyway; in my case, it is). I am more honest than anybody probably ought to be!). The cabby can legally loiter, park almost anywhere, and be seen talking to anyone. Licensed to drive a for-hire vehicle and expected to be available at all hours of the night, a cab cruising slowly through your neighborhood at three in the morning is not cause for suspicion. The police, in their role as buffer between citizens and criminals, may see the cabby as one who moves freely between the two. To the police, perhaps the cabby is not quite righteous, not quite evil. Police can't always protect the cabby because of the nature of these movements and may think of her as a "probationary citizen" who deserves protection, but only after scrutiny. Meanwhile, the cabby works in a solitary world where she may, at any time, become the victim of any citizen or a criminal.
The streets of Florida are a crossroads filled with strange and mysterious people, the good and evil alike, all in search of their own place in the sun. My taxi has provided me with a front row seat from which to witness this adventure. I think it'd be a great idea to put a cop in a cabby's seat. We hear it all.
Change is ongoing. Try grabbing reading glasses, the cellphone to read text from, and the map while driving. Yikes! (I can't afford a personal car, much less to repair or replace the Company's car!) I sometimes hate my job and the people I encounter in it. I wonder, "why am I out here?" Times are hard. Too many cabs on the streets, too few calls. Sometimes I love my job. The majority of people are good, like me. I work for some great people; and with some nice people. Cabbies have a bond, sometimes we are like family, though it's not like it used to be where we used to know each other well. I miss that. Now drivers come and go and there are so many, I don't even know a lot of them. Dispatchers make us feel like idiots sometimes (Sometimes I am an idiot. haha), then we forget it and go on - ya have to. There are many pluses to being a cabby. I have the freedom to be anywhere in Pinellas County that I want to be. I learn about other places and usually have a renewed sense of gratitude to be here after talking with those from other places. The view is fantastic - surrounded by Paradise! Some fares leave no tips, but the others even it out. I work when I want to - (I work 4 - 10 to 12 hour shifts) I work nights and have my days free. I run my cab. I'm the boss and I like that. I have laughed and cried with them from cab to cab, as we shared our stories of the streets, experiences that can't be learned from any textbook. We gripe, we share our fears, and our fun stories, too! We are a breed of our own, and we have a bond that won't be broken. Though I may get mad at another driver, (and oh yeah, believe me I do!) if he or she is in trouble, any bad feeling I had is instantly erased. We cabbies know, that we know, that we know, every thing that is important to us can change in an instant. I have had a gun pointed at me 3 times. I figure it just wasn't my time to go yet. I am aware bad things do happen to good people, and I believe when my time is up, there is nothing on this earth that will stop it. I know this when I sit my butt on the seat of my cab. We all do. In 2008, a young mother of 3, was driving a cab for another company. She was found dead, her cab was stolen. This young woman had once stopped to shine her headlights so I could see to change a tire on my cab. This stuff is happening every day, but this made it real. I wrote this as just a small view of cab driving. Some people think it is "just driving people around and oh, what a fun job!" Sometimes it is; sometimes it is not. When you see a cabby, instead of thinking, "what a low-life; get outta my way!", try to remember she or he is doing a job, trying to make a living - just like you do. Thanx!
Sandi
In this real-life drama, cabbies are faceless and nameless, a shadow-like presence. In one twenty-minute encounter, cabbies may hear the most intimate secrets, things most people would not tell their minister, lawyer, spouse, or therapist. These people are they interested in my opinion. It's as if they feel compelled to speak only their innermost secrets in the presence of another human being; this time it's me. When they have finished, they will look into my eyes and silently beg me to forget what they have revealed as they put their cash into my hand. Then, as if they had never been there at all, they are gone. And I am left alone, wondering, "Why did I have to hear that?" and "what do I do with it?" Not really involved, yet never untouched. The streets leave their mark on the cabby. I think of it as similar to what police officers must feel and to the full-time cab driver, it is essential to have the ability to detach. I had 2 years' worth of cabby experiences written to be published as a book and the 1 night I had it with me in a backpack, before I'd typed it into my computer, a drunk walked off with it. By the time I realized my backpack was gone, he had disappeared. Bummer. I've never become motivated to try to remember all that stuff to rewrite it, but I want to - there are experiences every night that would make some interesting reading.
Intuition, the cabby's ability to quickly sense danger, is a trait she has in common with the police. Only the cabby has no training to deal with what she encounters, as police officers do. Every time I have had trouble, 'my gut' told me beforehand. The police probably view the cabby as a kind of freelance freewheeler of the late night and one to be watched. Cabbies are known to be drunks and potheads, runners of illegal stuff. While this may sometimes be true, it is the exception rather than the rule (I hope so, anyway; in my case, it is). I am more honest than anybody probably ought to be!). The cabby can legally loiter, park almost anywhere, and be seen talking to anyone. Licensed to drive a for-hire vehicle and expected to be available at all hours of the night, a cab cruising slowly through your neighborhood at three in the morning is not cause for suspicion. The police, in their role as buffer between citizens and criminals, may see the cabby as one who moves freely between the two. To the police, perhaps the cabby is not quite righteous, not quite evil. Police can't always protect the cabby because of the nature of these movements and may think of her as a "probationary citizen" who deserves protection, but only after scrutiny. Meanwhile, the cabby works in a solitary world where she may, at any time, become the victim of any citizen or a criminal.
The streets of Florida are a crossroads filled with strange and mysterious people, the good and evil alike, all in search of their own place in the sun. My taxi has provided me with a front row seat from which to witness this adventure. I think it'd be a great idea to put a cop in a cabby's seat. We hear it all.
Change is ongoing. Try grabbing reading glasses, the cellphone to read text from, and the map while driving. Yikes! (I can't afford a personal car, much less to repair or replace the Company's car!) I sometimes hate my job and the people I encounter in it. I wonder, "why am I out here?" Times are hard. Too many cabs on the streets, too few calls. Sometimes I love my job. The majority of people are good, like me. I work for some great people; and with some nice people. Cabbies have a bond, sometimes we are like family, though it's not like it used to be where we used to know each other well. I miss that. Now drivers come and go and there are so many, I don't even know a lot of them. Dispatchers make us feel like idiots sometimes (Sometimes I am an idiot. haha), then we forget it and go on - ya have to. There are many pluses to being a cabby. I have the freedom to be anywhere in Pinellas County that I want to be. I learn about other places and usually have a renewed sense of gratitude to be here after talking with those from other places. The view is fantastic - surrounded by Paradise! Some fares leave no tips, but the others even it out. I work when I want to - (I work 4 - 10 to 12 hour shifts) I work nights and have my days free. I run my cab. I'm the boss and I like that. I have laughed and cried with them from cab to cab, as we shared our stories of the streets, experiences that can't be learned from any textbook. We gripe, we share our fears, and our fun stories, too! We are a breed of our own, and we have a bond that won't be broken. Though I may get mad at another driver, (and oh yeah, believe me I do!) if he or she is in trouble, any bad feeling I had is instantly erased. We cabbies know, that we know, that we know, every thing that is important to us can change in an instant. I have had a gun pointed at me 3 times. I figure it just wasn't my time to go yet. I am aware bad things do happen to good people, and I believe when my time is up, there is nothing on this earth that will stop it. I know this when I sit my butt on the seat of my cab. We all do. In 2008, a young mother of 3, was driving a cab for another company. She was found dead, her cab was stolen. This young woman had once stopped to shine her headlights so I could see to change a tire on my cab. This stuff is happening every day, but this made it real. I wrote this as just a small view of cab driving. Some people think it is "just driving people around and oh, what a fun job!" Sometimes it is; sometimes it is not. When you see a cabby, instead of thinking, "what a low-life; get outta my way!", try to remember she or he is doing a job, trying to make a living - just like you do. Thanx!
Sandi Total Comments 3
Comments
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I can honestly say you gave me a new way of looking at cab drivers.Thanks for posting and keeping it real .Good luck to you.
Posted 01-10-2009 at 12:42 AM by cfarris
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Thanx! I appreciate you reading what I wrote ad taking time to comment. SandiPosted 03-06-2009 at 08:41 AM by SPBeachBrat
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you go girl from miss sunshinetaxillcPosted 10-21-2010 at 10:25 AM by sunshinetaxillc
