Staggering the Shifts

Why don't they stagger the shifts so that not all taxicabs are off-duty between 4 and 5 P.M.? That is one of the most common questions I get as a hack. My guess is perhaps only slightly better than yours. I've heard it has to do with ensuring that no shift gets the short end of the stick. Each of the two 12 hour shifts needs one uninterrupted chunk of rush hour in order to make do. It seems that in order to make things even, whoever created the universal shift change decided to interrupt the afternoon rush of just about anyone and everyone. If I were in charge, I'd stagger the shifts and create different leasing prices to adjust to that shift's attractiveness.

I personally maintain a schedule that is staggered from the rest of my fellow drivers. I often go into the garage by 2 A.M., sometimes as early as 1:00. The dispatcher hands me whichever cab happens to be available at that time, and I return it exactly 12 hours later. That means I'm back in the garage by 1 or 2 in the afternoon, hence making the taxi available to any night driver that wishes to begin that early, which in turn lessens the distress that the city feels at the height or the homebound rush.

I don't get any discount on my daily lease for getting my butt out of bed so early or for taking that fiscal risk of being out on the streets at the quietest hours, gambling with my gas tank and cruising time, trying to eek out a miracle or three. I don't mind though. I love the rush I get from this challenge. To me it's like a very hard and serious, but rewarding game of world cup soccer, in which very few points are often scored, but they mean everything.

There are indeed a few advantages for me as a cabdriver in staggering my shift. I don't have to wait in a heavy pool of hacks at the garage to be assigned a cab. I don't have to wait in line at the end of my shift to collect the cash from my credit transactions. I don't have to use the air conditioning in my cab because by the time it gets real hot midday I'm turning it in. I don't have to stress in afternoon traffic jams about trying to get the cab back on time. I get several hours of quiet, congestion-free traffic flow at the start of my shift. In essence, my shift is what you could call a hybrid of both night and day shifts. I really love it.

Cabbie Interviews in the L Magazine

Photo Credit: satanslaundromat.com

In case you didn't know, the L Mag (stands for Local) is a free bi-weekly pocket-size publication you can pick up at most any sidewalk newsstand or store entrance in NYC. It's not something that I necessarily crave in my reading routines, but it's not a bad last-minute overview of the city's culture and happenings.

The thing I always look forward to is a single page somewhere in the middle of the magazine that is dedicated to interviewing random cabdrivers on their opinions concerning current events, but more often just random lighthearted questions like 'your favorite color.' They tell you where the hack is from, what their previous profession was, and how many yellow years they've served.

There is another section in the magazine that is almost identical, but geared toward bartenders, which confirms my long-standing theory that all employees of bars and cabs alike are kinfolk. We're a big family that deals with the same nuisances at work: the worst (and at times best) of human behavior. I always tell my bar-tending passengers this and they agree wholeheartedly.

Once a bartender said, "I started out babysitting. Then I worked with animals. Now I do this. A natural progression. It takes a special kind of person to do our kind of work." I jubilantly responded that I too had had a steady domino effect of string theoretical employment. I was a bike messenger, then a moving truck driver. And now this.

No doubt it shows in the tips. It's the same reason I see a look of astonishment on my girlfriend's face when we leave a restaurant. Few people can truly understand what would possess me to drop a 25% tip on nearly every check, every time I go out for dinner. It's called genuine, first-hand empathy. Empathy: my favorite word in the dictionary.

Let's not go off on too long of a tangent. If you'd like to scroll through some of the questions and answers in that ask-the-taxi-driver section of every L Magazine, you can find the archives neatly arranged on their website. Many of them are downright dull, but there are a few magical winners. Have at it.

Ad for a Pinball Machine

I can relate to the trail mix of characters on the sidewalk and the driver's jaded, million-mile stare. I have always said that driving a cab is like being the twisted combination of a cruising pinball, a jagged, relentless tetromino in the game Tetris, and Pac-Man himself. An endless cycle of chasing, being chased, and having to think quick on your mental feet, with as much efficiency as humanly possible. It's a real-life, non-video game addiction that takes years to overcome. The problem is that it also qualifies as a job. One that you wake up from nightmares about. You're asleep in bed, but you think you're driving asleep on the wheel. When you wake up with your knuckles suddenly clenched in front of you and your toes pressing forcefully into an imaginary brake pedal, you know it's time to take a vacation. And I just discovered that the board game below even exists. I hope I have a chance to sit down and play it with friends some day.

Bogota to New York

This past March buses in the Colombian capital went on strike. It spread to other cities, and eventually they were joined by intercity buses and taxis in a nationwide strike. Taxis deliberately blocked traffic to increase the mayhem and commuters hitchhiked with private motorists and on flatbed trucks. The strike was a result of failed attempts between trade unions and the government to negotiate a dispute over the process of exchanging old buses for newer models through 2010. Taxi drivers involved themselves both out of solidarity and because the mayor's office was refusing to abolish the payment of outstanding traffic fines beyond three years of age. Imagine if Greyhound, all the other regional bus lines, and all of the taxis in major cities along the Northeast Corridor all decided to join NYC's transit union and go on one enormous strike? Only in Colombia! The difference is that here the MTA is one system, run by the city. In Bogota each of the thousands of buses are owned and operated independently, somewhat like NYC taxicabs. But we come out looking like weasels next to our Colombian counterparts.

Photo Credit: http://colombiareports.com/colombia-news/news/8471-bus-strike-brings-bogota-to-a-standstill.html

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Photo Credit: http://www.streetsblog.org/2006/12/31/setting-the-agenda-on-pedestrian-safety/

real life cartogram radio robot dance

Photo Credit: Marilynn K. Yee/ The New York Times

Ever since I was little my geographic imagination and infatuation with ultra urban landscapes has been off the wall. Whenever the daydreamer in me stares at cracks in the sidewalk, they look to me like tributaries leading to rivers and so on. If the cracks are straight lines they represent streets, especially if there are ants navigating along them in both directions.

Many of us taxi drivers who keep blogs tend to include a blog roll for our network of fellow taxi scribes. These rolls are often set up to display the one that most recently posted an entry, and so on down the line. In essence, we take turns jumping to the front of the pack, just like taxicabs in traffic. Those of us who take a nap on the curb or at the airport end up remaining in the same spot at the back of the line. How analogous.

I'll never forget my dad's story about a waiter who asked him if he wanted soup or salad. He thought they said, "would you like super salad?" When he answered, "yes please!," the waiter got annoyed and asked again. "Soup....or salad?" There were so many other options through the course of the meal that my dad was the one who became annoyed. Sometimes I feel like the waiter, and I assume the passenger feels like my dad.

Do you want that in the trunk?
Do you want to go up Sixth or Eighth?
Do you have a crosstown street that you prefer?
Do you want the left or the right side?
Do you want the near or the far corner?
Are you paying cash or credit?
Do you want the receipt?

THREE FAST NOTEWORTHY FARES OF RECENT:

1) In the Flower District I was hailed by a trio with lots of nursery merchandise, including a mid-sized tree in a large planter that had to fit across the floorboard, over their laps, and out the window. It all worked out just fine.

2) A couple got in with their newborn infant and joked about how they don't want to wake the baby because if he started to cry the cabdriver would kick them out of the taxi. That always-present initial ice broke right then and there. I didn't even have to make an effort. The rest of the ride was sweet and hilarious. It was nice to be reminded that there are people out there who still think of cabdrivers as human-- not a robot you can switch on and off, who emotionlessly listens to the re TV ads behind his head all day (which make it nearly impossible to have symbiotic communication with the passenger). A robot who can't make or receive any phone calls either, obviously because robots don't require any sort of interpersonal interaction. 12 hours of complete isolation a day? No problem!

3) A strung- out filmmaker hopped in on Bedford in Williamsbug. He had a cow in the backseat when he realized he spilled lens cleaner all over his video camera, because the cap came loose inside of his bag. He called up a colleague and the destination changed from somewhere in SoHo to the camera shop on Canal and Walker.

Valerie Smaldone, the graceful radio personality on news talk 710 am, aired an interview she conducted with an awkward, less-than-eloquent cabdriver on May 13th, during her lunchtime program on the hidden little facts of New York. The lucky cabdriver to be featured that day happened to be me. Here's a link to the on-demand podcast. My two minute segment of audial fame can be found toward the end of the show, around 75% of the way through.....

http://67.72.16.166/wor/2382022.mp3

AN EXCITING SHOW COMING UP IN BROOKLYN
MARCHING BANDS AND SKA BANDS ARE SOME OF MY FAVES....
http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=115222455162251

Serene on the Seventeenth

Photo from fascinating Gothamist article about cabbies.

At 4:30 A.M. I depart the depot and come over the Brooklyn Bridge. Several vacant cabs hog the main off-ramp (Civic Center), so I opt for the Park Row exit instead. A vacant cab heads straight onto Barclay, so I go left down the Canyon of Heroes. Just before Bowling Green, I pick up my first fare. Up Avenue of the Americas. Right on 34th. Have a nice night (day).

Just a few feet ahead I stop for Craig, my second fare. We take Madison and Broadway all the way up to 161st Street. My taxicab is the friendliest, most non-judgmental one he's ever ridden in. His advice on heterosexual romance is the most omniscient and non-intrusive that a drunk, homosexual passenger has ever offered. By the time we get to Harlem, he feels so comfortable that he politely asks if he could sit up front, and I instinctively let him. He tacks on a $20 tip to the $19 fare and disappears into the predawn abyss.

As I make a U-turn for downtown again, I am hailed by a man trying to get to his hotel on 125th and St. Nicholas. It's his birthday and his "lucky night." At the first red light he rolls down his window and asks a woman walking on the sidewalk if she has a cigarette. She comes over and he opens the door. She steps right in and they start making out. I haven't had my cup of coffee yet and I'm entirely unsure of what's happening. She pets his head and tells him to relax. She has a thick New York accent and he sort of does, too. He rounds the tip to the next dollar and they step out.

Minutes later I scoop up two buff men on Central Park West at 105th, heading up to 171st and Fort Washington. As soon as they exit the cab, a vulnerable young transplant from San Luis Obispo runs over and hops in. He's going to 96th and Amsterdam. With that, my predawn roll in upper Manhattan ends. It isn't until after sunrise that I find my next fare, and only due to swift stratagem.

I'm cruising up 4th Avenue and vacant cabs infest every possible route, except East 10th. As I complete that long and potentially treacherous right turn, a man in my peripheral vision steps out of his apartment building. I slow to a crawl and poke my head out the window. Mere eye contact yields a trip to Flushing Avenue and Bogart (Brooklyn). I return via Metropolitan, which yields a pleasant fare back over the bridge to 9th and C, followed by okra on rice for breakfast, at the Punjabis on Houston St.

Around 8 A.M. I transport a Tudor City trio to Newark Airport ($55). After returning through the Holland Tunnel I pick up a Jewish trio in TriBeca, en route to Friends Seminary for their teen's exam. Upon dropping off, I turn the corner onto Rutherford Place and stop to jot down a few notes. Soon I hear whistling from behind. One of them needs a brisk emergency ride back to TriBeCa to grab documents they forgot at home, and then come right back. I do it all with a smile. He says, "I want you to have lunch on me." That's two $20 bills and $10 from the initial trip. $50 in 25 minutes. Or $105 in justsengers, bridges and tunnels, driver philosophy, exceptionally sweet passengers, food, income, lower manhattan, mid and uptown over an hour. That alone covers the (fixed) lease!

Second half of the shift coming soon to a blog near you.....
Stop in at the tips blog for today's digest: Wishful Yearning (Citizens' Band)

AT THE READY

Being “on-duty” takes on a much deeper meaning to me than simply hacking. I am the eyes of New York. My scanning of every inch of public space and my vigilance of every visible human being, though done for the sake of seeking out a fare, can't help but double as a form of citizen patrol. I am at all times prepared, at the drop of a dime, to (reasonably) step into any situation and facilitate safety, justice, and the well-being of strangers.

My ears prick up when I hear vulnerability and/or aggression on the streets. My eyes read facial expressions and bodily gestures like a studious Jew reads the Torah. My reflexes spot movements as if the seconds of time are getting sucked forward ever so slightly, like a mosquito that successfully evades a swat. I get in and out of the cab readily, like a milkman making his rounds.

Ideally, my work bag for the cab contains jumper cables, a tire iron, a car jack, a couple of used inner tubes (as ropes), a subway map in case someone needs directions, an air pump for bicyclists with low pressure, the shirt off my back, etc.

OPPOSITES

Cabdriving feels like the inverse of hitchhiking. Instead of waiting for a ride, I'm always looking for someone to pick up. The entire day is like a baton race from ride to ride, to earn a measure of money or distance.

As a hitchhiker, I would put out my hand similarly to how my fares hold out their own to call my attention. Both sides begin as strangers, possibly becoming friends in a symbiosis. In my experience hitchhiking I've always encountered kind, generous, and accomodating people. Beyond rides, I've received guided tours, food, even shelter without even asking for it.

I try to make sure that my passengers experience an inviting hospitality, just as I've been given by many strangers on two different continents (thus far.) Returning the favors I've been paid is a priority for me. Don't forget to pay yours forward!

Subway Safety and Taxi Price-Gouging

NOTE: I've revised the previous post, adding specific refusal rules that I copy/pasted off the TLC website, removing unnecessary clutter (like the Arab driver's beautiful accent, which could be mistaken for xenophobia on my part), and clarifying what I meant when mentioning Danny Glover (which could be misconstrued as racism, but really just an empathic emotion I feel toward his plight for dignity). Please take another gander at it if you've already read it. In today's post I'd like to cover a few loosely knit themes. Bear with me.

Did you hear about the lady who jumped into a subway rail pit in Manhattan last week, in order to save her toiletries pouch that she accidently dropped down there? According to the report, people in the station were yelling at her to lay down on the track as an unstoppable 6 train approached, but she panicked and ended up crushed between train car and platform.

The MTA doesn't put effort into training people to survive such a predicament, probably because they don't want folks to get the wrong ideas in their heads. If I understand correctly, the best advice is to lay down flat on your back in the rancid gap between the tracks, and let the train go over and past you. That is how an altruist saved a fallen straphanger in 2007. Perhaps the gap under the edge of the platform is good too. I don't know. We (as New Yorkers) should know these things. One thing's for sure. Don't go chasing after something if it falls into the pit (unless you're saving a human being and you know what you're doing). The MTA will retrieve items in due time. That's what us taxi drivers pay them to do. Ride in our cabs and we'll send a 50 cent contribution, from every fare, to all the worthwhile causes of the underground.

Onto the more current topic of double rate scams. It's all over the news and being amply discussed among cabbie circles right now. All I have to say is that I saw it coming. It's easy for a driver to engage the rate 4 button with a light tap on the meter, at any point during a trip. It's not hard to get away with it because nearly no one takes their receipt, which would reveal the scam outright (Nassau-West(chester) would be printed on it.) Such an easy deception can be as tempting as human nature is predictable, particularly in the psyche of people who are so poorly compensated (and even occasionally punished) for their ceaseless efforts to serve the public proficiently, and to protect their welfare.

I'm not advocating anything here. I would be extremely angry if my cabdriver did that to me, and the golden rule happens to be my religion. I treat my passengers the way I'd want to be treated. I'm just saying, "What'd you expect?" I guess every collar gets a turn as criminal. Blue, white, and now yellow. I feel like they (TLC) might have known what kind of inevitable traps they were setting up when they introduced the new system. Call me Mel Gibson in the movie "Conspiracy Theory."

I, for one, always try to end every fare about a half block early, so that my fares have a few moments to swipe their card or count their cash before we stop, especially if there's no safe place to pull over (often the case), which minimizes danger time. Since I remain focused on driving while searching with my finger to end the fare and print the receipt, and since all of these rate buttons are so small and closely placed, I have made the rare mistake of pressing rate 4 (perhaps twice a month, or so). But since I end the fare within 1-3 seconds of the mistake, it has no effect on the total the passenger owes me.

I'm sure similar scenarios of accidently pressing the wrong button happen to cabdrivers all the time. You go to pause the meter, so it doesn't run while you check your street atlas for an obscure destination, or because you agreed to wait for a passenger without charging them for wait time, and all of a sudden the meter reads rate 4 instead of the usual 1. In a situation like that I either just end the metered fare immediately or explain to the passenger (if we've already established mutual rapport) what has accidently occurred (it's now charging double) and we settle for a mutual solution, like turning it off halfway between here and there. Examples like this (where being as earnest and fair as possible can ironically land you into trouble) abound in taxi life. Why do you think the city found that 35,558 out of the 48,000 drivers (only about 40,000 are active drivers) had illegally pressed the rate 4 button? Here's an excerpt from the NY Times:

The taxi industry vigorously challenged the city’s findings, saying it was unimaginable that such a pervasive problem could be the result of deliberate fraud. “This is clearly a systematic failure on the part of the meters and the technology,” said Bhairavi Desai, the executive director of the New York Taxi Workers Alliance, which represents cabbies. “For this to be so widespread — nearly every single driver — makes no sense,” she added.

One solution a neighbor of mine presented is to have the meter buttons color-coded. Right now they're all gray and the same small size, one right next to the other. I must say that when all this hoopla came out about the epidemic of price-gouging, I was expecting there to be an instant increase in passenger hostility, mistrust, and suspicion.... but in the handful of shifts I've worked since the story proliferated in the media, I simply haven't seen that happen. Passengers, for the most part, continue to be polite and understanding, or at least not incriminating. All they have to do is look at the far right side of the meter and see what code number is being displayed.

1 is a normal in-town fare.

2 is a JFK rate (to and from that airport and Manhattan)

3 is a Newark Airport rate (starts at 17.50, plus tolls)

4 should only be on there if you've left the city limits of the five boroughs.

Once 2, 3, or 4 appears on the meter it cannot be reversed back to 1.

Every once in a while a cabdriver will outright forget to even initiate the meter when a passenger first enters. It usually happens when something distracts the driver during the pick-up. It could be the frantic loading of luggage (or other cargo) into the trunk. It could also be that the driver's only way to pick up the passenger was by stopping at a precarious point in traffic. It may be that upon entry, the passenger urgently requested a right turn be made from the leftmost lane (or vice versa). The driver must then attempt to safely shift several lanes of traffic within a matter of seconds and feet.

I'd say the most common one for me is when I drop someone off that involves a frantic scramble of some sort (children/cargo/time crunch/traffic obstruction), and then a new passenger immediately enters the cab with their own frantic scramble. I take off again instantly. I'm lucky if I remember to erase the previous passenger's total off the meter, let alone engage it anew. No, that doesn't mean this passenger will have to pay the previous fare. The meter isn't accruing anymore. It's sitting idle, waiting for the final receipt-printing to be engaged by the driver.

If I forget to turn the meter on, I tell the passenger that it's pay-as-you-wish, like at the Metropolitan Museum. Whatever they felt the ride was worth (obviously if they're clueless tourists I'm going to be forthright on an estimate). However, I never demand payment of any sort in a situation like this, because I take full responsibility for my own amnesia. It's merely a suggested donation, as they say at the museum. I have heard stories of cabdrivers pressing the double rate 4 for enough blocks to make up for the time and distance they covered while the meter was forgetfully unengaged. This is often done on the sly, although the final price of the cab ride comes out to nearly exactly what it would have been if the meter had been initiated normally at the start of the trip. The driver simply didn't want to disturb the passenger with such technicalities. Like I said before, our deeds and sensibilities go largely unnoticed, and are sometimes even reprimanded and criminalized.

There are, however, bad apples among us, as in any industry or group of people. Here's an article about the lousiest and most notorious modern hack alive. His scheme has further ruined our delicate reputation as cabdrivers in a city as harshly judgmental as this.

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ny_crime/2010/03/01/2010-03-01_crooked_cabbie_wasim_khalid_cheema_took_public_for_40000_ride_say_officials.html

Lastly, please take a moment to read this short entry by another driver. It sums up and provides perfect examples of how poorly we often get treated by passengers, and for no legitimate reason.

http://nyc-cab.blogspot.com/2010/03/rainy-day.html

And here's an interesting random fact within the rules of the TLC. It applies whether or not the driver has their off-duty light on!

	From Driver Rule 2-50e8 (in PDF): If the driver has been operating the taxicab for more than eight (8) hours of any continuous twenty-four (24) hour period, then he may refuse to take a passenger to these destinations: Westchester or Nassau County or to Newark Airport.

BEST OF OTHER TAXI BLOGGER POSTS

I'd like to take this opportunity to share a few of my favorite entries to have been churned out by fellow taxicab bloggers in recent times:

First of all, I want to point out a fairly new member in our driver-writer network, who has all but blown me away with his stupendous abilities as an author and as a Boston cabdriver. I know a few months ago I raved about a new taxi blog out of Boston, but this one is even newer. I've heard it said on many occasions that Boston is "one of the smartest cities" in the country (due in large part to its universities).

Since I am a strong believer that there are multiple (forms of) intelligence(s) across the human landscape, I believe it takes more than just plain book smarts and

over-rationalized lab research to pass as a "smart city." A (just as) large segment of the population must have certain (less logical) sensibilities, like appreciative

resourcefulness, interpersonal diplomatic xenophilia, and street savviness. That's what excites me when not one, but two of the best new taxi story-tellers have

come out of Boston. I don't particularly (personally) care for that city, but I am glad to see that it can now truly merit the title: "one of America's smartest cities" (at least in my book), thanks to its wise and word-prolific cabdrivers.

With no further ado, I present to you: HACKNEYED SOJOURN. A Boston taxi blog. Literally every one of his few entries are solid. By the way, the other Bostonian I was mentioning is THE HACK. He's also got back-to-back, masterpiece postings. And now we come to my favorite New Yorker in this worldwide network of ink-slinging

hacks. If you only have time for two entries, these are my recommendations:

http://cabsareforkissing.blogspot.com/2009/09/three-nights.html#links

http://cabsareforkissing.blogspot.com/2009/08/how-to-beat-ticket.html#links

Short and sweet (or honest) entries from two different drivers:

Here's an excellent one about the NYPD/TLC's heartless attack on cabbies:

http://nycab.blogspot.com/2010/02/give-me-break.html

A picture taken at the JFK holding lot. Dozens of nationalities represented and each

ethnic huddle of cabbies plays its own music loud while standing around, shooting

the shit: http://nyc-cab.blogspot.com/2010/03/spanish-music-torture.html

I haven't even had a chance to look at all the other blogs on my international roll,

so forgive me if I failed to include one of your remarkable taxi stories in my review.

SERVING LA GUARDIA TO THE MAX

It's always a mouthwatering mystery for the cabdriver to wait in line at the airport taxi lot, wondering who (of all the people stepping off their planes) is going to happen to be at the front of the passenger line (at the terminal) when the cab finally creeps its way up there (from behind a solid single-file stream of taxis). The most fist-clenching unknowns are....

1. Will they be going to Manhattan, just into the neighborhood adjacent to the airport, or all the way out into the land of rate 4 (double on the meter beyond city limits). This becomes especially relevant nearing the last 1/4 of one's shift.

2. Where did they fly in from? Perhaps they're foreigners, domestic tourists, here for a brief business venture, or just plain New Yorkers returning from trips with just as many variables.

On one particular episode in and out of La Guardia (NY's domestic flights hub), I was sort of on a roll (aside from the 2.5 hour holding lot delay and an adventurous incident with a college boy from Shanghai, who was studying Biology at SUNY in Stony Brook). It all began at 7:17 am on a Sunday last month. I shuttled an out-of-town couple to the end of their splendid urban vacation. I never learned which North American city they were from because all three of us were too tired to converse. Don't be alarmed. A fatigued cabbie doesn't allow themselves to be delirious, just cranky and quiet, with bloodied coffee eyes. By 7:30 we were at the terminal, thanks to the thoroughly unoccupied bridges of Williamsburg and Kosciuszko.

It wasn't until 10:00 that I was bestowed with a new passenger. Until then I had passed the time imparting a few tricks of the trade upon a young new duo of Sikh drivers from my garage that had recognized me in the massive central holding lot (though not as big as Kennedy's). The college freshman who rechristened my cab had moved from far eastern China to far eastern Long Island in the last year, to attend the State University of New York. The first thing he said upon entering, and kept repeating profusely in a thick Mandarin accent, was "30-09 Broadway in Queens, the Long Island Railroad please".

I'm always afraid of seeming as inadequate or as apathetic as the common cabdriver, especially because of my unusually youthful appearance. Therefore I always try to be as nimble as humanly possible about locating the destination in my mental map, choosing the best route, and merging into traffic.... all within seconds. But every now and then I'm either stumped or the request simply doesn't make any sense. This one was the latter. "Sir, I believe there are closer LIRR stations than that. There's one in Flushing and the main hub is in Jamaica. Where in Long Island are you trying to go?"

He immediately grew very concerned and robotically repeated the address, which as far as I could tell, was in Astoria. Why would you go that far west to catch an eastbound train if there were stations nearby? I started driving down Junction, making my way toward the part of Jackson Heights where Broadway begins, in case the address was (for some Queens-eccentric reason) down there, even though the logical location (according to the digits) would be by the corner of 31st Street in Astoria, (coincidently) where the N and W subway trains stop overhead.

That was one of the few shifts in which I forgot to bring my hefty sack of maps with me. Otherwise, I would have simply checked the MTA map for clues to decipher his intent.

He only got more nervous and less understandable, but he did finally mention that he was in fact headed back to school in Stony Brook (Suffolk County).

I drove up Broadway, all the way to the address he'd given me, all the while warning him that (as far as I knew) there were no LIRR stations in Astoria. I even shut the meter off way early and told him $16 would be his total fare (in an attempt to calm him down). When we got there I pointed at the elevated subway platform and told him that he could theoretically take a city train and eventually arrive at a commuter rail junction, but that it made no sense for him to have taken a taxi to that spot.

I pulled his heavy suitcase out of the trunk and threw it on my back. I assertively motioned and called him to follow me as I began walking briskly up the staircase with his bag. He tried to tell me it was OK and he didn't need my help, but I had to figure all this out for at least myself and my insatiable geographical curiosity, and he looked like he would've died carrying that suitcase to the platform. I glanced at an MTA local and regional map (back to back on each side) that an agent gave me. Sure enough, the LIRR station in Woodside would've been his best bet, followed by a transfer unto the Port Jefferson branch in Jamaica.

We had just been by that part of town less than 10 minutes ago and it would end up taking him the better part of an hour to make that connection aboard the subway. I pointed all this out to him on the map and offered to drive him back over there free of charge. He gave in quite easily and the whole mood of our relationship made a 180 degree turn. He displayed a very carefree and thankful attitude, as if all of a sudden he discovered he could completely trust in me. His welfare was my main concern (not my time or income).

He broke into a wide grin and started telling me all about how badly he wanted to switch majors to Chemistry and how much less complicated the train system was in Shanghai. He explained that google had given him that erroneous address and that I was "a very warm-hearted person." Actually, nope. I'm merely setting an example of the way I'd like all of humanity to behave. Loving my neighbor as myself, as the saying goes, because that is life's main purpose. At the end of the trip he offered me an extra $10 bill. I took it because one should not block another's opportunity to give, or take, for that matter.

From Woodside I returned to the airport empty because I had a shortie pass. These are slips of paper that the airport taxi dispatchers hand out to cabdrivers when the fare isn't going beyond Queens. It enables the driver to return and get a new passenger without waiting in the enormous lot again, but it must be done within 90 minutes (more than enough time). Otherwise, waiting that long the first time would have been severely detrimental to their total net profit for that shift, and cabdrivers would be less likely to stay and serve the arriving flights upon shuttling over departing ones.

I bounced right back out of the airport with yet another college student. I guess this was the big end of winter break for all the area schools (of higher education). She goes to Parsons and lives in Williamsburg, just like my sister. I asked her to let me guess the city she had flown in from by telling me the first letter.

"I had one lay-over and the cities start with 'V' and 'M'."

I scanned the U.S. map in my head, since La Guardia is 98% domestic flights. I could only think of Minneapolis and the 'V' must be some small town in Minnesota?

"I'll give you another hint. The flight came in from the north."

"Oh yeah, Canada Air goes here too! That's easy then. Vancouver and Montreal!"

She had been skiing in British Columbia over the break and her father's company, Nestle in London, was sponsoring both her education and her vacation. For this she was grateful.

After dropping her off on Bedford and South 4th, I decided to drive up the main drag of local artisans, on my way back to the airport empty again (since I had yet another shortie pass). The plan was: if I picked someone up going into Manhattan, that would end my airport love affair. But otherwise, La Guardia was shaping up to be my pin ball machine for the day. I had one hipster take a ride just down the street with a couple buckets of paint. Then I found myself heading to the airport empty again. On the way there I tuned in to a lovely new musician's NPR debut on the radio. I got to indulge my ethnomusicological obsessions by learning about Zee Avi, who mixes Malaysian and English lyrics with beautiful acoustic/ukulele skills. Two of her must-hear songs are "Bitter Heart" and "Kantoi." You can watch these on YouTube.

I came back to LGA and got a slightly uptight couple heading to Brooklyn Heights. From that same neighborhood, I picked up a nice man going to Windsor Terrace. Then I cruised vacant through Park Slope, en route to Manhattan, when I picked up a trio from Dallas who needed a ride to the Waldorf (hotel), to get their luggage, and then onward to EWR (Newark Airport).

So after all those Brooklyn/Queens fares in a row, I was finally shot back into Manhattan by the same passengers who shot me right back out of the island again. And they happened to be friends with Derek Lam, the fashion designer who gave my sister an internship a couple of summers ago, after his partner got a ride to work in my cab one morning (my greatest serendipitous networking breakthrough to date). I know these all sound like a whole lot of tangents, but I'm just trying to point out how evident the interconnectedness of everything is in this profession of mine. I love it!

AWAITING DISPATCH

I show up at the drivers' lounge between 2 and 3 am, in order to be first in line among the 'non-steady hacks'. I wait until 5 am or so, to be assigned a cab by the dispatcher. I read, write, and take naps while the night hacks crawl in from their shifts. I'm not a "steady driver", which means I'm not on the garage's weekly schedule. I like to keep my routine flexible, but that means I'm not always guaranteed a cab. I have to wait for one of the steadies to call off, and they often wait until the last second, or even until the dispatcher calls them. Most 'steadies' have been with the garage for so many years that seniority allows them to get away with letting taxicabs sit idle in the lot well into daybreak, while they take their sweet time, or not show up at all. These days the only way a garage will secure you a cab is if you agree to slave away 6 days a week. That's 12 hours a shift. That's 72 hours.

If you're a steady day shift, you have no choice but to work weekends too. If you're a steady night shift you have no choice but to also work the least lucrative weeknights (Sunday and Monday). If you're on that weekly contract, and you decide to (or must) take a day off, you're supposed to call the dispatcher before the start of your shift. Regardless, you're held responsible for the shift lease unless a part-time driver (like me) picks up the shift . Funny thing is that I often do about 4 shifts a week when I'm in town. 4 x 12 is 48 hours. That's a whole 'normal workday' more than in a 'normal full-time position'. And yet I fall into the category of "part-time driver." There is absolutely NO SUCH THING as overtime in the taxi industry. We're independent contractors! Another funny thing is that my garage couldn't give me a steady schedule, even if I WANTED one. The entire industry is over-saturated with drivers.

The ugliest thing about it is that everyday hundreds of people go through a 500 or so dollar process to become licensed cabdrivers, led on by a governing body that is well aware of the unfair ratio of actual cabs available for lease. To make matters worse, garages will gladly take $2oo deposits from new drivers, and then consistently turn them down when they call or come in. Imagine that! You 're hurting so bad economically that you decide to take a risk and put $700 down to get your foot in the door of possible employment (not to mention its daunting tasks), only to learn that it is in fact all but impossible to even get started, beyond the time and money spent on licensing. Knowingly leading people on when they're most vulnerable is unethical and heartbreaking to witness.

The weekend day shifts are easiest to get. I usually don't have a problem scoring two or so weekday or weeknight shifts either, if I wait patiently at the lounge, but not without being sent home on one or two other occasions. Dispatchers have a great deal of respect for someone who never whines. It seems it's either that or bribery. When I first started out as a hack I was on one of those brutal, previously mentioned schedules. Sunday through Friday, like a good Jew (but a bad Jew for earning my money in such a goyish manner). 288 hours a month, for months on end. Those were my days of serious mental and physical imbalance, in which my only purpose in life was to supply my sister with her college needs. My health has improved greatly since I took myself off that schedule. Sometimes I'm just simply out of town for week(s) and I don't have to answer to any dispatcher. I have time for a life!

Michael Duffer, my cabdriving comrade, taking a nap at the lounge. He's been working weekend mornings for a long time. Surprisingly enough, he was sent home cabless last Saturday. OK, so it's the highly taxied holiday season and everything, but give the good cabbies of NYC a break, will ya? He shows up earlier than anyone, pays his lease, never scratches or bumps the fiberglass, and provides our city with excellent service. Stop selling his well-deserved spot to higher bidders.

TAXICAB VIDEO PROLIFERATION

Waiting in line at the Kennedy airport taxi hold is fascinating, but until now I have been unable to show people what I mean. This clip would have been more interesting had the lot been more full of cabs, cabdrivers, and had I captured more of the conversations occurring in multiple languages inside the cafeteria. Perhaps I was trying too hard to be covert. At least I didn't have to wait more than an hour to catch a fare back to the city that day.


Sunrise over the East River. When my partner Jenine comes along for a taxi ride in the front seat, she acts as the social lubricant that provokes my passengers to tip the living daylights out of me. On top of that, it's exciting to hear her recall the parts of the city that she is familiar with from past experiences. Her discernment and familiarity covers such an unfathomable range of categories. The privilege of spending time with her simply humbles me.


There were lofty ideas for this video, but they were postponed prematurely when I became overly self-conscious. I wanted to get the message across that not only am I one to safeguard the passenger's bill of rights, but that I adamantly believe there ought to be a cabdriver's bill of rights as well.

diurnal tachycardia

Hybrid taxicabs have crept up and infiltrated the iconic streams of Crown Vic for many months now. Though I remain the steer of an old school icon, I've become increasingly ashamed of not making the effort to find a garage that would lease me a hybrid. That was until now.

I just read something quite disturbing in the taxi newsletter. It turns out that just as compact fluorescent bulbs defeat their own energy efficient purpose when you repeatedly turn them on and off, hybrid vehicles emit more CO2 than conventional ones when used in the extreme stop and go conditions found in places like New York (nothing compares). I'm not sure this information is entirely accurate. It might be a ploy on behalf of traditionalists. I myself am what you'd call a flexible tenacity slicker. Therefore, although I adhere to my perspectives with passion, I'm simultaneously on guard for and urgently open to epiphanies, whether internal or imported, that could flip those views upside down, right on their ass.

Both scenarios involve the irony of the apparatus requiring more juice to start up and less to keep going. I've always had a splinter in my cortex about burning fossil fuels for a living. But every time I've expressed these concerns to eco-sensible peers, I've received the same comforting response. A city full of taxicabs is several times more sustainable than a city full of private vehicles. And on top of that, I do an unquestionably good job at it. By that I mean a stellar combination of....
-acutely galvanic maneuverings
-geographical acclimatization
-a voraciously assertive attitude
-blunt honesty about traffic patterns, ETAs, and fare estimations
-an overly accommodating approachability
(especially towards guests of our city)
-utmost respect for bicyclists and busdrivers
(minimal amounts for anyone else)
-the ability to navigate organically through swarms of pedestrians without costing anyone behind you the light (letting three cross the walk and then squeezing by before the next three)

All of these and a whole lot more are essential to a genuinely adequate NYC cabdriver. More than people want to give it credit for. We're not white collars. Nor are we blue. We're cadmium yellow light. Prepare for supersonic flight and the respite of an elevated kite.

I keep a pouch in the cab that contains both the free NYC condoms that I pass out to passengers and the Emergen-C packets that I occasionally pour into my jug of H2O. Sometimes I'll find myself accidentally having reached for the wrong one when my eyes must remain glued on the road. You can't pour a condom into your water. It won't boost your immune system. Speaking of that, I often bring a couple cloves of garlic on board to chew on, and its odor befuddles some of my fares.

I love it when the early parts of a shift line up perfectly like a row of Tetris cubes. Last Friday I hit the streets at 04:00. Off the Q Boro, I followed Lex to 23rd. Three dozen blocks on the tail end of a bar night and no fare? Time to get ill. One vacant cab split to the right. Another sped straight through. Up for grabs was the left. That Third Avenue light and I always synchronize with each other. Round the bend to the right stand two men hailing. Off to South Slope in the BK we go, all clubbed out and talkative. Less than a block away from where we said our goodbyes, in jumps un Mexicano con mariachi, meritoriously loud in his ears. "Roosevelt and Junction (Corona) please." That's not one, but two fares of $30 or more in under an hour. Eminence!

Fatigue overcame me early this morning while fare fishing in Carnegie Hill. I pulled over and laid my head down for 45 minutes, while remaining in the driver seat. During that time I had a dream about some lady with a dog on a leash that was looking for a taxi. She'd seen my vacant cab first, but then made a face and tried to run over to another cab. Each time the cab would become occupied before she could reach it. So she'd turn back reluctantly towards me. She repeated this cycle what seemed like a dozen times, until all of a sudden someone jolted me back into consciousness by knocking clamorously on my window. Standing there outside my hovercraft was a statuesque executive with a uniquely deep voice, asking if I was available. As we pulled away from that nourishing curb, I noticed how fresh the nap had made me. But I could use a taxi dream interpreter.

Actually, something somewhat similar to that dream occurred within a couple hours of that nap. An older Japanese couple from Rhode Island opened my back door and began to step inside, only to suddenly step repugnantly back out. It had been raining and this couple was profusely reiterating that the seat was wet, while escaping over to the taxi behind me. While that driver was refusing to take them for having an outer borough destination, I was wiping off the back seat (merely moist) with my stash of stray napkins. They noticed my effort and came bouncing back again. I smilingly let them know that they could have simply brought the 'wetness' calmly to my attention and waited 5 seconds for me to address the problem. No need to run off and try to catch another cab. After all, they were merely going on leisurely visit to their daughter's condo in Brooklyn. It turned out to be a real enjoyable ride for them and I alike, full of fascinating conversational points. They asked why I hadn't become a limo chauffeur, like the guy who drove them in from the Ocean State. Thought bubble: "Because then I would have been too busy kissing your delicate buttocks to have any time for an intriguing, down-to-earth chat like this."

On a shorter note, one of Ben Harper's tour managers jumped in my cab on Avenue C and begged me to rush him up to his Upper West Side hotel. I must say, that was one of the most delightful fares I've had in a while. We talked about growing up on the southwestern quadrant of the Los Angelino sprawl. I lived in the part of that vicinity known as Lomita from ages 4 to 11, and it really helped shape who I am today. He was born, raised, and still lives a few neighborhoods over, in what is known as Inglewood. He mentioned growing up on the same block as Pharcyde and watching them go from inconspicuous jam sessions to stardom in a matter of months. Our conversation immediately led to a thorough mutual listing of the Jazziest horn samplings from Hip Hop's golden age, of which we are both very fond.