Before I continue upon last night's theme I should report upon today's month of May 2012 version of the Seattle/King County Taxi Advisory Commission, which for the second month in a row failed to field a quorum, meaning we had four physical bodies plus Arron connected via the telephone. Part of the problem is that we have three vacant positions though the true vacancy is the partial commitment to a serious cause. Lukewarm doesn't cut the taxi cloth. Yes we talked but nothing could be made official though Craig Leisy of the City of Seattle Consumer Affairs reported that his office is getting serious where concerned with the "for-hire" industry. It looks like that they will be striped of their pastel colors and other such taxi monikers, the chameleon suddenly an ordinary lizard or perhaps a commonplace salamander similar to the ones we saw at Henry Coe State Park after a brisk rain. They all might become a very bland vanilla, not a particularly alluring color scheme. What is also true is that they have nearly disappeared from the weekend streets since the City of Seattle upped the enforcement ante.
My first fare upon a post-sunrise Sunday morning was from an Aurora Avenue north-end motel, a lovely combination of pimp & doper & drug dealer & hooker X two affair all wrapped up in a $7.00 dollar fare. I know that is hard to do but minor miracles do occur when fueled and accelerated by madness. First this slightly lopsided woman steps to the cab telling me "he is coming" and giving me the sensational news that this would be my best fare of the day. She wasn't quite correct in her assessment. The gentleman in question arrives and she leaves. We then head a few feet north to the Krispy Creme and "why aren't you there?!" and similar growling. "Take me to the Rodeway!" which I do and two denizens of the night approach the taxi, "Ms Deranged Beanpole" saying she wants to talk to my passenger but doesn't as he takes a call and walks up the stairs to his room. Beanpole and companion stride south in search of something. I hope they didn't find it.
My last fare Saturday bar-break is a young female couple going to the further reaches of the Sammanish plateau. What is most notable is that after penetrating deeper and deeper into upper-middle class high mountain suburbia is that I found my way back to I-90 with only a minimum of wrong turns. Heading back to Seattle a Yellow taxi minus one rear tail light flew by me going 80 mph. Boring and boring and now time for snoring, as I am too tired for further roaring. Or something like that, an infantile mind a sure sign of dubious design. And writing!
PS And how could I forget the couple heading back to the W Hotel from Ballard and it was "kiss kiss, smack smack" and other mild intimacies in the backseat when upon exiting she says she likes my beard. How did she find the time and space and interest? No additional comment upon this commentary.