Yes it was a full moon weekend but still it's clear that the taxi tensions simmering beneath usual constraint have overheated, emotions and frustrations bubbling to the surface. Last night, at the late train from Portland, I watched a Yellow cab fly by me and others to pick up a passengers. That kind of breach in protocol never happens but it did yesterday. Oddly it worked out for me because instead of getting the woman climbing into his taxi I instead got the literate young man going to his parents in deep Redmond, $65.00 dollars with tip and my best and last fare of the weekend. We talked writing all of the way. Great fun for me, I will tell you that. I appreciate anyone who knows the poetry of Elizabeth Bishop and Anne Sexton. It is exceedingly rare.
Earlier, on the Madison Hotel stand, a Yellow taxi dropped off two drunk post-Seahawk fans who left some garbage in the cab, the driver angrily tossing it out onto the street which resulted in some passersby directing it back at him. The cabbie leaped out ready to fight but thankfully I was close enough to jump between the shouting parties which quickly ended the nonsense, subduing the inflamed beasts. The offended cabbie was clearly ready for blood. He, like so many others, have had enough of slow business and no response from the City or anyone else. It is no surprise that we are all going nuts.
Saturday morning I waited over 2 1/2 hours for my first fare. A good personal coming out at 7 AM is the only thing saving my sanity. What is happening is unfortunately too clear. The huge increase in competition and the six-plus weeks of Yellow dispatch dysfunction has come to roost at the taxi chicken coop. I see the signs and, taxi brothers and sisters, they are scary. It is going to be a long, cold winter business-wise. It will not be humorous, and you can quote me on that.
Tonight at 7 PM I leave for Mexico for two weeks, meaning my next missive will originate from sunnier climes. Adios, amigos!.