For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
Robert Frost
I awakened early this morning disconsolate, feeling unhappy and exhausted. Yesterday's special session of the taxi commission floated upon my consciousness, troubling me. The actual meeting went well. The commission has two new members and clearly we are progressing forward from last year's rough debut. No instead the problem is similar to the one voiced in "After Apple Picking." Having labored to be in a position of influence, the "great harvest" of authority is overwhelming, having personally touched each problem and issue, like Frost's thousands upon thousands of apples touching his fingers. Especially it was the pubic commentary I found overburdening, knowing well their positions and concerns. Full well do I know and understand that the "for-hire" folks have been screwed by poor bureaucratic decision making while simultaneously knowing I must balance their concerns with my industry. All too intimate is the uniform issue, the black and white accouterments and apparel of the properly attired cabbie, potentially scary to some upon a taxi Halloween. Maybe my innate sympathies ultimately make me inadequate to the task confronting me. Yes I have to make decisions and must do something, anything but what is fair, what holds lasting legitimacy? Taxi is the epitome of temporal, permanency dissolving around the next rainy corner. But there are important issues looming like towering peaks. How to get up and over is the question. The usual taxi response is to press upon the accelerator, flying by the problem. Lying in bed this morning there unfortunately was no gas pedal available. I was there with reality filtering through the shades, twenty-five years of this taxi business my coverlet and blanket. Eventually I turned over and slept until awakened by the telephone. "She-who-can't-be-named" was pressing apples for cider. It was delicious but had to be diluted. How can I then "water" down my concerns and anxiety? Short of completely walking away I believe I will just have to suffer through, something my Catholic heritage has taught me to do. When do I reach that final confession, that last determinative absolution? I don't have a final answer and that for the moment is my current response poor as it is, bruised and destined for the cider-bin and press.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
You Know Its Busy...........
Yes you know it is busy as hell when someone bashes your taxi and still your overall earnings are not affected. Usually an accident of any kind sours the moment if not your entire shift but yesterday's incident, occurring at about 6:30 in the early evening altered little more than preventing me from taking my usual Sunday sauna at the West Seattle YMCA. Having just fueled 478 ($65.00!) I left the 12th and E. Jefferson AM-PM and turned up East Terrace Street to service my bell at 906 Cherry. Suddenly the idling car in the side alley to my left lurched out directly into my drivers-side door. A loud crunch! as the narrow street prevented me from escaping the impact of the wayward Honda Accord. An older Ethiopian woman had just experienced her first crash, choosing me and 478 for the traumatizing episode, mistaking the gas pedal for the brake. As I did what was necessary, contacting the various necessary authorities she sat unbelieving, suddenly catatonic, her hands frozen shielding her face as she contemplated that all too modern experience, the car accident. I failed to tell her that she was only one of a paltry 11,0000 and could take solace. If anything it should be considered fortunate that she uncannily aimed her vehicle at the exact middle of the door thus sparing 478 from further damage.
As we waited for the police it became clear that there could be alternatives to punitive authority, and when her son arrived we agreed that it would be better that if they agreed to pay for the damages the impact upon his mother would be minimal. And indeed the shop was wonderful quickly replacing the door by 1:00 this afternoon, telling me that $650.00 would be acceptable payment. Calling the son all I have gotten so far is his voice message which is unfortunate because I sense he feels that I have somehow betrayed his mother. Usual procedure at Yellow is to contact the insurance companies while knowing that everything will be resolved privately. Yellow is positively paranoid about people making false insurance claims. That this attitude comes from real experience I suppose justifies the sometimes hard line. Regardless it appears the mother will escape minus a ticket and in real terms only a small monetary outlay. I would guess that a commercial auto body shop would have charged her 2-3 thousand for her troubles. For all their shouting, Taki and company do a great job repairing and maintaining the fleet.
Humorous Category (sort of)
Last Thursday a friend came down to Tacoma to check out the local taxi scene and explore the various neighborhoods. We also went to the art and car museums both of which I hold memberships. When "she-who-can't-be named" found out I was assisting Mark with a possible return to the world of top-lights, she began shouting at me. "How could you etc!" hating taxi far more than I do. Given that we have taken many taxis together in faraway lands one would think her opinion would be somewhat moderated but no, for her taxi is poison and nothing will change that. She knows that the only antidote is complete disassociation. How can I disagree? John missed our usual Sunday Chinese feast feeling it necessary to to decompress after his car broke down on the Aurora Bridge during a Saturday night rain storm. He didn't like nearly being killed repeatedly by mindless oncoming traffic. And I can't argue with that either!
As we waited for the police it became clear that there could be alternatives to punitive authority, and when her son arrived we agreed that it would be better that if they agreed to pay for the damages the impact upon his mother would be minimal. And indeed the shop was wonderful quickly replacing the door by 1:00 this afternoon, telling me that $650.00 would be acceptable payment. Calling the son all I have gotten so far is his voice message which is unfortunate because I sense he feels that I have somehow betrayed his mother. Usual procedure at Yellow is to contact the insurance companies while knowing that everything will be resolved privately. Yellow is positively paranoid about people making false insurance claims. That this attitude comes from real experience I suppose justifies the sometimes hard line. Regardless it appears the mother will escape minus a ticket and in real terms only a small monetary outlay. I would guess that a commercial auto body shop would have charged her 2-3 thousand for her troubles. For all their shouting, Taki and company do a great job repairing and maintaining the fleet.
Humorous Category (sort of)
Last Thursday a friend came down to Tacoma to check out the local taxi scene and explore the various neighborhoods. We also went to the art and car museums both of which I hold memberships. When "she-who-can't-be named" found out I was assisting Mark with a possible return to the world of top-lights, she began shouting at me. "How could you etc!" hating taxi far more than I do. Given that we have taken many taxis together in faraway lands one would think her opinion would be somewhat moderated but no, for her taxi is poison and nothing will change that. She knows that the only antidote is complete disassociation. How can I disagree? John missed our usual Sunday Chinese feast feeling it necessary to to decompress after his car broke down on the Aurora Bridge during a Saturday night rain storm. He didn't like nearly being killed repeatedly by mindless oncoming traffic. And I can't argue with that either!
Monday, October 8, 2012
When All The Same Isn't
Usually I know what I will be writing about when approaching this blog, rehashing themes and events of the just past taxi weekend though tonight none of it is interesting to me. I know the topic too well. Repetition is not sustaining though classic radio stations would have you believe otherwise, the same song ad nauseum five times or more during a given audio day. A ride yesterday to Monroe, Washington did help, green pastures refreshing to the taxi soul, reviving memories of an old friend and 1973 and opportunities confused and lost. Clearly I have had enough but as with the majority of my fellow earthly citizens I am chained to my current fate until I am not. Hopefully it will not take death to alter the current scenery and scenario. As it appears my future does reside in my typing fingers I should both continue and accelerate my efforts in that direction. Friends have told me that I am the most consistent writer that they know, that I am always writing. Whether that is completely accurate it is true that I do or have done little to promote either myself or my literary efforts. Better I become reclusive after the best seller than something that will never occur as I drown beneath never ending taxi weekends. By age ten I knew I would be putting words together creating stories and narratives explaining the world I knew and would continue to examine. Oddly it appears that I might finally be ready to exhale having held my breath too many years. As my father taught me suffocation can be habit forming. Maybe that is why I yearn for open desert and prairies, feeling hemmed and walled in by a habitual masonry. Give me the open road though minus the big yellow car. I will walk and sit quietly suddenly eleven again and reading "Something of Value." I am in Kenya and the Empire is oppressive but still I am free, I am free. Fort Chipewyan, Alberta was a watery heaven. I am ready again to throw in a line almost instantly pulling up a three foot long pike, its flesh thick and white and plentiful, walking back along the granite-lined orange flecked lake shore.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Coyotes Are My Friends
Last Monday I worked the now infamous Seahawk & Green Bay Packers game then pried myself up Tuesday morning and made it over to the basalt cliffs and expansive coulees and the seven lakes that is collectively known as the Quincy Game Range. She-who-can't-be-named and I discovered the area back in 1989 and I have been going back every year since, this year making it four times. Smoke from the still burning "Table Mountain" fire near Wenatchee was wafting eastward, with some related blazes visible from I-90. The air quality was pretty good except for Friday when the air around the town of Quincy was rated as unhealthy. That early Friday morning a pack or packs of noisy coyotes came quite near my encampment, perhaps a hundred feet or so, nothing stopping those partying canines from having a good time. Their barking and yipping was welcome relief from the privileged attitude from particularly elitist fans. Two fools who identified themselves as from some ESPN crew were unbearable, paying their five dollar fare with a credit card, announcing that taxi drivers prefer credit and debit cards. Yes I enjoy supporting the banks with my three percent surcharge. Word to the taxi wise: you are entering dangerous territory when you claim to know a cabbie's reality. Why I begin to forget that I am officially a 70s era pacifist. That's why a coyotes' howl is such refreshing honesty. Or the an owl's hoot echoing across the moon lit desert. She-who-can't-be named says, and said Monday when she found out that I was working an extra day, that I always regret adding more taxi fun & games to my routine. How correct she always is upon the subject.
This just past weekend was at times frantic, more business that anyone could deal with. I filled three trip sheets plus six, even making an additional 52 dollars after my now usual Sunday Chinese feast with taxi buddy John. Earlier in the afternoon an extremely kind and grateful passenger gave me a fifty dollar tip for returning his telephone. He must have been a coyote in a past lifetime. There was also a big Cougars versus Ducks game which generated over sixty thousand in attendance. But why must the animals fight? Another weighty metaphysical question.
Tomorrow is the beginning of the new Taxi Commission year. Stay tuned as we try to make it a productive year. So many issues and so little time.
I heard on Friday that some good results appears to have come from that landmark meeting we had with L&I about a month ago. A Vancouver, Washington taxi company transitioned from a ninety-one thousand assessment to a seven hundred dollar credit after receiving credit for monies previously paid. An amazing turnaround which proves what constructive conversation can achieve. Commonsense is always the best solution. How can it be any other way?
This just past weekend was at times frantic, more business that anyone could deal with. I filled three trip sheets plus six, even making an additional 52 dollars after my now usual Sunday Chinese feast with taxi buddy John. Earlier in the afternoon an extremely kind and grateful passenger gave me a fifty dollar tip for returning his telephone. He must have been a coyote in a past lifetime. There was also a big Cougars versus Ducks game which generated over sixty thousand in attendance. But why must the animals fight? Another weighty metaphysical question.
Tomorrow is the beginning of the new Taxi Commission year. Stay tuned as we try to make it a productive year. So many issues and so little time.
I heard on Friday that some good results appears to have come from that landmark meeting we had with L&I about a month ago. A Vancouver, Washington taxi company transitioned from a ninety-one thousand assessment to a seven hundred dollar credit after receiving credit for monies previously paid. An amazing turnaround which proves what constructive conversation can achieve. Commonsense is always the best solution. How can it be any other way?
Monday, September 24, 2012
Eleven Thousand Crashes Are Okay?
Over the local radio I heard a State of Washington official gushing over 2011 statistics that there were ONLY 11,000 vehicle accidents that year. He thought it was a great improvement. Maybe he owns an auto body repair shop on the side. His comments tell me what I have come to know: governmental attitude is at times neither correct or accurate or based on sound logic. This week the City of Seattle city council will begin discussing a problem that the City of Seattle created, namely the poorly thought out "for-hire" vehicle industry. That everyone (meaning both the taxi industry & the for-hires) have been victimized is not recognized. Government cannot be a kind of party game, playing "pin-the tail-on-the-donkey" as suddenly everyone becomes the ass. Not efficient use of time and money.
What you see in the taxi is literally everything, including the historical vestiges of the Spanish-American War. Go back in time and the US wants Spain out of the Americas (and every place else.) They create a conflict, win Cuba and even get the Philippines. Ever wonder why all those Americans were in the Philippines in the early part of WW II, which eventually resulted in the horrific "Bataan Death March" where both Filipino and Americans were brutalized by the Japanese? The Americans occupied the Philippine Islands in 1898 (Mark Twain & others protested) and during the next few years murdered over three million Filipinos whose only request was freedom. Add American oppression and Spanish Roman Catholicism and what you get are two culturally destroyed Filipino women who despite my best efforts cannot comprehend that I both knew where 910 Marion is and how to get there. With more time I could do (and would like to) a comprehensive analysis of the women's neurological makeup and how it intrudes in their decision making. Instead I will just say that it isn't reasonable to perform what I would call "cultural lobotomies." Back in 1976 I actually worked with a woman who had been "administered" an "ice pick" lobotomy. What was done in the 1950s was literally to take a sharp object and scramble the frontal lobe. What a wonderful medical procedure. In a real sense that is what happened to these women. Not quite a pretty picture as the Ramones "I am a Teenage Lobotomy!" Life isn't always a joke. I'm not laughing. I will tell you that.
What you see in the taxi is literally everything, including the historical vestiges of the Spanish-American War. Go back in time and the US wants Spain out of the Americas (and every place else.) They create a conflict, win Cuba and even get the Philippines. Ever wonder why all those Americans were in the Philippines in the early part of WW II, which eventually resulted in the horrific "Bataan Death March" where both Filipino and Americans were brutalized by the Japanese? The Americans occupied the Philippine Islands in 1898 (Mark Twain & others protested) and during the next few years murdered over three million Filipinos whose only request was freedom. Add American oppression and Spanish Roman Catholicism and what you get are two culturally destroyed Filipino women who despite my best efforts cannot comprehend that I both knew where 910 Marion is and how to get there. With more time I could do (and would like to) a comprehensive analysis of the women's neurological makeup and how it intrudes in their decision making. Instead I will just say that it isn't reasonable to perform what I would call "cultural lobotomies." Back in 1976 I actually worked with a woman who had been "administered" an "ice pick" lobotomy. What was done in the 1950s was literally to take a sharp object and scramble the frontal lobe. What a wonderful medical procedure. In a real sense that is what happened to these women. Not quite a pretty picture as the Ramones "I am a Teenage Lobotomy!" Life isn't always a joke. I'm not laughing. I will tell you that.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
When Intelligence Isn't Enough
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes answer, dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Tennyson
My friend Frank Morgan's death has resonated, or as Tennyson states, echos inside my mind, or if you wish, heart and soul. The reason is that though death comes to all of us it is perhaps wise forestalling its icy grip. Beyond all doubt Frank was brilliant and talented, in general an extremely capable person. With his kind of innate talent and intelligence Frank held the ability to do almost anything. Knowing a trifle about Canadian politics, having myself lived nearly four years north of the border, I am convinced that the Canadian public would have appreciated Frank's handling of the country as opposed to the current Prime Minster, someone not dissimilar to the current Republican hopeful this side of the 49th Parallel. For those who don't know, Frank was born in Manitoba, eventually drifting to the West Coast. This is when I recognize that often intelligence alone isn't enough to sustain and guide, as Frank did something essentially very dumb which ultimately proved fatal. When all of his bodily alarm bells were ringing, not only did he not heed the warning, he failed to take the measures necessary to completely put out the fire. Now it is clear that sometimes one's best efforts comes to naught. That is not what I mean. During the first of Frank's two extended stays at the rehabilitation center, I told him that I will tell you once and not repeat it: you have to quit smoking (tobacco). During that first stay he was rehabbing what was left of his left leg. During the second stint he was attempting to heal what remained of his now solitary foot, having lost the toes. It was a grim reality. Diabetes can be like that. But when you don't take the necessary steps and precautions enhancing total recovery, it is clear that something has been lost in translation from doctor to patient. I have unfortunately seen poor decisions made before by individuals who theoretically know better. My own father watched a growth on this right arm enlarge for six months before seeking medial advice. Six months later he was dead. My father was exceedingly bright but infamous for poor life decisions poisoning both career and family. So why isn't being smart enough to resolve important issues? Why then can someone like Frank or my father be as dumb as a rock? It is perplexing.
Transferring this question to taxi driving, the situation is equally puzzling. Though one could say all cabbies are crazy we can never be accused of lacking grey matter. Especially now with the huge influx of extremely well-educated immigrants, our taxi driver community contains a capable bunch of fellows (with a handful of fearless females added to the taxi crowd). Yet given our collective high I.Q. we still stumble along making very questionable decisions.
Clearly this question of the benefits of intelligence is something that merits an entire book and perhaps one day I will write it. All I know is that the late summer sun is shining and I want to enjoy its fleeting warmth. I have finished the cold and hot soaking of my bum right ankle. I had an acupuncture treatment yesterday, one in a twice-a-week series I am doing to take care of years of abuse. My ankle has been swollen and sore for over a decade. When is intelligence not enough? Just ask me. I am as dumb as any brick. And my poor ankle is paying the price for my anatomical illiteracy.
Late Post Script: I was wondering if someone might question my routing to Boeing Field and indeed this evening taxi buddy Stacy (renown Seattle taxi guru) piped up, saying, "You went the wrong way!" I disagreed, telling Stacy what he already knew, that with the 1st South Bridge being a drawbridge I could have been stuck for a good 10-20 minutes if it had suddenly opened for boat traffic. If there were any interest, Stacy and I could go on a local debating tour regaling over the nuances of a given route from A to B and perhaps back again. As I told him, if there is any chance that a bridge could open, you must err on the side of caution. Stacy of course knows all of this. I told him how on Sunday I just barely made it across the Ballard Bridge to my Magnolia airport call, the crossing bars almost plunking faithful 478. Such is the reality living in a city crisscrossed by rivers and lakes and canals. If 478 had wings, I would fly!
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes answer, dying, dying, dying.
Alfred Tennyson
My friend Frank Morgan's death has resonated, or as Tennyson states, echos inside my mind, or if you wish, heart and soul. The reason is that though death comes to all of us it is perhaps wise forestalling its icy grip. Beyond all doubt Frank was brilliant and talented, in general an extremely capable person. With his kind of innate talent and intelligence Frank held the ability to do almost anything. Knowing a trifle about Canadian politics, having myself lived nearly four years north of the border, I am convinced that the Canadian public would have appreciated Frank's handling of the country as opposed to the current Prime Minster, someone not dissimilar to the current Republican hopeful this side of the 49th Parallel. For those who don't know, Frank was born in Manitoba, eventually drifting to the West Coast. This is when I recognize that often intelligence alone isn't enough to sustain and guide, as Frank did something essentially very dumb which ultimately proved fatal. When all of his bodily alarm bells were ringing, not only did he not heed the warning, he failed to take the measures necessary to completely put out the fire. Now it is clear that sometimes one's best efforts comes to naught. That is not what I mean. During the first of Frank's two extended stays at the rehabilitation center, I told him that I will tell you once and not repeat it: you have to quit smoking (tobacco). During that first stay he was rehabbing what was left of his left leg. During the second stint he was attempting to heal what remained of his now solitary foot, having lost the toes. It was a grim reality. Diabetes can be like that. But when you don't take the necessary steps and precautions enhancing total recovery, it is clear that something has been lost in translation from doctor to patient. I have unfortunately seen poor decisions made before by individuals who theoretically know better. My own father watched a growth on this right arm enlarge for six months before seeking medial advice. Six months later he was dead. My father was exceedingly bright but infamous for poor life decisions poisoning both career and family. So why isn't being smart enough to resolve important issues? Why then can someone like Frank or my father be as dumb as a rock? It is perplexing.
Transferring this question to taxi driving, the situation is equally puzzling. Though one could say all cabbies are crazy we can never be accused of lacking grey matter. Especially now with the huge influx of extremely well-educated immigrants, our taxi driver community contains a capable bunch of fellows (with a handful of fearless females added to the taxi crowd). Yet given our collective high I.Q. we still stumble along making very questionable decisions.
Clearly this question of the benefits of intelligence is something that merits an entire book and perhaps one day I will write it. All I know is that the late summer sun is shining and I want to enjoy its fleeting warmth. I have finished the cold and hot soaking of my bum right ankle. I had an acupuncture treatment yesterday, one in a twice-a-week series I am doing to take care of years of abuse. My ankle has been swollen and sore for over a decade. When is intelligence not enough? Just ask me. I am as dumb as any brick. And my poor ankle is paying the price for my anatomical illiteracy.
Late Post Script: I was wondering if someone might question my routing to Boeing Field and indeed this evening taxi buddy Stacy (renown Seattle taxi guru) piped up, saying, "You went the wrong way!" I disagreed, telling Stacy what he already knew, that with the 1st South Bridge being a drawbridge I could have been stuck for a good 10-20 minutes if it had suddenly opened for boat traffic. If there were any interest, Stacy and I could go on a local debating tour regaling over the nuances of a given route from A to B and perhaps back again. As I told him, if there is any chance that a bridge could open, you must err on the side of caution. Stacy of course knows all of this. I told him how on Sunday I just barely made it across the Ballard Bridge to my Magnolia airport call, the crossing bars almost plunking faithful 478. Such is the reality living in a city crisscrossed by rivers and lakes and canals. If 478 had wings, I would fly!
Monday, September 17, 2012
A Slight Contradiction & See Me On the Travel Channel?
The new meter rates minus all the doomsayers appears to have had little impact because the 20 cents per mile increase inspires neither comment nor notice. The rate is now $2.70 per mile up from the old $2.50 which translates to one additional dollar every five miles. So far the passenger public appears okay with that. The "five dollar" trip or fare representing the usual short ride remains intact as the meter clicks in at $5.10 or $5.40. "Give me five" I say and the response is the usual six bucks. I filled over three trip sheets this weekend which probably translates into "when someone needs a taxi they will take one." Fairly simple logic here.
Contradiction
The contradiction relates to dispatch policies and what service perimeters are being applied or not. Last weekend I had two separate customers refuse to get into the taxi because I had arrived too early. Turning on the meter and waiting wasn't acceptable. One fool actually told me to "F_ _K Off! all because I arrived at his Alki neighbourhood door in 2 minutes. How dare I? How can providing good and quick and efficient service be unacceptable when the constant lament is that the taxi never shows up. When I asked that there should be a policy concerning these kinds of refusals I was literally laughed at and told no, the passenger has the right to not only tell me to go away but request another taxi. The problem with this kind of attitude is many.
Anyone who has been on hold at Yellow taxi waiting for the call taker to take down your request has listened to "our GPS will send you the closest cab" which is an inherent acknowledgement that the closer the cab the faster it arrives to your door which is what we all strive for. Another aspect to this is that dispatch has essentially declared war upon Yellow's entire group of drivers for the very crime of providing poor and indifferent service. Given that, it makes no sense whatsoever to punish excellent service, saying that efficiency is inconsequential. It could be said that despite some innate temperamental flaws I am more or less the model cabbie at least in terms of making the entire process of picking and dropping off almost seamless. I make it happen quickly. I am not playing games and in a moment I will give you an example of just how I approach the problem of reaching a "bell." It is nonsensical to say we have a particular service model then do nothing to support that very model you at least rhetorically say is your ultimate goal with every dispatched taxi. It is the "Alice in Wonderland" model when no means yes, fat is thin and gravity, instead of keeping your feet safely planted upon Terra Firma releases you into the atmosphere and soon like the late Neil Armstrong you are walking upon the moon!
Now an example of how the professional taxi driver does it. I challenge anyone to say that this is poor service. How can it be?
Yesterday morning I am coming back from Sea-Tac and receive a zone 505 bell sending me to the United Parcel Service terminal at Boeing Field, 7575 Perimeter Road South. At the point I accept the call I am northbound State Route 509 putting me about 6-7 circuitous "driving" miles from the waiting passenger. The key to this kind of adventure is the beginning or starting point. I am located to the southwest and the passenger is on the northeast side of Boeing Field. I call the guy and say you''ll see me in 7-8 minutes. This is when the fun begins!
I continue north-bound flying toward the 1st South bridge but instead take the first right hand turn available at W. Marginal Way South. From there turning right again I'm onto SR 99/599 heading now southeast toward the S.116th & Pacific Highway South exit which in turns puts me northbound allowing me to turn right onto Boeing Access Road which transitions into northbound Airport Way South. From there I had about 2/3rds of a mile to go before running parallel to Perimeter Road South. Got all of that? Happily I arrived in exactly eight minutes and then boom! off again to Sea-Tac. Who the hell! can argue with that kind of service? How could it be said that I had done something wrong and should have been turned away? Clearly anyone can tell how much an opposite opinion might be worth. Not worthy of the expended breath!
Feeding the Beast?
This morning about 12:45 AM a production crew from the "Travel Channel" got into my taxi and off we went upon a "simulated" ride to Beth's Cafe, the 24 Hour dive up on Aurora Avenue North, located just across from Green Lake. The only problem is that they wanted me to be entertaining and I was nearly out of my mind. They weren't in much better shape. We drove around and I told them how passengers love to molest me etc. Evidently their viewership enjoys minor deviancy. By the time we got to the Executive Inn the meter read twenty and I was flipped forty. I was reminded of Buck Owens and "they are gonna make a big _____outta of me!" Ah yes the distorted and exhausted limelight, or is that yellow moon beam blinding my way? Doesn't matter either way as my eyes are completely shut with little incentive to verify competing realities.
Contradiction
The contradiction relates to dispatch policies and what service perimeters are being applied or not. Last weekend I had two separate customers refuse to get into the taxi because I had arrived too early. Turning on the meter and waiting wasn't acceptable. One fool actually told me to "F_ _K Off! all because I arrived at his Alki neighbourhood door in 2 minutes. How dare I? How can providing good and quick and efficient service be unacceptable when the constant lament is that the taxi never shows up. When I asked that there should be a policy concerning these kinds of refusals I was literally laughed at and told no, the passenger has the right to not only tell me to go away but request another taxi. The problem with this kind of attitude is many.
Anyone who has been on hold at Yellow taxi waiting for the call taker to take down your request has listened to "our GPS will send you the closest cab" which is an inherent acknowledgement that the closer the cab the faster it arrives to your door which is what we all strive for. Another aspect to this is that dispatch has essentially declared war upon Yellow's entire group of drivers for the very crime of providing poor and indifferent service. Given that, it makes no sense whatsoever to punish excellent service, saying that efficiency is inconsequential. It could be said that despite some innate temperamental flaws I am more or less the model cabbie at least in terms of making the entire process of picking and dropping off almost seamless. I make it happen quickly. I am not playing games and in a moment I will give you an example of just how I approach the problem of reaching a "bell." It is nonsensical to say we have a particular service model then do nothing to support that very model you at least rhetorically say is your ultimate goal with every dispatched taxi. It is the "Alice in Wonderland" model when no means yes, fat is thin and gravity, instead of keeping your feet safely planted upon Terra Firma releases you into the atmosphere and soon like the late Neil Armstrong you are walking upon the moon!
Now an example of how the professional taxi driver does it. I challenge anyone to say that this is poor service. How can it be?
Yesterday morning I am coming back from Sea-Tac and receive a zone 505 bell sending me to the United Parcel Service terminal at Boeing Field, 7575 Perimeter Road South. At the point I accept the call I am northbound State Route 509 putting me about 6-7 circuitous "driving" miles from the waiting passenger. The key to this kind of adventure is the beginning or starting point. I am located to the southwest and the passenger is on the northeast side of Boeing Field. I call the guy and say you''ll see me in 7-8 minutes. This is when the fun begins!
I continue north-bound flying toward the 1st South bridge but instead take the first right hand turn available at W. Marginal Way South. From there turning right again I'm onto SR 99/599 heading now southeast toward the S.116th & Pacific Highway South exit which in turns puts me northbound allowing me to turn right onto Boeing Access Road which transitions into northbound Airport Way South. From there I had about 2/3rds of a mile to go before running parallel to Perimeter Road South. Got all of that? Happily I arrived in exactly eight minutes and then boom! off again to Sea-Tac. Who the hell! can argue with that kind of service? How could it be said that I had done something wrong and should have been turned away? Clearly anyone can tell how much an opposite opinion might be worth. Not worthy of the expended breath!
Feeding the Beast?
This morning about 12:45 AM a production crew from the "Travel Channel" got into my taxi and off we went upon a "simulated" ride to Beth's Cafe, the 24 Hour dive up on Aurora Avenue North, located just across from Green Lake. The only problem is that they wanted me to be entertaining and I was nearly out of my mind. They weren't in much better shape. We drove around and I told them how passengers love to molest me etc. Evidently their viewership enjoys minor deviancy. By the time we got to the Executive Inn the meter read twenty and I was flipped forty. I was reminded of Buck Owens and "they are gonna make a big _____outta of me!" Ah yes the distorted and exhausted limelight, or is that yellow moon beam blinding my way? Doesn't matter either way as my eyes are completely shut with little incentive to verify competing realities.
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