Saturday, January 23, 2021

Unbalanced Taxi: Poor Service, Miscommunication And Rancor At Puget Sound Dispatch/Seattle Yellow Cab

Admittedly, from my very first introduction to the taxi industry way back in September 1987, it was easily described as a topsy-turvy, upside-down, contradictory world----efficiency translating into maybe, honesty convenient only when it wasn't.  Understanding this inherent reality, it didn't bother me much due to my noncommittal commitment, already gainfully employed, taxi a literal vehicle taking me to quick savings and daily Chinese meals, taxicab driving a lark, a nightingale singing down the monetary street to a personal pot waiting at my Rainbow's end.  Why care, I had no need to care, taxi's insanity deflected elsewhere, my residence in the asylum temporary, knowing I would soon be gone.  

But when circumstances changed, permanency becoming my residence, the madness suddenly more personal, and like all mental illnesses, extremely difficult to alter, taxi Bedlam now an assigned address, like Bob Dylan's Desolation Row, "no, no letters please!" unless they originated from this little hell on earth we were all sharing.  And with my taxi acquaintance now heading into its 34th year, not only do I require respite, I want resolution to the ongoing mayhem, disorganization and stupidity I am immersed, minus any life jacket keeping my head above the sewer I find myself swimming---dog-paddling through thoughtless slime and pollution.  This isn't any fun.  It isn't at all reasonable.  I want it to quickly end.  And now!

Supplying, amplifying my distress was finding out that drivers (Yellow Cab single owners) continue to misbehave right out in the open air, screwing around with Hopelink fares while giving little heed to how their actions affect me and other drivers operating correctly, honestly and professionally.  That, along with hearing the quote that I, YC 1092, along with others dislike the dispatch manager, with all that implies,  telling me that little to nothing has changed since 1987 and I don't like it, I don't like it at all.  But what can I do that I haven't already attempted toward clarifying muddied waters rising to our necks and higher? 

The truth is, I'm not sure what to do, when chaos is readily embraced, taken as balm instead of menace, poison quaffed like water.  Doesn't anyone amongst this rancorous mob realize this internal collapse, this kind of implosion is only taking us to the shared brink of self-destruction?  As bad as we are, we at Yellow, other than some percentage of Farwest, are the last cab company standing in Seattle and King County.  Not only do we need to survive, we must survive for the sake of our customers, Yellow the most essential of all area taxi associations.  Shouldn't our argument instead become dialogue, our balled fists open palms? Any other approach is suicide.  We must then collectively put aside animosity and embrace conciliation, recognizing we are allies, not enemies. Any other path is futile, taking us down to mutual perdition.  This is unnecessary.  We can do better.





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