Runners are actually rare and, for those interested in racial profiling, I've never had anyone of Asian or Hispanic descent try to run on me. I think I can remember every person who did. It's usually more a matter of sport than economic necessity.
I picked up three black male teenagers on a slow Tuesday night. They wanted to go down the Peninsula to Millbrae. I told them that I needed to see the money up front. They showed me $40.
We arrived at their apartment complex and I was just saying, "I didn't know they had housing projects in Millbrae," when they bolted from the Taxi and dashed off into the night. Clearly more athletes.
One of them was also a decent student. He left behind an essay on The Great Gatsby with a B- circled on it. I think his teacher was unduly harsh. The kid's spelling was even worse than my own but the paper was well thought out. I think it deserved at least a B+. He left his name and address at the top. I returned the essay and wrote to his mother asking for the fare but I never heard anything from her.
My next racer was a Marina woman of about 35 for whom the word "bitch" was merely a description, not an insult. She was drunk and belligerent. When I told her to put out the cigarette that she had lit despite my "No Smoking" sign, she tried to hide it in the crease of the back seat - in the hope, I guess, of starting a delayed fire.
When we stopped, I was making a note on my waybill (an argument against) when she slowly bolted (if that's possible) out of the cab. I almost caught her. She drunkly stumbled and giggled her way to the door, slamming it just in time to nearly squash my face.
In her eagerness to cheat me out of my money, however, she had dropped a small purse on the sidewalk with $80 in it. The meter read 6.70. I decided to pay myself a "pain and suffering" fee. I took a 20 and pushed the purse through a newspaper slot in the door. It was too thick for her mailbox.
Yes, it occurred to me that someone other than her might find the purse but, as they say in Mexico, "no es mi problema es su problema."
My all-time, all-star runners were three black women in their late twenties carrying huge Macy's shopping bags. They were casually yet elegantly dressed in stylish jackets and slacks. One of them wore spike heels.
It was another slow Tuesday night. I picked them up at a bus stop on Valencia. They had a heated argument with an angry fourth woman who refused to get in the cab with them. It was only later of course that I understood what the fight was about.
I took them out to the projects at Sunnydale and Santos. We had a generally pleasant conversation but, as we neared their destination, two of them started bitching about how "cabbies" never picked them up.
I stopped on the outside of their building. They wanted me to drive into the parking lot but it was a cul-de-sac so I refused.
They bolted from the cab - and I mean bolted. They were carrying two shopping bags apiece but, Olympics aside, I have never seen women move that fast. And the lead sprinter was the one with the spike heels. As if a white male cab driver would chase them into the projects.
I got out and yelled for them to come back. I didn't care about the $15 fare. I had my video camera with me. I would've paid them another $20 to repeat the action so I could film it.
No comments:
Post a Comment