The sky opened up. It was raining more heavily than it had in four or five years with huge drops of water hitting the street so hard that they bounced back up over the hood of the cab like hail.
I drove a woman through the deluge to a house on the edge of the ocean. We joked about the rain along the way. She said it was like Florida. I contended that Minnesota was worse. Hurricanes and tornadoes vs tornadoes and blizzards. We decided it was a toss.
When I dropped her off, I got notice of a radio call in the area. I didn't know if I should take it or not. It was toward downtown but it was still three miles away. It would take me at least ten minutes to get there. People in these outlying areas often call three or four cab companies. If you don't pick up in five minutes, the order is usually gone. On the other hand, the house was half-way up a small mountain so the customers probably couldn't flag a taxi down ... and it was raining. The odds were 50/50 that the fare would still be there. I decided to take the call.
The rain eased off a little but it was still pouring. The traffic was horrible. Everybody but St. Paulites ("Minnesota Nice" can be annoying but it works for driving) think they have worst drivers in the world. In San Francisco we KNOW we have the worst. There is no debate.
As usual most of the cars were going 15 mph, tailgating each other, and weaving like their drivers were on cell phones or drunk. About one car in ten decided to charge through the mess at 75 mph. It was later reported that there had been 67 accidents in a three hour period.
I saw one rear-ender and cut over to the next block where two cars had creamed each other with a classic I-dare-you-to-take-that-left-in-front-of-me-while-I'm-running-the-red-light accident. I doubled back only to get caught in the overflow from the two collisions. I back tracked, doubled back and went way around until I found a street I could make progress on.
It was already 15 minutes since I'd taken the order and I was still 5 minutes out. The odds of the customer still being there was less than one in twenty. If I chased the ride and it was gone, it could cost ten or twenty bucks and put me a real bad mood. I decided to blow it off and head for a nearby hospital where I'd have a good change of picking up a flag.
Then I thought of the new director of taxis. Taxi directors were always woman and they were always good looking. I suppose the powers that be figured that 5,000 males would be too busy drooling to notice that they were being shafted. This turned out to be true. The only thing I remember about one previous director was that she had beautiful breasts and wore low-cut blouses. If you looked at her a certain way, her nipples would pop out.
These woman all started idealistic, thinking that they would "reform" the taxi business. But, after running up against the relentless corruption of the owners, and the endless stupidity and corrupion of city government, not to mention the petty greed and arrogance of some drivers, the woman all left bitter. As one former director put it,
"Everybody in the industry is either an ex-convict or soon will be."
The new director still lived in the Utopian stage. She truly thought that she could make a difference. Noting that many people had trouble getting taxis in outer neighborhoods, she encouraged the drivers to go out of their way to help these customers get their cabs.
"Go pick up those people in the neighborhoods!" She said like a coach giving an inspirational half-time speech. "Make an effort, once per shift, to go and get someone who has no reason to hope that a taxi will actually appear --give them that little miracle."
Her uplifting tone and her optimism was - well - so endearingly naivete that I actually drove up the damn mountain through the downpour to chase my order. Of course I was cursing her all the way knowing that what I was doing was a waste of my time and money.
Then I rounded a corner and saw them, Louise and Mary, two lovely octogenarians, dressed to the teeth, standing patiently under an umbrella in the wind and the cold. Sometimes the best words are cliques. They were overjoyed to see me.
"You got here just in time," Louise told me, "I thought we were going miss Placido Domingo."
"Yes," Mary added, "we've been looking forward to seeing him all year."
End
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