Takin' it to the Streets
Waiting outside the Biltmore Hotel, I shuffle my feet and jam my hands in my pockets. I'm keeping my eyes open for Bill, the taxi driver who promised to let me catch part of his shift with him. It's after 10:00 pm on a Friday, and the city is starting to get its regular weekend injection of drinkers, partygoers and the like. Taxis roll by slowly, trolling for fares. I'm just about ready to leave, berating myself for trusting a cabbie, when I see him pull up in front of me. I plop into the passenger seat and we start meandering through downtown. Bill has the confident, self-assured movements of a veteran cabbie who has been on the 10:00 pm shift since he started.
"We're gonna keep it clean tonight," he says. He just wants the opportunity to tell me his stories during his shift to pass the time, and to let them come naturally. "I'm just gonna start talkin'." Sounds good to me, I say.
"I picked up a woman from T. F. Green last February in the early evening. She was particularly excited about being home 10 days early from a business trip. I continued to talk to her about her flight and experiences in Denver while I drove to her home in Cumberland. She exclaimed how happy she would be to see her husband and youngest daughter. As we pulled up to her home she realized that there were an excess number of cars on her street and in her drive-" He paused here to slow down near someone with a briefcase standing on the sidewalk. No dice. He kept driving. "-I unpacked her luggage from the trunk and proceeded to her front door and you could hear laughter and quite a party going on. As she opened the door I saw a woman holding a very, very large sex toy in her living room. It turns out her husband had planned a 'toy' party while she was away. Also, his girlfriend was in attendance. Nevertheless, I transported her to the Marriott in Providence to meet with her girlfriend."
Bill doesn't usually enjoy the airport rides. He doesn't mind the drive, but he knows he won't get much of a tip. People headed to the airport just want to get there and get out, he explains to me. "Most times they act like I'm more of a hindrance than a help." Poor Bill.
I ask him if he's encountered any danger while on duty.
"I've transported several people to pick up a variety of different drugs in South Providence, picked up 'working girls' for a 'dates.' These aren't as interesting as you might think, but they can involve some pretty defensive people. The most interesting ones come from the downtown night life... those are very common and pretty good tippers," he adds with a smile.
Bill tells me that some of his rougher rides don't think he'll defend himself from the driver's seat. "I'm basically immune to pepper spray on account of having used it so many times," he says. "I've been threatened at gun point, knife point, and other random weapons - I've never actually been injured, though." Knock on wood.
I want to know more about where he draws the line. When does a cabbie throw somebody out?
"It depends on what kind of mood I'm in," he explains. "You can smell when people have been smoking dope or are on something else, and there's not much I can do about that. But anybody who brings out drugs or sex right in the cab will get me to put on the brakes. I don't need that crap getting me in trouble. And don't even get me started about puking. If somebody even looks green I won't pick them up. I'm responsible for the cleanliness of my car. Being a cabbie might not be the ritziest job, but there are still professional standards, and when I turn in a puke-stained cab, my boss is going to be on my ass." Bill is pretty passionate about the vomiting. I don't blame him.
After another hour or so, Bill decides he's had enough company. We head back towards downtown and he drops me off at the Biltmore. I slip him a couple sawbucks and wonder if it's enough. He tips his hat at me, and smiles. "Thanks for the company," he says, and slowly drives away.
