An Essay.
Part
1 - Drinking Triples, Seeing Double
It was about 9:00 on
a slow April night, (of course in the cab biz saying slow and April together
is repetitive, as April is always our worst month, due to taxes) and I got
flagged at 2nd and Howard by a man outside of a restaurant wearing a white
smock. I'd assumed he was a parking valet, or perhaps a good samaritan/art
student. I pulled over and he loaded an elderly couple into my cab. They were
at least in their late 70's, maybe older, and the woman was quite tipsy. She
was basically poured into the back seat by the husband, (who was also bombed)
andsmock boy (only members of the medical field should wear white smocks,
and they should be obligated to donate several hours a week loading old drunks
into cabs. I just thought of this, and it's the best idea I've ever heard
of.) The man got in front with me and directed me to the Argent Hotel, located
on 3rd Street, between Market andMission, 2-1/2 blocks from the restaurant.
Now it must be noted
that I don't like picking up people who are noticably intoxicated. If I can
tell they're drunk from a distance of say 50 yards or less, I don't pick them
up. I've had too many customers puke in my cab and you can guess who's had
to clean it up. But, but.... "OLD DRUNKS NEVER GET SICK IN CABS." They just
don't. They've had too much practice, and I like to think too much pride to
let that happen. No one over the age of 25 has ever barfed in my cab, with
the exception of one junkie who snuck/puked a viscous, clear liquid on the
floor in the back of the cab. I didn't know about it until the next passenger
got in and brought it to my attention.
I drove to the Argent
and the man kept saying to the woman in the back, "It doesn't matter. I love
you."
I pulled into the hotel
driveway and the woman shot out of the cab and got sucked into a revolving
door leading into the lobby. She looked like a fish being reeled in, head
forward, body in hot pursuit. Somehow she made it through the door and seated
herself in a couch without falling, and breaking her damn neck. The man got
out, and using the cab as a guide, walked around towards me, and the hotel
entrance. I was watching his wife (1 part concern, 2 parts curiosity) in the
lobby and she looked like my daughter at age 2, just waking up from her mid-day
nap; eyes wide, hair mussed, body perfectly still, as if any quick movements
would reveal an underlying need to throw up. The meter read $2.90, and the
man told me he was going to give me 4 ones. He pulled all of his money out
of his right pants pocket, put it in the rear (trunk) of the cab, and attempted
to find the 4 singles he'd been saving for just this moment. He found 2 ones,
and handed them to me, and began trying to separate two other singles that
were seemingly stuck together. The problem in trying to separate these bills
was that they were one bill, with a funny crease in it. To this old, drunk,
visually impaired man, it looked like two bills stuck together. Not hard to
understand. I let him fiddle with the bill thinking he'd eventually come to
grips with the fact that it was only one, single dollar bill. He began licking
his fingers and wetting the edge of the bill. Meanwhile, the doorman, who
used to work at the Clift Hotel, and knew me from our years of employment
together in the service industry, asked me, with a wink, if I could take another
fare, the wink meaning, it's a good one, to which I answered, "Sure, I'll
be just a second."
"Just a second" took
7 to 9 minutes. The other fare was, loaded with luggage, into another cab.
Part
2 - "My 7 to 9 Minutes With One of the World's Foremost Bill Splitters,
I am not a man without
a sense of humor or the ridiculous. I didn't mind that the man cost me a $35
fare in exchange for a goddamn $4 fare. What's money mean to a man like me
who knows the importance of laughter? I'll just pay the landlord my rent with
a joke. After several minutes of trying to make one bill into two, I spoke
my mind.
Me: "Sir, that's
only one bill."
Old Drunk Guy:
"No. It's two."
Me: "It's one
bill. The crease makes it look like two, but I assure you it's only one bill."
ODG: "It's two."
He's furiously licking
his fingers, looking sideways at the bill, trying to split it.
I hit him with a flurry
of verbal jabs:
"If you manage to split
that bill, it will only be worth 50 cents."
"I realize that you're
seeing double, but that's only one dollar."
"Could you pay me while
we're young, or at least while I'm young?"
ODG: "Have some
patience, young man. This is two bills."
I'd had it. This was
now costing me money. The meter was off, and I couldn't take another fare
until I got rid of this nut, licking his fingers, trying to make wine out
of water. I bent close to his ear and asked, "You think that's two bills stuck
together?"
ODG: "Yes."
I lowered my voice and
asked, in my best conspiratorial tone, "You wanna bet?"
ODG: "I'll bet
you anything you want!"
I pulled out a ten and
waved it in front of his face. Ten bucks is what I figured he owed me for
"down time".
ODG: "You want
to bet a hundred bucks, you're on!"
Me: "Sir, this
is a ten. I'll bet you ten bucks that that is one single bill in your hand."
ODG: "You're
on."
He resumed fiddling
with the dollar bill, licking his fingers and trying to separate it, staring
at from different angles, and finally throwing it at me in disgust, but not
defeat. The bill was soaking wet with old man spittle, and smelled like the
retainer I wore in high school, after my braces were removed.
ODG: "I'm going
to give you the ten dollars, because I'm a good sport."
He pulled a ten out
of the pile of bills on the cab, licking his thumb and forefinger, and began
trying to separate the ten from... itself? He was clearly suffering from some
sort of dislexia, or autism, and how in the hell does a person like this survive
in a jungle full of hungry wolves? How can he be staying at a 4-1/2 star hotel,
have a wife, children, grandchildren, car, house, mutual fund, silverware,
friends, acquaintances, airline tickets, dinner reservations? The old guy
made several attempts to separate the ten, and he'd earned the right. I let
him go on for about 3 minutes, then snatched the bill from his hands and said,
"Thank you."
He looked bewildered
for a second, trying to place his whereabouts, and goings on. He put the rest
of the bills in his pocket and made a move for the lobby (the wrong way.)
He walked into my cab,
a distance of maybe 2 inches. I gently spun him around 180 degrees, and pointed
him toward the front door of the Argent Hotel, which was costing him probably
$215 a night, or to his figuring, $430 per night. His wife was no longer sitting
in the lobby, and this could not have been a good thing.
ODG: "You're
going to find out that I was right later on when you count my money, but I'm
a good sport. I want you to take that ten dollars and................................."
Me: "Buy my girlfriend
something nice?"
ODG: "Yes."
Me: "I'll do
that, sir. Thank you."
The old boy stumbled into the lobby, in search of his wife. I pulled out of the Argent driveway, crossed Market onto Kearny, and headed into North Beach in search of younger men, and perhaps younger women.
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