Last Bits 7

Or…adventures with Drunk People Bits.

stratus

1. Yep, its time for an installment of “PRIVATE HIRE WITH CASEY!”

So anyway, I’m prefacing this one with a warning. If you don’t like tales of vomit, harsh language and drunk old women…steer off to prettier and happier lands right now.  A few bits o’ this comin’ your way. 😀

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Still here?

Otay!

So this normally doesn’t happen to me very often anymore. I switched out from the wild wacky-land of Taxi mayhem last year for the smoother, nicer pastures of “regular customers-ville”.  HOWEVER, I still take care of several bars up in my neck of the woods, and upon occasion they will load me up with, shall we say….people who most DEFINITELY shouldn’t be driving.

1a.

Strip bar called. Two ladies drinking with regular customer “XYZ” need a lift home. Can you get em’?

Sure says I. No problem.  I have 45 minutes until my next scheduled call…guy who needed to go to work. I roll on over, and the door guy walks em’ out.

These ladies aren’t strippers, folks….they are older. One in her 40’s and the other in her 60’s. They’ve been out partying with a mutual friend and ended up here… “SQUEEZIN’ the BOOBIES!” as one of em’ cheered when they piled in the car.

1b. I verified their destinations, and quoted the price for each as they were separate locations.  They agreed. (Of course they did, they were HAMMERED!…and my rates are lower than a cab.)

Off we go. About a block into the ride, the older lady (white hair, 60’ish) starts moaning.  I, ever vigilant, reach into my souvenir kit of anti-pukedom and pull out a bag , holding it out over my shoulder. The lady took the bag….

….says, “ohfuckme” and proceeds to throw up ON the bag.

Not in it.

On it.

Then she starts to woof all over herself and her companion, and rather than out the window which I’ve thoughtfully rolled down for her…as well as pulled over and unlocked the doors at pretty much light speed…she ignores me AND her friend and starts to talk about herself in the vein of what a “fuckin’ ol’ dipshit ahh am”…WHILE SHE IS STILL WOOFING HER COOKIES. Of course this spreads the mess around the back area even more. Her friend is freaking out and I am just staring at the mess wondering if I have time to clean it up in time for the work call.

It takes a few minutes, but she finally finishes up the tirade, and the upchuck (which is now occurring out the door that her friend managed to get open).

Calm ensues.

2. I look around the back area and say as calmly as possible,

“That is going to cost you a cleaning fee on top of the fare.”

The older puke-olympic lady looks up, her eyes suddenly sober as a judge. “Who tha FUCK are you anyway?” she demands as if she were a southern politician staring down a mere plebe.

I look right at her and say, “Ma’am I am the driver who is going to kick your sorry old ass out of this car right here in the middle of nowhere if you don’t agree with me. You better be thanking the stars that you’re not in a city cab.”

“And why would that be?” she retorts.

“Because it is a mandatory 100$ cleaning fee in those rides, or a ride to detox if you refuse…PLUS a bill from the city,” I respond.  “As it is, you’re…” I pause to look at what actually hit my car, “…looking at 35$ on top of your fare. Or you can get out and I’ll call the cops to report drunk people on the side of the road.  How is that for why?”

She pauses a beat, and I can see the interior sober person in those beady eyes calculating her situation.

“Oh now, we should all be just friendly. Of course I’ll take care of it.”

————— We drive to the first lady’s destination (the younger non-olympic-puker.). She quickly give me fare + a tip and says to her friend, “Now you tell the nice man where you’re going and pay him your part.”  She hops out of the car faster than I thought was possible in her condition.

I almost laughed as the very musketeer-like thought, “One for one and one for one!” passed through my brain.

I got the puker to her house, swiped her card, and as soon as the door slammed, I was off to the gas station to begin the task of cleaning up so my next customer wouldn’t gag.

Turns out, what she left in the car might as well have been just booze. They were that drunk.

Once the cleaning was complete, I rolled to the next call.

I felt all Cabbie-like again. Their 17$ ride turned into more than 50$ for me, so I’ll take it.

That is going to do it for Last Bits this edition. More than enough for this episode I’m thinking.

Be safe out there, and tip your servers/drivers/strippers/bartenders. They earn it.  🙂

p.s. that picture isn’t my car…but it might as well be. It is the same year/model/color/wheels/everything as the one I drive.  🙂

The patience of Job, or whipped…not sure which

So I got a call last night to pick up from an old town Arvada tavern. Picked up the young guy who had walked there to have the bar call the cab. (Their phone was dead.)

I took him back to the car that his girlfriend tried to park INSIDE a curb. (Bent the wheel badly..thus the need for the cab.)

The girlfriend who was waiting, immediately starts complaining and yelling at him and demanding to know where he was…even though he had TOLD her he was getting a cab for them. I took them all the way down to the south side of Denver to their place ($$$ fare)…and she spent the entire ride berating him for all of his issues. It would have been a real annoying ride…except everything she was yelling at him for…was her fault…and she started every diatribe with “I did blah blah blah”…or “they’re so mad at me, but it’s your fault because…”

It was entertaining as hell partly for the spin, and partly for how he “yes dear’d” her the entire way without losing his cool once. I was seriously impressed with his ability to control what HAD to be the urge to punch her lights out.

Got a message today from dispatch…SHE left the key to the car she wrecked…in the cab. I wonder how that’ll get spun.  😀

A post for Margie

 

Tonight, while taking another of my regular patients home from the kidney center, I found out that one of my favorite dialysis patients, Margie, passed away recently. I’d been her driver fairly consistently for the last couple years.

I kinda’ thought as much, as I hadn’t seen her in a bit, and the last time I DID take her home, she said in a worn out voice, “I’m gettin’ pretty tired of all a this”.

She went in to the hospital on a Wednesday, and passed away the next morning a few weeks ago.

(Most of my customers on this treatment are worn after the process because the hemodialysis treatment is very stressful, done 3 times a week for 4-6 hours at a shot and the technology is right out of the 1950/60’s…literally.)

She was a teensy tiny little black woman originally from the Bronx, and could be a real fireball when she felt like something wasn’t right. She had a real weakness for sugar cookies, which she would bake and eat,”cuz the store stuff ain’t up ta’ snuff”…even knowing that she wasn’t supposed to because of her condition.

I always enjoyed taking her home from the kidney center, and I miss her and our conversations along the way.

You want proof that medicine is about revenue and not fixing things? Look no further than dialysis.

R.I.P Margie, Your Cabbie

So every once in a bit, I get someone semi-famous in my cab. And as per usual, every semi-famous person in my cab has either been in trouble with the law and stuffed there by cops to avoid issues, OR drunk as skunks, or both.

Tonight’s semi-famous person is a member of a fairly famous band…who was drunk as a skunk..and will go nameless (my rule with “what happens in the cab stays in the cab” means no real names get used).

I almost kicked my first semi-famous person OUT of the cab on the highway when he decided it would be good fun to
A. play his band’s latest tune on his phone and stuffing it (the whole phone) in my ear, and then
B. start playing kick the back of the driver’s seat for funzies.

When he realized I wasn’t kidding about him exiting stage left at the nearest highway exit, calm ensued, and the rest of the ride was smooth.

So endeth a fairly busy Friday.

On a tougher note…someone who DIDN’T take a cab…ended up getting swept into a matchbox after smearing their car all over I-25 southbound at 6th avenue. I missed being near/involved in that mess by ten minutes while driving the idiot rock star home.

Ahh Language!

I was opining in another thread on FB about writers and cursing, and realized I really needed (well, wanted anyway) to stick this here as well.

—From my paying job, some people ONLY cuss. It’s a whole nuthamuthafuckin language. So as a cabbie, I have learned to speak drunkican, cusslish, dopese, and allmixedtagethan. It’s a skill.

As George Carlin once opined, “On TV you can say you prick your finger, but you can’t say you finger your prick.” Gotta love the English language.—

Makin’ change

#FROMMYBACKSEAT:
Drunk guy gets in the cab.
“uh, home…uh…” blabs address.
Me:
“yessir.”
Off we go.

On the way:
Drunkguy:
“canyabreakahunnert?”
Me:
“no sir”
Drunkguy:
“damn. Stop at 7-11. I’ll break it.”
Me:
“yes sir.”

So we do that.  He spends 10 minutes in the store, while the meter ticks away.
He buys 7-11 pizza, drink, smokes.
Gets back in the car, and off we go to his place.
We get there.

Drunkmoronic guy:
“Canyabreakahunert?”
Me:
“WTF?”
Drunkmoronic guy:
“Uh..uh…”

So I look at my bag o’ change.  I look at the meter. (14$)

“All I’ve got is 70$”

“k.”

I love drunk people.

Thwart Zombie attacks! Earn free Subway food in the process!

2014-03-20 22.22.36

It’s about 10pm in the evening on a slow start to the taxi shift when…

So there I was sitting in the parking lot next to “The Egg & I Restaurant” (really good wifi) doing a little reading on my Nexus 7 between fares, when suddenly I hear a loud banging noise.  I look over and see this sloppily dressed dude going all Hulk on one of the tables sitting outside of the restaurant.  As I continue to watch, this fella manages to snap the table in two parts, and proceeds to throw it on the ground.  Then he turns and starts wobbling toward my car, stopping by the newspaper rack and knocking it down.  I’m thinking this is kinda’ like a cross between 28 days later and Night of the Living Dead, except with inanimate objects.

I dial 911 and make sure the doors are locked.

The guy walks right up to my window, stares at me with dead eyes as wide as pie plates and then tries to punch in the rear door window.  He fails (and tomorrow I’m betting he’s going to regret throwing that punch as it sounded like something broke..and not the window).  At this point the 911 operator is on with me, and after giving her the location and general gist of what is going on, she lets me know officers are on their way.

In the meantime, this crazy person starts wandering toward the wingstop (one of several restaurants in this little section of the strip mall) and goes in.  I’m holding my breath at this point wondering if someone is going to come flying out through the window…but a minute later crazed dude walks back out and pulls a bottle from his jacket and takes a slug before continuing down the line of restaurants, skipping the pizza joint.

I’ve backed up at this juncture and slowly move the car down the line of stores, staying in sight of lunatic guy.

Right about then, two girls and a young guy come out of the subway restaurant.  As I watch, the young man turns to lock the door just as our maniac gets to them.  I can’t hear anything, but you can tell something bad is about to happen as the girls freak out and start running away from him.  The young guy locking the door backs away as well.

The lunatic-guy starts after the girls who are trying to get in their car ( looking like every teen slasher movie victim filmed in the process).

But…duh-duh-DAH! Soooper cabbie to the rescue!  I gun my car’s engine (which can sound pretty cool as it is, after all, an old V8 police interceptor) and hit my horn as I place my vehicle in the way of our cut rate Freddy Krueger.  He stops, looks at me with those pie plate eyes, and the girls finally get in their car. They get rolling only after the lunatic stumbles around my vehicle and tries to open the girl’s passenger door. (They locked it.)

The young guy is also getting in another car, and not a moment too soon as the nut tries the same thing with him.  He pulls out and drives off…leaving me as the lone sherri..er..cabdriver in the lot.

The guy turns toward me again, and I slowly back the car away…and he starts to follow me in a slow shambling pace.  I’m thinking I’ve seen this act before only with a dog and a bone on a string, so I just continue backing away.

The first cop car pulls in at this point, and finally the guy starts to show some recognition that something is going on besides his own personal zombie impersonation.

The officer jumps out of his car and yells for the guy to get on the ground…and of course brainiac growls some unintelligible “grrr…arrrghs’  and doesn’t comply.

The officer seeing the guy start to move away tackles him in an awesome face-planting maneuver, then spins him like he’s trussing a chicken, and handcuffs him.  This cop could have a career in rodeo, I’m thinking.

An ambulance, firetruck and three more police cars show up turning the place into a 70’s era disco lit in red/n/blue.

The cops take my statement, congratulating me on the assist as well as staying cool.

I’m about ready to leave after getting the okay to go by the officers, when my phone starts ringing.  Turns out one of the Subway girls got my number from 911 and called to thank me for helping them.

“Just doin’ my job…and its my neighborhood as well, so it’s all good.”

About 1/2 an hour later I get a text from the other girl who informs me that the next time I’m in the area day or evening, a full footlong sub meal is on the store for being there.  “It’s the least we can do for you helping us.”

Who am I to turn down free food, eh? 🙂2014-03-20 22.23.05

From my #taxi backseat

I was dropping off a group of partiers in LODO (LOwer DOwntown Denver –10th biggest party/nightclub/dance spot area in the nation for those reading outside Colorado). They exit the cab, and a very drunk yupster (zillion dollar designer khakis, polo t-shirt, 8 zillion dollar toothy smile and 50 dollars worth of crosseyed polluted) jumps in the cab.

Me: Sorry sir, but I’m already booked on another call, you’ll have to flag another cab.

Him: I’m going to….

Me: Can’t do it man. I’m already scheduled to pick up someone else.

Him: (with big smile)…But can’t you just…

Me: No….Can’t…Do…It. Please exit the car sir.

Him: (with 1/2 big smile)…Oh YOU’RE a real capitalist.

Me: Thank you for that! I AM a capitalist with a capital C.

Him: (with no smile)…I was being sarcastamic. (drunk way of saying it ahh s’pose.)

Me: You’re confusing opportunist with capitalist. I’ve made a contract and I intend to honor it. Now get the frack out of the cab…sir.

He got out. I then honored my contract with my next customer, and I really think I confused him.

 

Ahh late night cab scammers. Or how to spot a cockroach after 2am in a taxi.

So my last call  of the evening I get what I like to think of as “THE COCKROACH CALL“.

What is that you ask?

It’s a scumbucket who waits until the suburban area buses quit running after 2am…no phone and almost always a destination to the other side of town.  Oh, and the capper…no money.  They borrow someone’s phone, or a payphone which can’t be traced to themselves to order a taxi….then they wait for the stupid cabbie to roll by, pick em’ up after which they then  (drumroll)……

run (free ride TO wherever)…or rob (free money FROM whomever).

Any cab driver who falls for these fracktards more than a couple times deserves whatever they get.

It’s rather simple NOT to fall for this crap.  You (said cabbie) ask:

1. Where are they going?

and the punchline question:

2. How are they paying?

The destination is the first tip off as it’s always at LEAST a 35-45$ ride.

The second question is what foils their dastardly evil-genius plotting.  They ALWAYS screw up that part.

“Uh…how far will 7bucks take me?”  “Uh, oh..uh, yeah, my bro is paying when we get there!”  “Uhm….uh….oh…uh….credit card?”  –this one invariably is a walmart card, an expired bank card or something along those lines.  One time one of these supa-geniuses tried to get me to run a phone card. (NOT KIDDING.)

The one tonight had 7 bucks and wanted to get to south Aurora…from north Westminster.  (For my readers unfamiliar with the Denver area, that’s a freakin’ long ride….50-70$ long.)

I told him to get out of the cab (politely) and that the next bus would be by within an hour and a half.

They almost never argue with an Unstupidcabbie type.  Unstupidcabbies usually can defend themselves.  😉

Elvis in the back seat

So I haven’t done a cab story in a bit.  Mostly because most of the stories tend to repeat and I’ve put out some of the “best of” on this blog already…but last night…ahh last night was worth writing about.

Middle of the evening, one of the dive bars that I handle “direct” calls me. (They have a hard time getting dispatched cab service—for obvious reasons).  D (the bartender) says he’s got one for me.  I always take care of these guys and they make sure I don’t get stuck with the worst idiots so its all good.  I roll to the call and out comes this old white haired hispanic dude, mildly sauced.  He says he’s going to blah blah which is a bit of a drive, and off we go.

The ride started out typical, with weather, how ya doin’, busy tonight chit chat, and out of the blue this guy asks me if I like the King.   With his accent, I immediately got images of black velvet paintings south o’ the border…and there was no confusing who he was referring to.  There is a certain something when someone mentions “The King”,  dealing with the subject of Mr. Presley.

I’m not an uber fan, but I did like a lot of his music, so I say yep.  He says, “gonna sing you some”, and proceeds to bust out “Kentucky Rain”.

No more accent.  I had to look up in the rear view to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind.  This ol’ fella not only could sing the songs, he sounded….just…like…Elvis.  Right down to the nasal twang and inflections.

For the rest of the ride, I had Elvis in my backseat taking requests.  When he swung into “Return to Sender”, (my all time favorite Elvis tune) I just sat back and drove, stunned and in awe at how good he was.

At the end of the ride, the hispanic gentleman mysteriously reappeared in my back seat, paid his fare (minus a few bucks I knocked off the fare on the sly, just because, well, THE KING, duh!), and headed off home.

Sometimes this gig is awesome beyond words.