Taxicab Depressions

I come from a professional background; I was formerly a web designer, graphic artist, and marketing director for small company in the livestock industry. Long story short, after six or seven years over which sales quadrupled, I caught the owner of the company red-handed trying to steal from me. After that, things were very awkward, and I ended up leaving.

So after that event, in conjunction with the birth of my first child and a very poorly-timed tanking of the economy, I now find myself driving a taxi to put strained carrots and Cheerios on the table. I work in a Florida beach town in a touristy area. My prospects for returning to web and marketing work look very good at the moment, and with luck, I’ll be out of the taxi soon. But this post marks roughly my one-year anniversary of driving a taxi, and since my second or third week of doing this, my hunnee has told me that I should be blogging this.

So, one year later, here we go. What are my thoughts about driving a taxi?

To be blunt, this job is lowering my opinion of my fellow man.

Before I took this job, I thought I knew who gets into a taxi. As it turns out, I didn’t have a clue. Three outta ten, maybe four outta ten people that get in a taxi are nice, normal, decent, intelligent, next door, everyday, garden-variety, ya seen one ya seen ’em all kinda people. The other six or seven are just un-fucking-believable. Just a never-ending parade of obnoxious drunks and belligerent whores…   dealers, dancers, DUI’s, defectives, degenerates, dumbasses, dipshits, douchebags, and devotees of modern chemistry.

My hunnee wakes up every morning, pours a cup of coffee, rubs her hands together excitedly and asks, “So what happened tonite? Give me the stories.”

And every morning, I have something for her. Without fail, someone will get in my car every single nite that makes me want to say them, “What series of unfortunate events and chain of poor decisions in your life led you to this moment, here in the back seat of my car and in such a terrible condition?”

At least two or three times a month, someone will say to me, “Have you ever seen that show Taxicab Confessions?”

And my reply to them is yes, I’ve seen them all, back when they premiered. But the problem with that show is that in spite of the showcase of crossdressers and bulldykes and strippers and junkies, they don’t show you the REAL freaks and the zombie drunks. That TV show is just a typical Friday for me, except with more wasted people. I told my dispatcher not too long ago that when I started this job, I thought he was intentionally steering me the freaks to see if the new guy could cut it, but then I realized that the people I pick up on my own in front of bars are just as freaky as the people he dispatches me to get.

So I plan to regale you with sad and twisted tales about the crazies, weirdos, drunks, and whores I pick up on a nightly basis. Like I said, I’ve only been driving a taxi for a year…   I’m not some grizzled 20 year veteran, but in my brief time here, I’ve got some stories…    and more will undoubtedly come the next time I punch in.