The Bloody Tenant Truth Peace

Woo-hoo, It's Sunday night and I am clear-eyed! Great day in the morning!

Let's see here. Not to much cab content to throw at you. As many of you may know, I've been off of work for a while, thanks to my old friend, Pink Eye. Pink eye sucks. I'll recap any way.

When I last wrote I was finishing up my post (last Monday) when I got a call from the cab company telling me not to come in. This was good, because 1) I don't like to work if I don't have to, and 2) it gave me plenty of time to edit my post. I wrapped up my editing and was deciding what to do with my unexpected evening off. First of all, I needed to eat. I hadn't had anything since breakfast. It was about 4:30 and I also wanted to try to get to Linweld before 5pm so I could get a new bottle of gas (CO2/Argon mix) for my welder.

I took the regulator off of the gas bottle on my welder and threw it in Corpsy's back seat. A truck would be nice. I had only got a couple of minutes away from my house when the cab company called back. I pretty much knew answering it would mean having to go to work, but I did anyway. I hadn't made up my mind what I was going to do and figured I could use the money, anyway. Sure enough, they wanted me to come in and work. There was a men's basketball homegame, against archrival Kansas, an ESPN Big Monday kickoff. They had just realized this and were panicking because they only had 3 drivers on the road.

You may wonder how I could drive if they had just told me they were a car short, but that would be using your brain, and that would be defeating cab company logic. So stop it, goddamnit.

I told them it would take me a little while to get there. They said it would be cool if I were there by 5:30. No problem. I still had to eat, shower, and get dressed. I made it to the cab shack by 5:35.

Phyllis handed me the keys to #8, and told me it was out back. She also mentioned that they had just picked it up from Schilby's Tire and Wheel after they called me the first time. Apparently they hadn't anticipated them having it done in time, but somehow they had finished it. She added, though, that something wasn't quite right and that I'd have to drive it two-footed, since it had "wanted to die a few times on the way over."

Hmm. If the cab company tells you something's a little bad, it generally means its fucking terrible. That's usually when they only begin to take notice of something. And, let me go on the record, to officially unendorse Schilby's Tire and Wheel. If you want to buy tires or wheels, go crazy. But, having been a mechanic in Columbia and having seen their handiwork, I would tell you to stay pretty fucking far away from there if you ever have any mechanical problems whatsoever.

Example: when I worked at Mr. Transmission, Schilby's referred a customer to us for a driveline vibration problem. The truck, a lifted early 90's Chevrolet pickup, came directly from their shop to ours, and arrived with no brakes. Apparently the stainless steel aftermarket brake hose had got caught on something when they hoisted the truck, and snapped it. They either didn't notice brake fluid squirting everywhere, or didn't care. They had also lifted the truck and 'inspected' it due to handling complaints by the owner. They sent them away (they had installed the lift kit some time earlier) assuring them nothing was wrong.

I could tell from across the parking lot that the truck's front end was fucked. Sure enough, when I got it on the lift, there were 4 or 5 joints in the front end worn dangerously past tolerances. All four tie-rod ends were junk, as was the idler arm bushings. The alignment was a mile off. Besides the brake problem, the tie-rods were so loose on one side that I told the management to tell the customers that I wouldn't even drive it around the block without fixing it first.

So, it was little surprise, when I got into #8, that it wouldn't run for shit. Not at all. I had thought from Phyllis's comments that it may have just needed the throttle set screw adjusted, but it had a grievous vacuum leak somewhere. I guess they had had the heads and intake off. My cursory inspection (in the dark with a flashlight) revealed a number of missing fasteners. I tried to keep it running. I had a 5:50 time call waiting on me. It was apparent that this was wishful thinking, as the car was downright dangerous to operate, since you could only keep it idling with one foot buried in the accelerator, the other in the brake.

I tried backing it out of its parking space and there was no power steering fluid in it. Phyllis had told me it had been checked out and topped off before I got in it. I parked it and told her it was a losing effort. She agreed (evidence that it was really, really bad). "You wouldn't drive a van, would you?"

"Sure I would. I'll drive whatever you got."

What I got was #15, an extended Dodge 1-ton passenger van, with a hydraulic wheelchair lift and raised roof. Boo-ya.

When it came in I asked the day driver what I needed to know about it. He said "nothing." He told me that the interior lights didn't work and that I'd need a flashlight. He showed me how to work the school-bus style passenger's door. Want in? I'm in control, bitch. He also said it needed gas badly. I asked about the wheelchair lift and he was adamant that I wouldn't need to know how to use it.

With all of this, I tore off for my 5:50 timecall. Driving impressions: wow. This is one big fucker. There is no passenger's seat, since it has the school-bus door and that is how you climb in, standing, due to the raised roof. The wheelchair lift is behind the two side passenger's doors, and folds up vertically. Most of the floor is open, with grids laid in the floor to allow ratcheting straps to fasten easy, to secure wheelchairs. There are 3 rows of seats on both sides, in the very back, some 10' behind me. They are those funky molded plastic individual seats, like on city buses or subways or something.

The driver's seat is perched very high, giving you a commanding view. I found the seat belt buckle end curled up on the floor. When I went to fasten it it reached most of the way across my waist. Buckled, this put the latch in my sternum. Not doable. I wrapped the buckle end around the vertical pole behind my seat to shorten it to an appropriate length The van responded and accelerated well enough, and the big side mirrors gave me decent visibility. However, an empty one ton van rides pretty rough, and the wheelchair lift rattled and clanged vociferously. Add to this the giant open space and it resonated very loudly. One big rattly echo chamber. From Hell. On wheels.

It was already 5:50 when I left the shack. I hoped I had enough gas to pick up the fare and get to the arena. I listened to the broadcast of the game on the radio. They were tipping-off when I pulled up to the Holiday Inn Select. I figured that with a 5:50 time call they were trying to miss the rush, anyway. I didn't know if the raised roof would fit under the awning thing in front of the lobby, and was craning my neck to look up out of the windshield, to try to assess the possibilities. Before I could reach a decision, though, the passengers came out and up to the van.

They opened one of the side passenger's doors before I could remember to open the school-bus style front door. I looked at them through the mesh network of wheelchair lift parts and remembered the front door. They climbed in. I apologized for being late (it was right at 6pm) but they didn't care. They weren't even going to the damn game.

They filed to the back (2 dudes) and some jackass honked his horn for me to move. I guessed, correctly, that I was low enough and drove under the awning, since the aforementioned assjack was blocking me in from behind.

The passengers commented that they weren't quite expecting a giant empty van with a wheelchair lift, and I told them it was just as weird for me. I had to talk very loudly, to be heard over the van, and for my voice to reach them, way in the back. I was in the process of telling them I had never driven the van before as I turned left onto Bernadette. In midsentence, as if to punctuate the thought, the passenger door flew wide open.

Whenever you close the door there is a big rod that goes from the handle to the inside of the door panel. It is like a cam-buckle, and you have to pull hard to break over the cam angle to lock the handle in position. The inner door flexes enough to do so, and it is held tight once locked shut. I had not pushed hard enough, and the cam wasn't broken completely over. There is also and adjustment on the linkage, and it could stand to be adjusted a little looser. Anyhoo, the damn door flew wide open into traffic.

"It's a good thing I didn't have a handicapped passenger there. He'd have been more-disabled."

The dudes were from Illinois, and were presumably in town for business. They were going to CC's City Broiler, on recommendation from someone at the hotel. "Does Columbia have any topless bars?"

"We don't have any topless bars per se, but there are two all-nude clubs." I proceeded to give them a run down on the downtown bar scene. I dropped them off at the Broiler and went and got some gas. I expected there to be steady calls, but there weren't. When I was fueled up, dispatch told me I would have to pick up at the Plaza III Medical Center, at Boone County Hospital, at 6:50. It was a damn wheelchair.

What the fuck. I had just asked them about operating the damn thing, and they assured me that I wouldn't have to and not to worry about it. And here I was, with a wheelchair for my second call. Damn damn damn.

Dispatch quickly added that he would send another driver over to show me how to operate it. This was the least of my worries. What really pissed me off was that I knew that once they knew I could operate it, they wouldn't hesitate to send me out in the van on any given night. But, the van is not for me. Don't like. Big, loud, and uncomfortable, and you can't talk to people. Medical charges that don't tip. Time wasted strapping people in and unloading them. Weird smells. I prefer the close confines of the Crown Vics.

So, I waited for my time call at Plaza III. I had never picked up there before, much less a wheelchair patient. I rolled in some 20 minutes early and navigated the big van into a parking space. A handicapped space, that is. Felt good.

I picked at my mandolin for a good while. I radioed dispatch to make sure I was on the right side of the building (I was in front), but got no answer. I kept on picking. I finally saw another A*1 cab pull in at about 6:55. It was Creepy Clyde. Flippin' great. I've never told you guys about Creepy Clyde, and let's just say its because he's too fucking creepy. I'll address it later, but he's off-putting.

So Clyde's here to show me how to use the lift. I told him I didn't know if I was on the right side of the building or not, and that I hadn't seen anyone. He said he'd drive around and check. And, of course, he didn't come back. Dispatch finally radioed and sent me around back. It was about 7pm, already 10 minutes late.

I pulled around back, and did a fine job of pulling the van in so the ramp would fold down exactly where I wanted it. Clyde was out there, though, telling me I'd have to turn it around. I maneuvered the van according to his bizarre instructions until he thought it was just right. Then he went to open the back doors, and realized the lift was in the side. Dipshit. He'd never used this van before. I had to move it again, back to where I had it in the first place.

After that, I realized quickly that he didn't have any more idea of how to operate it than I did. Once you open the van's doors, the lift folds down. Clyde said just to pull on it. It did nothing. There's a latch that holds it upright. I found it and released it. Then there's simply an up/down button. It did nothing. I remember seeing a power control module for the lift on the dash, and had made sure it was on. It was. It was cold, and the van lights didn't work, so I was prowling around with my MagLite.

I finally got Clyde out of the way and found a label that said the parking brake had to be set. I did that and the lift worked. I got it lowered to the ground. Hmm. No handicapper. I had hoped for someone in a power chair to just zoom in, and, bang, I'd be done. Hmm.

I went inside with Clyde. It was a dialysis lab. There in a manual wheelchair was one of the oldest, and definitely the blackest woman I had ever seen. I mean the blackest person, ever. Like blacker than African black. Blacker than Ghana black. Blacker than anyone in any Tarzan movie or in any issue of National Geographic black. She absorbed light. She was as dark as the inside of a cow.

So, yeah, she was very black, and had no legs. They were removed somewhere high on her thigh, and her stubs were folded up in a blanket. Something was up with one side of her jaw, like some missing teeth or something, and her mouth would grimace farther to that side than otherwise normally humanly possible. After fucking around with the lift I was now about 25 minutes late.

I rolled her outside and onto the lift. The lift is pretty cold and mechanical, and barely wide enough for a wheelchair. Once I got her on the lift, I hoisted her up, and climbed back inside the van. I had to wheel her over the threshold from the lift into the van. You'd think they'd have made the transition a bit smoother. It was like trying to get a refrigerator on a dolly over the threshold into your house, only it was an old, impatient black woman with no legs and bad kidneys. I thought it might end worse than a nick in the drywall if I jounced her too hard.

It took most of my strength to get her popped up over the threshold, and all of my restraint to stop her there and roll smoothly off of it. Now I had her in the van. Great. Now I had to strap her in. Hmm.

As I have mentioned, there were no working interior lights in the van. I crawled around her on my hands and knees with my MagLite, still frozen from the cold, the side door still open, Clyde still giving me useless directions. There were a number of straps which could be latched into slots in the floor, then strapped to the wheelchair and then ratcheted tight. I put two straps on opposite corners and ratcheted her down tight. I set the brakes on her chair and closed up the van's doors. It was now about 7:30.

I motored ever so carefully around the building and headed up to pull onto Broadway. Broadway is very steep there, and the driveway for the Plaza III is ridiculously pitched uphill, as you exit. I creeped slowly uphill in the van, trying to be as seamless as possible. When the van had pretty much reached the peak angle of the driveway I heard a bit of a distressed exclamation from my passenger. I turned behind me to see her riding a wheelie.

If the van was already pitched at a 30+ degree angle, she was pitched back another 45 degrees, making her roughly 75-80 degrees back of the true horizon, and fairly fucking stressed about it. I hadn't buckled the front strap properly (zero training) and it had loosened. Luckily it caught when it did, preventing her from going ass-over-tea-kettle. As careful as I thought I had been pulling out, I was even more careful backing down, braced for the inevitable possibility that she should topple backwards. Remember, she didn't even have legs for ballast.

Luckily, she didn't topple backwards, though she did bottom out rather harshly when she came over center and landed her wheelie. I got the straps tight, for real this time, and took her home. By the time I got her there, it was about 8pm. I drove past her house and had to turn around, but that was actually helpful since it put the ramp on the proper side, though you wouldn't have known it from her reaction. All in all, that call wasted about an hour and a half of my time. What, no tip?

So, yeah, Monday was sucking. Balls. On top of all this, my eyes were irritated. At first I thought it was just from staring at the computer monitor, blogging for 6-7 hours. But, it continually got worse, mostly in my right eye. It was watering, only it was some slimy slugtrail stuff. Not cool. I thought I might have got a flying piece of steel in there, a spark thrown from my grinder when working in my garage. This has happened to me twice, with pretty much identical symptoms. I kept rubbing it, and it was swelling. I couldn't look at it in the mirror, since the van's lights didn't work.

Calls were barely trickling in. MU was doing a good job of losing their game. At the end of regulation I was across town on a call, kind of glad to avoid the traffic shitstorm at the Mizzou Arena. But, most improbably, MU came back from being down 7 points with 34 seconds left, and tied the game. So, with nothing better to do, I decided to post-up over at the arena and try to snag some people coming out after the end of overtime. I figured with the giant van I could stack 2 or 3 downtown fares and make some decent coin.

I trucked right over and pulled in with my giant Dodge. I went up to the side of the arena, and decided to turn around and park in front. The street was empty, with cop cars parked everywhere. I was swinging the land yacht around, backing perpendicular to the curb to make a 3 point turn. "I'm cool, all I have to do is miss that no parking sign, and its brother...where is that other no-parking--(insert grating, twisting metal sound)."

Great, 8 out of every 10 cops in Columbia are within a couple of hundred yards of me and I just plowed down a no parking sign with my back bumper. I did a quick scan, and, save for a handful of curious smokers inside the Arena's foyer, no one saw me, except maybe for the KOMU8 news van who had to slow up for me to complete the turn-around. I thought that was pretty sweet, but wasn't about to press my luck by parking in front of the arena. I drove a ways down Mick Deaver and pulled into the mouth of a parking lot that was roped off.

I sat there listening to the game, and picking at my mandolin. I saw a parking dude with his orange vest and flashlight wand saunter slowly in my direction. He had a radio, but I figured he was just going to roust me and tell me I couldn't park there. He was some old dude, and not a cub cadet. He worked his way very slowly towards me, but I was determined to make him make me leave. He finally rolled up to my window. I rolled it down.

"Are you listening to the game?" I told him yes, and turned it up so he could hear it. We listened to the last couple of minutes of it and he thanked me, before returning to his post. Sweet.

Then I sat and watched a few thousand people stream past me. Attendance had been 15,061. Apparently none of them were into cabs. It doesn't help that the giant wheelchair van isn't what most people think of when they think taxi. After about 15 minutes two people got in. They were the same couple I hauled early on New Year's Eve. That had been there first Columbia taxi ride, this was their second. The chick went to the back and asked if I had been picking a ukelele or a mandolin. I told her mandolin, and she commented that "those 8 strings are tough."

They were cool, and said I could wait for another fare if I wanted. I told them I had already watch a few thousand people stroll by, and didn't think I'd be missing much. We talked about the van and I told them story about the black legless woman. "Do you ever waste time on the internet?" Since they seemed to enjoy my story, I gave them my blog address.

I picked up one girl, apparently a server at the Bistro, at about 1:30. "They didn't have to send such a big van for just me." She lived on Churchill, which I visit often. I started in on my usual route. She wanted to go a different way. I let her call the shots and it was about $4 more expensive than it would have been my way. You'd think she'd give me the benefit of the doubt. I was in no mood for argument. When we were on old Nifong she asked me if I knew where we were. I live off of old Nifong.

So that was about it on Monday. I had one annoying group of drunk college kids. I really hate it when people cut me off and say "just go" when I'm trying to tell them about the fare or something. Fuck you, you can spare another 30 seconds. My eye kept hurting worse and worse. My vision started getting cloudy. Headlights were glaring badly. I phoned dispatch and told them I was done. I left at about 2am.

I came home and went to sleep at 3am. I was wide awake at 5am, in pain. I called a cab and waited downstairs, in the dark. Ted (Peat's houseguest) was asleep on the couch. Tim the day driver picked me up and took me to Boone ER.

I told the nurse that I had been feeling like I was beginning to get sick for about a week, and that I might have a piece of steel in my eye. They numbed the eyes, and dabbed some yellow dye in there. The blacklight didn't reveal any debris or scratches. The doctor told me it was a bad case of pink eye, and gave me a prescription for antibiotics, just in case it was bacterial and not viral.

I had never had pink eye.

I took another cab to Walgreens. This time it was Steve, the day driver. He asked me about the seats in number 5, and we had a bitch session about it. I got my prescription filled and took a third cab, this time with Jeff the day driver, home. It was about 7am. I had spent $40 on cab fare and tips, which was all I had made on Monday night. At least I've got health insurance.

Pink eye sucks.

I left a note on both toilets, each said "Yo. I have pink eye. Highly contagious. Wash hands frequently. Sorry, Garner." Then I went to sleep.

Tuesday I had pink eye. It sucked.

Wednesday I had pink eye. It sucked.

Thursday I had pink eye. It was better. It sucked less.

Friday I was mostly over my pink eye, but I had been sick the whole time with a sore throat. I never had any energy and slept a lot. The pink eye hit the right eye hardest first, then slacked up on concentrated on the left eye for a couple of days. I couldn't really drive much. I woke up Tuesday with one eye matted shut. As I was getting out of bed a little pus dyke broke loose and a warm backlog of tears ran down my cheek.

The whites of my eyes were pink. All the pink stuff (inner eyelids, etc.) was blood red. Not cool. I kept thinking it especially ironic that I had been trying to get the catchphrase "that's pink" to catch on. Because pink was supposed to be the new cool. But there's nothing cool about pink eye.

I hated to go out, since, besides impaired, painful vision and suspect driving ability, I was contagious. Jeff the day driver had me drop my $20 in the seat of the cab so he could handle it safely and wash it without touching it. I went to get some carry-out from Smokin' Chicks, since I didn't have any food in the house. My eyes were blood red and badly swollen. I tried not to look at anyone.

I ordered my usual, large smoked turkey sandwich, fries, diet Dr. Pepper. Another waitress asked "do you ever get anything different?"

"Well, not in a while. I like to stick with what works. Besides, I really hate turkeys and want to eliminate them one by one by eating their breasts sliced and smoked with tangy barbeque sauce." She said she didn't like turkeys either. Or geese. "How 'bout swans? They're like the chief-president-geese-assholes." She'd never been close enough to swans to form an opinion.

"But ducks are cool. They're cute."

"Oh yeah, I could hang out with a duck. Ducks are cool. They're probably my favorite waterfowl." And wouldn't you know it, but a fucking duck walked right up?

No, really. There's a big pond on John Garry Drive and there are ducks that live there. This one was mostly white, with one of those red plastic-looking Darth Maul faces. I guess its a Muscovy duck. Yeah, so it walked right up. And the chick opened the door and we went outside. It was practically tame. We went back in and it stood outside the glass door, staring at me. Well, okay, maybe I couldn't hang out with this duck.

I also ventured out to 9th Street Video to get the DVD box set of The Trailer Park Boys. I asked them if they had it months ago and they didn't. I saw it the last time I was in, but it was checked out. I saw that it was there, and it didn't have an 'out' tag on it, but I'll be damned if it wasn't gone. Of all the shit you know. And I put $.15 in the meter.

But, as my eyes got better and I got more energy, I started spending some more time in the garage. Friday I felt legitimately bad, but I could have worked Saturday if I really wanted to. But, I was peeved about not getting to work on my project on my days off, since I was sick, and I thought I would make it a cool 6 days off in a row and stayed home. Thus, I got a lot done Saturday and Sunday, but have no cab content to report to you, except for the one story on Monday. But, hey, things are tough all over.

I did finally get a package from Slim Cessna's Auto Club. I ordered 2 shirts and a CD back in mid-November. Apparently they had ran out of the shirts on tour, and hadn't planned on replacing them. But, they hadn't updated their site when I ordered. To make up for the really long wait time they threw in 2 extra free T-shirts, some stickers, a hand-written note of apology, and 3 silk screened posters. So, I got to enjoy my new Slim Cessna CD while working in the garage. It's actually one I already had, but lost sometime last summer, before the rest of my CDs were stolen.

Yeah, so that's about it for me. I got in a lot of good pickin', too. I forgot how 'short' an eight hour workday is, since I'm used to twelves. Man, I gotta get a new job, if I'm ever going to get good enough to make my 2008 show dates.

So, I guess I have to go back to work tomorrow, which sucks. But, at least I don't have pink eye anymore. I'll be sure to bring you all of the lurid details. Maybe I can really wreck a paraplegic's day this time. Wish me luck.