I'll Fuck Your Couch, Hot Sauce.

Yo.

Today/tonight is Sunday. I slept until 6:30pm. I took a shower, and went to Smokin' Chicks. I grabbed an issue of Inside Columbia and looked for an article by John Littel. I ate a turkey sandwich and fries. My waitress was the girl I talked to about ducks when I had pink eye. I stared at her breasts (when she wasn't looking). I tried to imagine what they might be like. I imagined they were nice.

Then I went downtown. I was jamming out to a new 9 Pound Hammer CD I bought Saturday. I didn't realize Blaine Cartwright had been in that band. He was the frontman for Nashville Pussy, and had a cameo in Run, Ronnie, Run! There's some Georgia link with all those cats, as 9 Pound Hammer also does the theme song for 12 Oz. Mouse on Adult Swim. Need I point out that the mouse is a cab driver?

I rented three episodes of Das Karnival at 9Th Street Video. Sure, I'm a bit behind the times. I grabbed the episode with Witch's Hat, the one with Someone Still Loves You, Boris Yeltsin, and the one with Bald Eagle. I watched all three, accompanied by a sixer of Pyramid Apricot Weizen, to smooth over any technical glitches.

Well, what do you know? New Guy Dan, the fresh-faced cab driver, just happens to be Dan Gemkow, as in the Dan Gemkow behind Das Karnival.

How's that for coincidence?

I found this odd, and finished all six of the Weizens contemplating the significance. This made me nappy, and I crashed out for a couple of hours. It is now 3:05 as I come at you fresh. I also think I just set a record for most links in my opening paragraphs.

Although I am a couple of days behind on the blog, I'm going to hit you with this past weekend first. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll be perpetually a week behind, and details will just get fuzzier and fuzzier. I will at least try to bring you the high points (read: trannies) from the days that I have missed, as I get caught up. So deal with it.

Friday: I drug my ass out of bed and couldn't get going. I checked up on como and the blog (comments and feed back have been slow in coming) and got dressed. I had about 15 minutes to eat at Wendy's and get to work. As I got out of Corpsy at Wendy's, I felt for my wallet, out of habit. I didn't have it. Motherfucker.

That's about two times in my adult life I have forgotten my wallet. I also never lose my car keys. Either way, I didn't have it, and had to drive back home to retrieve it. The round trip cost me my lunch, and I still got to work 5 minutes late.

I wasn't too worried, since it had taken 2.5 hours to get in a cab the last Friday. I was surprised to see so many other drivers there, sitting, waiting. That's when I remembered seeing a note on the dry-erase board that there was a driver's meeting scheduled for 3:45 Friday. This would be the first such meeting in my 3 months' tenure.

Everyone got there and Phyllis passed out some freshly minted pamphlets. They were 8.5 x 11" paper with light blue stock for a cover, folded once and stapled. On the cover in 10 point type it said "Welcome to A*1 Taxi. Driver's Handbook." There may have been 3 sheets in it, for a total of 12 pages or so. It had a number of typos, misspellings, and usage errors. And, there was little news in it.

It outlined all of the basic policies, such as uniforms and radio usage. I didn't learn much. I guess it was still progress. I had to restrain myself from giggling at times during the meeting. One thing I did learn was that A*1 scored a contract with Midwest Transplant. Yup, how do you think those precious organs are going to find their ways to your operating table? Greyhound? Well think again, motherfucker, and think right this time.

So, yeah, our motley crew will be responsible for transporting surgeons and organs from the airport to the hospital. I guess we're supposed to drive right up to the planes on the runways and wait as long as it takes for them to land. Puts #10 in a whole new light: lifesaver.

And, speaking of #10, I was spared driving the sad bitch Friday, in favor of #7. If you'll remember, #7 is about our nicest car. There is something wrong with the steering pump, though, so there's not much power assist. And, the switch is messed up for the windshield wipers, which makes them a pain in the ass to operate. All considered, though, it is still light-years ahead of #10.

My first call was on Oak Cliff Drive. I looked it up in the book and confused it with Oak Cliff Place, which was right around the corner. You'll have to remember that Friday afternoon is like my Monday morning, so I was a little out of it. I got straightened out and found the guy.

I had just heard at about 4pm that Quin Snyder had stepped down as the MU men's basketball head coach. This little news item became my conversation starter for the evening. I chatted with this guy, a mid-to-late 30something, about Snyder and the program's shortcomings on the way to Boone Tavern. He had already had a few cold ones. I apologized for arriving a little late (mostly due to getting the call late), but he was soothed by my conversation. He tipped me $3.95 on a $14.05 fare.

It was still daylight when dispatch sent me to LaSalle. I recognized the address. It was Eugene, from the last post, whose debit card let him down on a $6.05 fare. I only dimly hoped he would have money for me, and figured it was more likely that he was going to try to bum a free ride.

I pulled up outside his pad and he immediately hobbled out. I told him it looked like he was getting around better on his busted foot. He was sober and clean shaven. He said he didn't need to go anywhere, that he just called so he could pay me. Awesome.

He asked how much it was and I said $6.05. He gave me the cash, and thanked me for being cool about it. I thanked him, and told him that not everyone had such a good memory. "Yeah, but, you c...c...c...c...c...c...c...c...c...c...c... you coulda taken me to th...th...the jail."

"Yeah, but we didn't need to that, did we?'

After that, things were pretty slow-going, for a Friday. I had time to grab a BBQ chicken sandwich from Hardees. I didn't have another call until almost 7pm. It was one of my regulars, whom I hadn't seen in a while.

I can't remember what I changed his name to in an earlier post, but he has a non-traditional spelling of his first name and also includes his middle initial whenever he signs the charge slip. He is the huge fat guy who my have Down's Syndrome that I have referred to as having flipper hands and a moustache, the USA flag guy.

He came to the car with his Playmate cooler and his shades on. I had the charge slip filled out, waiting for his signature. I had spelled his first name right and included the middle initial. He looked at it and smiled, a smile of intense pride in my efforts. He looked at me and gestured his approval.

I asked him my standard group home question, "Did you work hard tonight?" The answer is always 'yes.' I told him I hadn't seen him in a while and chatted him up. About the time we made it out to Vandiver he asked what my name was. I told him and he extended his flipper hand, and I shook it. He said we were friends. I thanked him. He looked at me, again, with pride, and reached over, patting me on the back. It made me feel as accomplished as about anything I've ever done in life.

He asked me about my soda and what I had had for dinner. I told him a chicken sandwich. He asked if it was from Sonic. I told him no, that it was from Hardees. I can understand him pretty well now, though it does take some concentration.

I went without another call for an hour. Then, I was dispatched back to the same workshop. There I picked up 3 more regulars, at the same time. Though they were charges ($6.84 each), there were three of them, so I could run the fares concurrently. It was like having one $20 fare, which was pretty good considering how slow I was.

My next call was an Indian or Pakistani fellow going from the Wal-Mart Supercenter to Tara Apartments. I was a little surprised that he didn't have any bags with him. These guys usually load up the trunk with groceries. He was slight, with an accent, and sat up front. He didn't have much to say. He paid by credit card and I didn't bother asking if he wanted to put a tip on it.

From there I was dispatched to Crescent Meadows trailer park, up on Prathersville road. Not a nice place, and not one you can expect much of a tip out of. But, it is a $16-20 fare from there to most places in Columbia, which would have been welcomed at that time.

That place sprawls on forever, and there's no pattern to where the numbers are on the trailers, if there are any at all. There are gaps where people have moved their trailers out, and where trailers from other parks have moved in, with their old numbers still intact. I tried imaging the Trailer Park Boys in that setting.

I found the place I was looking for, when a dude standing outside smoking flagged me. He didn't seem in any hurry to get in the car. I assumed this was because he wanted to finish his cigarette. After a minute he got in. He was only going as far as the Upper Deck. Shit. That was only $4.55 away. But, there was a second passenger coming (his sister, $5.55) and he said he'd tip me, giving me a $10 up front. That works.

He said he knew Tim, another cab driver, and that they had gone to high school at the same time in Columbia. He also requested a card, so he could call back for me when he was ready to come home. Prathersville is far enough away to want to avoid it for a $5 fare when you're busy, but he did promise another, better tip. I dropped them off and headed back in.

An interesting sidenote, for all you comoers, the Upper Deck, one of Columbia's premier shitty redneck bars, is no longer the Upper Deck. What's it called now, you ask? Why, Scuba Steve's, of course. Yes, Scuba Steve's. Complete with a picture of a scuba diver on the sign on the side. Classic. Whoa, there's a useful new web site for me.

My next call was from Hoot-N-Anny's. Man, I hate calls there. You can't see in or out of the front door from the alley, so I always have to go in looking for people. And they're never easy to find. It's incredibly smoky, and, being under 30 (barely, but looking even younger) and having all of my appendages, I stand out a bit there. Enough that all of the 20-30something ladies at the bar, most still wearing their work attire, check me out. The people who called for the cab are either off doing something (boot-scooting to a live country-and-western band) or are comatose drunk on a barstool, having forgot they even called for a cab.

There was a band Friday, and it was very loud. I had a couple of ladies check-checking me. I walked all around, looking for someone who may be waiting for a cab. Short of screaming the question at everyone in the bar, over the loud noise, there's no way to tell. And the bar puts me off. Weird crowd. Old people. People in power chairs. Misplaced hoodrats. I walked all around, muttering and cussing to myself. I'm wearing an ID badge and not holding a beer, so I stand out plenty. My lips never quit moving. I kept saying aloud, "I hate this fucking place."

I went back out and asked dispatch if they had a number. No such luck. They gave me the brilliant advice of going inside to check. Duh. They did tell me that it was the guy that always went to Sugar Tree. That sounded familiar, though I could not picture the dude. So, I went back in to try to find someone familiar looking.

I spied him at the same instant he saw me. He had been at a table with his back to me, on the other side of a wall, in the darkened dancin' floor portion, where the band was playing. I had tried to avert my eyes the first time. It was the same old dude I always pick up at TP's at the Lake of the Woods between 5-7pm. His wife died 14 months ago. He drinks a lot, but always cabs.

And, he was with a lady. Her name was Goldie, and they had met at the Tiger Club some time ago, when that sonofabitch grandson that was sucking off of her had taken her there. The same grandson had insulted Dude earlier that evening. Grandson had got drunk, sideswiped a car downtown, and ran. He was still apparently freaked out about it, and apparently an asshole.

Anyhoo, I took them home. It was a $10.05 fare and he tipped $5. I hope he got some 60+ ass.

Next, I had a call up at Avatar. It was the same young black girl I picked up from the Boone County Jail earlier in the week. I figured she had money, since I could trace her back to the same place twice now. I took her to an address in the hood. She never said anything, and paid cash. No tip. It was one of your typical "you don't have to pull in the driveway" I'm-trying-not-to-be-seen rides. As is typical with these rides, I am quick to get the fuck away and always relieved to be doing so. I pulled up to a stop sign on Worley. A black 'chick' with headphones on was be-bopping her way down the sidewalk.

She was wearing something like a fashion track suit. I thought it funny that she was so self-assured strutting down Worley at like 9pm. Not caring enough to look tense or to refrain from singing out loud. As soon as she was clear of the cab I pulled out, turning down Worley to head back downtown.

As I passed her she noticed me for the first time and flagged me. Crap. What are the odds this will be a solicitation?

She ran across the street and jumped in the back. I was leery of sitting parked on Worley, due to the traffic, but didn't want to take off unless I thought she had some money on her.

Well, she was a he. Or at least I believe so. At least enough I wouldn't check for fear of being right and scarred for life. The last afterimage I ever want burned on my retinas is a tranny's wang.

So, yeah, she said her name was Stephanie. Let's just go ahead and assume I am a racist, but I don't know of too many black girls named "Stephanie" in the hood. She said she was going to the Athena Night Club. I overestimated that the fare would be about $6-8.

I overestimate in case I'm wrong, 1) and, 2) because people will try to hustle you on the fare. If you say "probably $10" they'll say "all I've got is, like $8," regardless of how much cash they actually have. She said that was cool.

We started rolling to Athena. 'She' said she was from Kansas City, but liked Columbia well enough. "It has it's ghetto spots." She complained that her cousin had left without her and that she was pissed at her. As we rolled down Providence I heard her counting money.

"$6 is all a bitch like me's got."

"That'll probably do it." I was giving her directions as we went, so she would be able to find it the next time (had never been there) and so she would no how to get herself back home. When I said "this is Locust, it's about 4 or 5 blocks down this way" she freaked a bit.

"You're going to take me there, right." She thought I was putting her out. She asked me to turn on the interior light, saying she had something in her eye. She was rubbing it, looking into a compact. "It's just make up--you know, girl stuff." Boy, do I.

As we rolled down locust, nearing the club, she asked if I was married. For some stupid reason I said 'no.' "For real? Come on now, you're married." Again, I said I wasn't. "Do you date?" I told her I didn't have much time for dating with my current work schedule.

Whoa, look at the time. "That's Athena right there." The fare was $4.80. She had already given me the $6. "Do you want your $1 back.

"No, that's yours. You keep that." She asked for my card, for a ride home. I gave her one, but told dispatch that if anyone requested me out of Athena that night to give it to someone else. I just didn't want to end up with a tranny in the hood with no cash at 1:30am, when I could be making money elsewhere, no matter what kind of story it might turn into. Sorry, faithful readers.

After that I got a call back up to Scuba Steve's to pick up the guy I dropped off there. He was by himself, at the convenience store across the street. He apologized, and said "all I got is $5, will that do it?" Yeah, the fare was only $4.55 before.

He had had a poor night out. He said his sister was acting a fool. She had drank two bottles of wine before going to the bar, and people were buying her drinks. Someone offered to buy him a drink, too, calling him 'boy.' He decided to cash out before he got into a fight. And, I imagine, he had spent all of his money. I dropped him back off at his trailer and headed in. It was about 10:45pm.

After that, I took a group of 4 from Willies to Cody's. They were some small town types, and one of them had his yokelometer on 11. He was acting drunker than he probably was, and kept calling me 'son,' though he was likely 8 years my junior. They had been classing it up at Willies. The fare was $11.80 and the guy waited for his $.20 back, repeating again and again that his friends would all owe him. They took a card and said they wanted me back. Good luck with that.

After that I grabbed what I thought was a flag from in front of Billiards. Turned out that they had called A*1 and someone else was dispatched for them. It was an alternacouple, not hipsters, though. Kind of honest blue-collar-punk. The guy was pissed off about something, but quiet. I asked him if he had had a good time and he said I didn't want to know. He rode up front and his lady rode in the back. I think he must have been asked to leave.

Two guys grabbed me while I was waiting on someone outside of Campus bar. It had been slow for a Friday night and I was pissed off that someone was taking so long to come out, besides the fact that I was sitting in traffic with my hazards flashing. These two were only going as far as the Field House, but that's a $3 minimum plus $1 for the second passenger for about a minute's work, and I could likely get back in time to pick up the original fare. On top of that, they guy tipped a buck.

I guess the people from Campus Bar cancelled. My next call was from the Regency Hotel, going up North. It was an undergrad, with one prior DWI, going home after a failed attempt at drinking. He said his head hurt and he couldn't find his groove. And, his girl was acting up. He tipped $3, I think.

My next call was from Mirtle Grove, heading north to Alpine Ridge. That's a $20+ fare for one person, and it might be a group. Mirtle Grove is in a college neighborhood, so I figured it was some people party-hopping

And, it was. It was the guys who I picked up at Country kitchen the week before, who had fled a random party via a bathroom window. They're the ones who are going to random parties selected from the MU facebook every weekend and writing about it for the Maneater. They had selected one that was for a girl's 21st birthday, which they found very lame. They couldn't believe anyone would celebrate such a milestone occasion anywhere but a bar. And, she had balloons tied to herself.

They had bailed, and were hell-bent on a kegger up on Alpine Ridge. In an earlier post many weeks ago I wrote about getting dispatched to Apline Street and not Alpine Ridge, which are several miles apart. The same thing had happened with Mark earlier in the evening, with these guys. They had driven around in vain and had been forced to settle for this party instead. I assured them that I knew where it was, and would get them there. I did warn them, though, that it would likely be $22 or more, and there would be $2 for the extra 2 passengers.

They didn't care. They were very gung-ho. Between Mirtle Grove and downtown the fare had climbed to $10.80. They were doing math in their heads and trying to figure out how much money they had. It was about $27. I asked them if they wanted to bail on East Campus or go back to their dorms, but they said the kegger would be worth it, and renewed their enthusiasm. We pressed on, Northward.

We found Alpine Ridge with only minor incident. I turned one street too soon, and had to consult my guide book. No problem. As we got to the Alpine Ridge neighborhood, a brand-damn new subdivision north of Brown School Road, the fare was right at $25. With the extra passengers this was all their money. I wasn't worried about a tip, since these guys were rapidly becoming regulars, and I dug what they were doing.

When we were about a block or two away from the party, we saw flashing lights and heard a siren from the next street over. Hmm. Cops. Kegger. Well-advertised party.

One of the dudes was convinced it was an ambulance, trying to explain the difference in their sirens. About that time we rolled up on the party, and about 5 or 6 cop cars. Dejected undergrads and a couple of beer kegs were on the lawn, and a couple of groups of kids were on their cell phones, on the street, in the cold, miles from anywhere, trying to get rides before getting busted. Lurking around the corner were two more cruisers with their lights off, daring kids to drive.

So, the party was a bust. And these guys were out of money, a good $15 or so from home. I knew they would repay me if I let them slide, and one had the option of overdrawing his bank account with his debit card. I told them maybe they could convince another group to go back downtown in the cab, and get them to split the fare. That sounded like a good idea.

We rolled up on a group and Ed pitched the idea out of the passenger's window. Three more piled in the back seat. That's 5 in the back, and a couple of them were pretty good-sized. There was one girl, a cute thing, hovering crouched over a couple of laps, her head bent against the ceiling. One of the first guys had been complaining that he needed to piss since the second we left Mirtle Grove. He couldn't go at Alpine Ridge because of the police presence. Now he was even more cramped and uncomfortable, and obsessed with the need to urinate.

This was a sentiment echoed by two or three other males in the back. Luckily, the new 3 were pretty cool, and everyone got along just find. The cute girl called herself a sponge, and said she would soak it all up. One of the guys in back saw the mandolin bag when he got in. I had set it on the dash in case someone else piled in the front. "Is that a mandolin you've got there?"

"Why, yes, it is." He asked me if I played it. I told him I just bought it, but was trying my best. I also mentioned my banjo habit.

"So, do you want to play bluegrass, then."

"Yeah, kind of. 100-proof, black-and-bluegrass stuff. Ultimately, not too traditional." He said that was what he wanted to do. He asked my name, and I told him. He said we needed to from a band.

I took them all to some apartments on Ross. I charged the people from the party full price, $15.05. They tipped $5. Any other time I would have charged the originals $15, too, but I hooked them up since they were cool and in need. I imagine I'll get it back from them soon enough, anyway.

The one Maneater dude (sorry, don't remember your name) took the opportunity to finally piss, all over some trash can or something on someone's patio. A random dude was climbing over the privacy fence at the opposite end of the parking lot. It was getting close to 1am. The guys had lost all of their enthusiasm, and decided not to look for any East campus parties. Since they just lived on campus, I dropped them off for free. Before I was clear with them I got a call to pick up at Snappers.

"Great," I told them. "I've only ever got one call out of Snappers, and it was an ambiguous guy named Angel with no teeth that lived in the hood and didn't tip."

I pulled up in front of Snappers. It was an ambiguous man with no teeth. He got in.

"How's it going, Angel. You've got a bat with you. Have you been at softball practice?" Angel was carrying a blue aluminum softball bat, inexplicably. I thought my question might provoke further comment, but it didn't. I took him and his bat home on Garth. He tipped me this time, $1.45 on a $4.55 fare.

Next I had a call out of McNally's. It was a couple, and the guy came up and bent down to look at me before getting in the cab. I didn't recognize him. He stood back up and said, to his girl behind him "we got the same guy again." They looked vaguely familiar, and I remembered taking them home a couple of times when they told me their addresses. I don't get good looks at a lot of people, especially when I grab them out of a bar and I'm in a hurry to get moving, out of the street.

These guys were cool, though. I had been complaining about Columbia's poor snow removal efforts when I took them home one night, when the girl remembered to tell me to turn left at the last second. I hit the brakes and spun the wheel, but #10 lost her grip and we bumped up and over a minor curb. It didn't warrant any excitement.

The odd thing is, I had mistaken another couple for them the week before. "Snowy Owl, or Arctic Fox, right, up in Vanderveen." The chick was just climbing in the cab, and had no idea what I was talking about. Wrong couple.

But this was the right couple, and I was taking them home. They were relieved to have drew me, since their last cab driver pointed out the locations of two of his DWIs to them on their way home. They found this distressing. The guy had drank plenty, and was rambling kind of excitedly, but coherently, and on topic. When I was running his credit card, the chick asked me what my craziest cab story was. Since I can't tell a short story, and since they were cool, I started to refer them to my blog.

The dude perked up, mentioning blogspot. We exchanged URLs. This is one of his. He said it was the humorous outcropping of an extended period of time spent watching kung fu and zombie movies.

Next, I was dispatched back to Cody's. Dispatch told me that there were a couple of calls there, but to make sure I at least got the ones going to the Holiday Inn Select. This sounded good, since they would likely tip, compared to the group I dropped off the first time.

At this point I took advantage of a CD break to go downstairs to enjoy a drumstick ice cream cone from my refrigerator. I have recently developed a mournful taste for these delectable treats, and pick up at least one a night during my numerous gas station visits. Until recently, I had never brought my addiction into my home. But, the other night, I purchased two "for the road." I had one left and just went to retrieve it. Something about my freezer had caused the ice cream to shrink, and much of the nut-covered chocolate dome broke off and fell to the floor when I tore off the wrapper. I stood there like a small child, whose nut-covered chocolate dome had just broken off and fell to the floor. I picked up some of it and ate it, before my retarded kitty eagerly pounced to investigate. I let her have the rest of it. There was hair on it, anyway. Cat hair. But, back to blogging.

As I have mentioned before, it is difficult to keep people out of your cab while trying to find who actually called. Normally I just roll with it, and take whoever gets in first, since it is so hard to dislodge them once rooted in the cab's confines. In this case, though, the Holiday Inn Select people must have complained about being late or something, since dispatch made sure I knew they were the priority.

I saw two or three clusters of people when I swung in to Cody's lot. I took advantage of #7's working power locks and locked the doors. One guy broke loose from a group and led a charge on the cab. I rolled down the passenger's window as he approached, and he tried the door before I could speak. I asked him if they were going to the Holiday Inn and he said 'yes' and told me to unlock the damn door. He was boisterous, but not rude. I unlocked the door and he got in. Three more filled in the back. I saw the group I dropped off earlier, standing forlorn in the corner of the lot. The first guy had made sure they knew it was his cab.

The guy in front immediately began saying "I can't believe Matt took off with them. He's getting AIDS right now." I asked again, to make sure they were the Holiday Inn people. "What--we don't look like the kind of people who would stay at the Holiday Inn Sel-ect?"

This guy was 30, hardy, big, brash. He was wearing a T-shirt, tucked in, and a cap. Not the sports-team variety, but not a billboard or 'trucker' cap. Jeans and lace-up Western-style boots. The guys in back were bedecked in full western regalia. 'Brush poppers,' woven belts with half a foot hanging down, and two had on cowboy hats. They were much older. Turned out to be the guy's dad and maybe and uncle, and a family friend/coworker/drinking buddy.

They were preoccupied with the fate of their fifth man, who was MIA. Apparently, he had left with some Cody's skeezers. Dude in front wasn't concerned. The dad thought we should check for him. I circled the building, but he was gone.

I tried to tell them about the $3 extra for the extra passengers. "Whup--look at this dad, he's gonna try to pull that on us, just like the last guy." The guy was loud, boisterous, and brash, but, ultimately, nothing short of likeable. He said to just go, to treat them right, to forget the meter, that they would take care of me, etc., etc. Normal shpeil but much less offensive that when I get it from business types. I ran the meter as usual.

The dude in front called the older runty guy in the back "Hot Sauce," interchangeably with his name. He'd cut off Hot Sauce at every opportunity, and say "I'll fuck your couch, Hot Sauce." Most of the ride was spent talking about betting each other to dance with fatties and wagering on how far they could get with them, but it was less crude than it sounds as I type it. "I'd of fucked that bitch. I'll fuck your couch."

They wanted to hit a Taco Bell. I told them about wait time. The guy looked at me again, in a dude-what-the-fuck-I-thought-we-were-on-the-same-page-what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-to-me sort of way. Again, not as harsh as it sounds. He gave me shit again about the meter and my tip. We hit the drive-through. I asked if he wanted me to order for them. He said yes, that once they all started talking they would piss them off and they wouldn't get any food. This sounded plausible.

"What you want, Hot Sauce?"

"I want one of those burri--"

"Fuck you, you're getting a fucking taco, Hot Sauce."

"Naw, I want one of them burrito sup--"

"Fuck you, Hot Sauce, you're getting a God damned taco."

"No, now, I want a burrito supreme--"

"God damn it, Hot Sauce. You're getting a fucking taco. I'll fuck your couch."

He finally conceded that Hot Sauce could have a burrito. Someone else wanted 5 tacos. Dude told me to order 5 burrito supremes and 5 tacos. "You want anything?"

"No, thanks."

"God damn it. I know you want something. Ain't you hungry? We'll buy you some tacos."

"Yeah, I am hungry, but I don't have time to eat--"

"You can't eat while you drive? You're getting a fucking taco. We'll take care of you man."

I made it to the order screen. "Get 5 burrito supremes and 5 tacos, and whatever you want."

I ordered the 5 burritos and 5 tacos. Dude voiced his displeasure in me. "Order yourself something."

"Make that 6 crunchy tacos." The number on the screen blipped to 6.

"Make that 9 crunchy ta-cos," dude yelled over me. The number blipped to 9.

"Would you like any sauce with that? medium, hot, or fire--"

"Fire! Fire" Hell yeah, give us fire sauce!" The chorus rang out from the entire car. Now the chick was laughing through the speaker. "You sound cute? What do you look like?"

She repeated the total, laughing, and told us to pull around.

"She had a cute voice, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did. But I don't trust that." I told him there was an inverse proportion to how cute a girl sounded and how fat she really was. He intimated that he had experienced such phenomenon.

We made it around to the window, and she was a big ol' gal. Dude leaned down so he could see her through my window. "What time you get off work, baby?"

"Uh, about 3?"

"You want to come party at the Holiday Inn Sel-ect?" She said she was going to go home and go to bed when she got off. At least he didn't tell her he'd fuck her couch.

I didn't run the wait time on the meter but I watched the clock. I would add $5 for the 5 minutes in the drive-through, and avoid the argument. They had broke a $100 at Taco Bell.

I handed dude the two bags of food, which he withheld from Hot Sauce, repeating that he'd fuck his couch. He culled out one taco and set it on my clipboard. "There. There's your one taco that you ordered, you sonofabitch."

I got to the Holiday Inn Select. The meter had ran $15.05, plus $3 for the extra passengers. He gave me $28. I added the $5 in wait time and still got a $5 tip. And a taco. It was delicious.

Turns out the couch-fucking line was in reference to the Rick James sketch on the Dave Chepelle Show, where Rick James is disrespecting Eddie Murphy's leather sofa. Dude was a big fan.

Sometime before the Cody's call, dispatch had tried to send me to Henley Place. It didn't exist, at least not in my guide book. They tried to call the guy back, but his phone wasn't working. They decided to wait until he got mad enough to call back, to get directions. He had, sometime during my Cody's run. It was actually Handley Place, or something like that. I found it in my book and zipped over there.

The guy wasn't that put out. He was in his 30s. He wasn't going very far, to Bourn, but we had to wind around a little and it was $6.80. He asked me about weirdos in cabs. I mentioned something about taking the Girls Gone Wild guys to Lynn's. He said he knew of the place, and that he had "tried that after the divorce," but that he couldn't go through with it. He was even more thankful he didn't after I told him the story. He still tipped $3.20.

I went back downtown, and got a flag out of El Rancho. It was a group of four, dropping off one girl on East campus and taking the other three South of town. The girl said she was going to Ross and I said I knew right where it was. She said something about never having ridden in a Columbia cab before, to one of her friends.

She still proceeded to give me directions the whole way, telling me where to turn when I already had my turn signal on and was slowing down. That can get pretty irritating, but I knew she didn't mean anything by it. When we got on Ross she said "it's an apartment building down here--"

"You mean 1410 Ross, on the right hand side of the street?"

"Yes--how did you know?"

"It's not my first cab ride." Her friends laughed pretty hard at that, and told her she just got served. That was the address where I dropped off the kids from the Alpine Ridge party.

They gave me a chicken burrito they had ordered by mistake at El Rancho. I ate it as soon as I got home. Besides the cash they gave me, that's like another $6 tip.

I had another call, on the Northwest side of town, after 3am. It was two Moberly K-Mart cowboys who had gone home with some chicks they had met at Cody's. Apparently that was a bust, and they were bored and sobering up. I drove them back to their rooms at the Arrowhead Motel. The guy paid with a $100 and didn't tip after I broke it for him.

My last call was a couple from the Diner. The guy was trying to pitch the chick on a spring break trip. It's funny to hear spoiled college students complain about coming up with money for spring break the way I do about things like rent. It's such a necessity.

So that was Friday. Despite the slow start, I still ran 22 or 23 calls, to some others' 16 or 17. But, I did have 4 charges, 3 of them at once, and a couple of flags. I ended up pulling about $230 on the meter. Not too bad, but I guess I've been spoiled by the $280 nights I was having a couple of weeks ago. Turns out the tranny from Athena did call and request me, but Virginia sent a new guy, instead. Thanks, Virginia.

Well, I fucked around and drank all of that beer, and I haven't got as much written as I had hoped. It's 6:45 am now, and I still have to proof this thing. Nothing too exciting happened Saturday. It was even slower than Friday. It sucked pretty hard, and I was starving until about 2:30am. I actually got pretty busy after that and ran solid until 4:30am. People finally started tipping and I pulled the night out of my ass, doing $229 on the meter (in 13 hours).

So, I think I may leave this post at that. There was better stuff on the Monday/Tuesday I haven't written about yet, but I may save that for bar chit-chat. I can't totally expose myself here.

And, you know, Valentine's Day is tomorrow...would it kill you people to throw your dutiful taxi blogger a bone here, and post a comment, just to let me know that I still mean something to you, and you haven't forgotten me? Is that too much to ask? A little preventive maintenance will go a long way towards keeping these updates coming. I have needs, you know.