In the fine tradition of honoring a Catholic saint, is my photo above of an inflatable leprechaun enjoying a pole dance by an inflatable love doll stripper, on the balcony of Rouge Ladies and Gentelman's Club, on the corner of Main and 14th (I think) here in Richmond, Virginia. Party on Leprechaun.
Yeah, yesterday, being the Saturday before St. Patty's, was the big party day this year. There are two days a year I actually miss being a taxi driver. St. Patrick's Day, and 4th of July. Those were the only two days I actually made a shitload of money in that business. I tried to think of a specific story from the St. Patty's days when I drove a cab, but none stood out at first. Mostly, it was the one day when I, literally, drove for a solid 16 or 17 hours. I mean actually driving, one ride after another after another, all day. In Huntington Beach, I'd roll up on Walnut street to the taxi stand by Crabby's and Gallagher's, and from 10:00 am or so, I'd be picking people up and driving them home, until after 2:30 am. What made it so great is that people were drinking ALL FREAKING DAY. On top of that, people were happy, in a good mood, and tipped really well. I got $20 bills for $5 and $10 rides all day long.
I would drive until I had to piss really bad. By that time, my shorts pockets would be stuffed with wadded up $20 bills. I'd roll up to McDonald's or Carl's Jr. (West Coast version of Hardee's), run in, piss more than a quart (seriously, I've filled up a 44 ounce cup once, in one pee), a result of my highly trained, taxi man's bladder. Then I'd go back out to the cab, pop the trunk, and take all the $20's out of my pockets and shove them in my backpack. I counted all the money the next morning, usually.
My record was $565 in rides in one day. Out of that I had to pay a day's worth of taxi lease, ($535 a week divided by 7 ) which was about $76, and about $50 in gas money spent that day. So in one day, I net about $439. That's the most I've ever made in a day in my life. On 4th of July in Orange County, CA, I could pocket $350 to $375. Those were the two really good days as a taxi driver. There were a handful more great days. But most of the other 355 days a year I worked 14 to 18 hours a day, and lost money. Seriously. But St. Patrick's Day always rocked money wise, AND it was just plain a fun day to work because people were having fun, laughing, and cool to talk to.
There were several big St. Patty's bashes here in Richmond yesterday, I chilled at the big street fair type scene on Boulevard in Scott's Addition area for a while. There was a downtown pub crawl as well, and a big party at the new Farmer's Market area in Shockhoe Bottom, which had also turned into a pub crawl when I got off the Pulse bus there last night. Downtown Richmond was pretty much gridlocked, walking was the best way to move around, and the bars and clubs were bumpin' and filled with people. As I was walking back to my homeless "home," I saw two guys wrestling on a bridge above a canal. The one was yelling, "I jiss don' care aboot nuffin' anymoe!" I realized he was playing the role of the depressed, semi-suicidal drunk, as his friend tried to get him back into the van the guy had just jumped out of. I don't miss having to deal with drunk idiots anymore... not at all.
As I passed those guys, I had a flashback to my very last ride, on the last St Patrick's Day I worked as a taxi driver, in Winston-Salem, NC. I worked a solid 22 hours that day, trying to maximize the profit of the day, since people in NC don't tip for shit. I picked up my last fare, two drunk guys, one completely shitfaced drunk chick, and her fairly sober, dutiful friend. I picked them up on Trade Street, and we headed up to the north side of Winston, to a kind of rural area. Halfway there, the trashed chick said, "I gotta pee!" Although I was completely exhausted from nearly 22 hours of almost continuous driving, I snapped my head around "I'll stop!" I shouted. There was an empty lot just ahead of us, where she could cop a squat, and I slowed down. "No, she'll be OK," the dutiful friend said. I offered to stop a couple more times. But the friend said, "No," so I kept driving.
Then I heard the guys, in the far back see, laughing. I looked back, and the trashed chick was laying down on the middle seat, with her lower body hanging over the end of the shorter seat. Her jeans were down to knees, and the friend was holding her hand over the drunk chick's crotch.
"What the Hell?" I shouted. By then, we were almost at their house. The friend said she was just drunk and being stupid. Since I was driving, I couldn't tell exactly what was happening. I pulled up to a rural house they directed me to. They all kind of tumbled out of the minivan, the dutiful friend paid me, and the drunk guys helped the trashed chick into the house. I was exhausted, that was my last ride. It was close to 3 am, and I drove to the first gas station, pulled under the lighted roof, got out, and popped open the side door to see what the back looked like. Sure enough, the drunk chick had pissed all over the carpeted floor.
Fuck.
I spent 45 minutes driving around, half asleep, to find a store open that had baking soda. Unfortunately, I learned before, in another pee-in-the-taxi incident, that covering the damp carpet with baking soda is a good way to counteract the problem. It sucks most of the pee up and out of the carpet. So I spread baking soda over the area, two boxes worth, and then drove to the parking lot, where I slept in my taxi at night. I couldn't afford an apartment or room to live in then.
The next morning, I counted my money, and managed to make a little over $200 profit, as I recall. That's pathetic for the busiest day of the year, but far better than usual. I made about $200 a week working seven days, normally. Dealing with the pee incident was made worse because my dad was in the hospital at the time, struggling to survive, less than two weeks after a massive stroke. So I got up, counted the money, realized I did OK, but not spectacular. Then I drove to the car wash, and vacuumed up the baking soda on the floor, and most of the pee with it. I sprinkled peroxide over the whole area, which helped clean it more, and kill the smell. Then I headed to the hospital to see if my dad was still alive. That was the last ride of my last St Patrick's Day of my taxi career. My dad lived a few months, and died in August of that year.
OK, that's my craziest St. Patty's Day taxi story. Have a good day, recover from yesterday's hangover if you need to, and tomorrow it's back to normal life for most of you. I do what I do, art, blogging, and other writing, (I call it work) every day, so weekends and holiday's don't mean much to me. Just to cap the St. Patty's Day off, here's a horizon to horizon rainbow, in two pics, that I snapped last fall. It's faint in the photos, but it's there.
No comments:
Post a Comment