Argument over Reed

I got Reed tonight, a regular customer who is semi-psychotic, smells bad, and throws a Class A fit (in public) if his hand is not held while he shuffles from the restaurant to the taxi. You can read about Reed here. I'd really like to smack the hell out of him. I can't do that, of course, but I can fantasize.

Tonight I was on a lucrative stand that was producing $30 rides all night. It was busy and everyone was making money. It's more than that, though. There was a good rhythm. I was getting great rides that were quick and mostly freeway. Then I'd return to our zone and get another one within five or ten minutes. Some nights we sit for hours between fares, dreaming of nights like tonight.

Then Reed came along, the bastard.

He provoked a radio fight from me, which is extremely rare. I believe it was my second in over two years of driving. I was second on the stand that was moving, and the first guy up got belled to pick up Reed. It was a definitive bell: "Pick up Reed at XYZ restaurant." The rules say you must pick up the fare you're assigned to (it's actually a law). If a driver wants to refuse, all he has to do is say so on the radio, and the punishment is banishment from service for one hour, after which time he can check back in on the radio.

Naturally, the first guy up didn't do it that way. Instead he called that he picked up a flag at that same restaurant, but it wasn't Reed, "and can you please send the next cab for Reed." The dispatcher called my number. I took issue with that. Refusing a bell is a one hour banishment. Of course, the driver tried to circumvent this by claiming to have picked up a flag. He was lying. We call it a ghost ride, where you call in a fare when you're actually driving around empty, staying to streets where it's unlikely to see our cabs.

I asked for a rule clarification on the radio: "Is there no penalty for picking up a flag when you've been given a specific bell?"

The dispatcher kept saying "10-9?", which is the code for, "Please repeat, I can't make out what you're saying."

The barbarians were in league against me. So I said, on air, "If there are no penalties, then I'm getting a flag too, and can you please send the next cab for Reed?" I then immediately went and picked up Reed. As much as I hate the bastard with a burning passion, he still deserves a ride home. While I was watching him, unamused, shuffle at a snail's pace toward my taxi, I went in and spoke with the bartender. I confirmed that no other cabs had stopped there. None all night, in fact.

I drove Reed for the entire $4 distance and wished him well. The poor weirdo has no idea the sorts of battles that occur among drivers just so they can avoid him.

A couple of hours later I found myself parked behind the driver who called in the ghost ride (and fucked me). I got out of my car; he got out of his. A third driver was already outside, and when he saw us get out, he said: "Round 1, ding!" The driver immediately tried to explain. They all do that. They act like barbarian scum behind the wheel, never hesitating to steal money from the next guy, but on stand they're perfect gentlemen. I told him he was scum and I don't appreciate him messing around with me and costing me money. He tried to protest, but I went back to my car and got in.

There's no point trying to force someone with bad character to behave in a civilized manner. And, the last guy who popped a scum like him ended up losing his job and paying $10k in medical bills (broken nose that required two surgeries). Avoiding Reed isn't worth that.

The streets are mostly lawless, and there isn't a whole lot I can do about it.

'Reed' detail

I was just belled to a restaurant to pick up Reed, a regular customer. Poor reed means well, but often comes up short. He's probably 50, and he likes to eat at one of two restaurants every night. Because of this I can't easily avoid him, unlike Marzetti who goes to the same restaurant every night.

The problem with Reed is that he's a man-child, almost to the point where I believe something may be wrong with him. He likes to offer $4 for a $4.60 fare, for starters, and he insists on having his hand held and being walked to the door.

I hate to sound like a homophobe, but I don't hold another man's hand. Never have, never will.

I started out refusing to hold his hand or walk him, and he would throw a fit, complete with crying and whining. That's fairly amusing when you're parked on a crowded street and people are watching.

Eventually I bucked up and just helped him. If he has problems, then we should help him. That and I could easily end up like Reed, and I would probably want some help. I let him hold my arm, like a woman might hold a man's arm when they're walking, so I can help him without holding his goddamned hand.

On the other side of the coin, he's doing it for attention. He walks just fine. I've seen him do it plenty of times, so it's frustrating. We have plenty of drivers who refuse to drive him, or if they do, they refuse to hold his hand.

The other oddity about Reed is that he has to sit in the front seat -- or, you guessed it, he cries and throws a fit. Cabbies don't like front seat company unless the back seat is full. It's just one of those things. You're a customer, not our buddy.

For the last few months I've been working on him. If I can just get him to buy a cane, the problems are solved. The first time I brought it up he just shrugged. I'm always very polite about it, telling him most people are happy to lend a hand to a nice guy (and he is a nice guy), but a lot of people would rather not.

A month ago he actually said "maybe" to the cane idea. There will come a time when I buy Reed his cane and give it to him. They're only $20 at Rite Aid; I checked.

I don't know what to do about getting him to sit in back. I'll probably lock the front door and tell him it's broken. That's easier than a confrontation. Soon he'll be armed with a cane.

Reed and my new roommate

Last Feb 1 I got a new roommate, making what turned out to be a mistake -- the guy's a cab driver! I'll call him Carl. We both drive for the same company, and while the roomie is known for being honest (sets both of us apart on the streets), he is turning out to be a disappointing roommate. Carl, you see, is a raging, out-of-control boozer. An oiler. A drunk. A dumbass. Plus he hires hookers almost every night. His normal routine is to work five or six hours, then go to a strip club and get smashed, and hire a hooker which he says costs $300. He says he's been going to the same strip club for many years, and he knows everyone, and the girls are for hire if they know and trust you. I won't name the club.

Fortunately, he never brings the women home. On second thought...

As a good Libertarian (I'm a practical libertarian), I don't mind what sort of hobbies he enjoys, as long as they don't have a negative impact on me. Sure enough, he has never been on time with the rent, and he usually begs money from me to pay his cab lease. July 1 was the last time for being late. Not only did he make me a promise, I promised myself I'd throw him out if it happens again. I cut off the revolving credit account when he was into me for $450. If a person is borrowing money from me, he's in rough shape.

Did I mention I had a financial crisis late last year? I've been working an average of nine hours per day, six days a week all year, and for the last three weeks I've worked 10 hours per day, seven days per week to save money for the slow times this winter. Meanwhile good ole Carl lives like he's on vacation, spending all kinds of money on hookers and tequila, while borrowing money from me to pay rent and cab lease. Anger doesn't begin to describe how I feel about Carl.

We were extremely busy in June, and most cabbies were flush with cash. I heard one guy say he saved $3000 that month alone. I myself banked $2000. Carl couldn't pay rent at the end of June. He left me a note that said something to the effect of, "Sorry about being short on rent." Now, for July, it has been slower, and he has been leaving work even earlier every night.

This situation called for a pool, and when I presented the question to drivers (everyone knows he's an oiler and that he goes to the strip club every night), everyone agreed that he wouldn't have rent on time for Aug 1. Not much of a pool when everyone agrees!

It just so happens that Carl has personalized Reed, a peculiar little man I've written about in the past. Personalizing means the customer either calls your cellphone directly, or calls the office and requests you by name and/or car number. Old Reed, as I've mentioned previously, goes to one of three restaurants every night of the week, and because Carl leaves early, one of us gets stuck driving him home. I sometimes chide the roommate when he announces he's leaving for the night. "Hey, you can't leave yet. Reed hasn't gone home!"

Two nights ago I was unlucky and got the Reed bell (or Ratclaw or Rainman, as we like to call him). After helping him to the cab, as he pretended to have trouble walking, he mentioned that my roommate must have gone home early (he learned this when he called the office and requested him).

On a whim, I filled him in on the situation:

Me: Well, Reed, he leaves early every night to get a hooker and get drunk off his ass.

Him: He does?

Me: Yes, he does. He usually can't pay the rent because the strip club gets all the money. Ask him about it some time.

I haven't heard anything back yet, but if old Reed's mental faculties are strong enough, which is a 50/50 proposition because he's an idiot, he'll mention it. I wonder if Carl will consider it a joke, or get mad? It's not like his hobbies are a secret. After all, he blabbed all over the streets that when his mother passed away three years ago he received a $250k inheritance -- and within a year it was all gone. He admits he drank it away, and what he didn't drink went to prostitutes. "It was a great year," he likes to muse. No shit it was a good year, drinking and carousing $250k down the drain. He could have bought income property, he could have bought CDs or blue chip stocks. Nope, not this dumbass. Tequila and hookers.

I suspect he'll be late for August rent, and, because I'm an extremely nice guy, I'm giving him two months to get out.

The cost of avoiding Reed

I got a bell to an address I didn't recognize, so I asked the others on the stand if they've heard of it. Nobody had. It was also from another cab stand, and I knew we had at least one car over there, so I asked about it on the radio. Dispatch said there is one on that stand, but he announced he's "holding the hotel," which means he's only taking calls from the hotel he's close to.

My bell also requested to use a credit card, which I despise. I lose 10% and have to wait 2-3 weeks to get the credit. It turned out to be a very nice lady going all the way to La Jolla, and after a $52 ride, she upped it to $62 with the tip.

When I returned to our zone I stopped by the stand where the guy was holding the hotel. It was Zach, a good guy, and he was seething that he missed the La Jolla ride off his own stand! He was tracking Reed's movements, and thought the next call would be Reed wanting to go home, so he held the hotel to avoid him. Ha! That cost him.

More posts on Reed can be found here. If the link doesn't work, just search for Reed in the search box at the top of the blog.

Reed is not Rainman

I drove Reed tonight, and finally decided to ask him if the rumors about him are true. Is he the Rainman? Several drivers have said he used to work at the Navy as a cryptanalyst. Since he's dimwitted, the assumption is he's some kind of idiot savant. A previous post about Reed is here.

Me: You used to work for the Navy, right?

Him: For 25 years.

Me: You worked on computers? I'm just curious.

Him: Yeah, I was a data processor.

Me: Were you a cryptanalyst? A codebreaker?

Him: No, I was a computer operator.

Damn. I was hoping to take him to Vegas to count cards. I would even take Amtrak! Wapner at 7.

The bad part of driving Reed, which I've complained about before, is that he pretends he can't walk without "assistance." I've seen him walk just fine. It's a ploy for attention. I've been trying to get him to buy a cane for a long time, and while he's "thinking about it," he never actually gets one. Maybe he'll get one for Christmas -- we talked about taking up a collection among drivers last time around. They only cost $20.

Last night on the way to one of his three regular restaurants, he said he would need to stop at an ATM. This is a problem. I had already "assisted" him from his door into the cab, and made an excuse for him to sit in the back -- he's one of the weird ones who wants to sit in the front. He smells like urine, so in the back he went, complaint or no complaint. Also, his yellow fingernails are really long, and when he grabs my arm for "assistance," they dig into my skin. It's revolting. To make a long story short, I couldn't go through that four times -- into the car at his house, x2 for the ATM, and then out of the car and into the restaurant.

Also, I actually do take credit cards now, including ATM cards, but I didn't want his stench in the car any longer than necessary -- it takes a couple of minutes to hand write the credit card slip.

Me: You know, Reed, I've been driving you for years now. You're a good customer. This one's on me. We can skip the ATM.

Him: Thank you very much. That's very kind of you.

Me: Don't mention it.

A new market for idiots

I may have developed something new in the taxi trade. We have a number of bad customers -- okay, I'll say it, they're idiots who should be smacked in the head -- and we cabbies are always getting creative in our efforts to avoid them. I've chronicled a lot of the games we play on the blog -- stuff like keeping track of their movements to make sure we're somewhere else when they're about to call, or claiming we have a flag or a flat tire just to get out of driving them.

My new idea involved Reed, who most of us call Rat Claw on account of his half-inch-long fingernails and slovenly appearance. I was first on the cab stand nearest the restaurant he dines at on Friday nights (this was last Friday), and I was watching the time. I know he usually calls HQ for a taxi around 10:15 p.m., and it was 10:05. Being first, I was unwilling to give up first place in line, but I was considering vacating anyway, just to avoid him. Some things are more important than money!

Before I could decide, I got the bell on the radio. I complained loudly, and several drivers offered their condolences, in person on the stand, and a couple made funny comments on the radio. "What are you going to do with all that money?" Reed's rides are $5.60, and he usually tries to pay $5. I offered to pay the next guy in line to take him, and he took Reed off my hands for $5! I was willing to go to $10, but I didn't have to. He thought he was getting a good deal (I guess he's flat broke and desperate for money), and so did I. I explained to the dispatcher that the next guy offered to take him, and please keep me first in line for bells. No problems there.

Several drivers have now purchased idiots from me. I'll pay hard cash to avoid an awful stench, wandering and incoherent conversation, or a really short ride. It's worth the money, especially if I don't lose my place in line.

As Mark's World Turns

We have a regular customer who goes from his apartment to one of two restaurants -- he's employed as a waiter at each -- or to a few different bars. All drivers know him, his name's Mark, and even though the rides are short, we enjoy driving him because he's a nice guy. Also, he tips fairly, which is normal for a fellow citizen who relies on tips.

We've gotten to know Mark well, including his trials and tribulations with other people in our taxi zone, as well as his love life. Mark's life is so much like a soap opera that we call bells to his apartment "As Mark's World Turns".

He has a live-in ex-girlfriend, and I've been driving him (and her) since they were together. I followed the breakup, and got to hear the details about how difficult it is to live with her even though Mark had caught her cheating with a bartender from one of the bars they frequent. I also know that bartender, as he's a regular customer. Before the breakup, I noticed Mark and the girl arguing a lot -- then the split. Then it was the bartender and the girl, and now they're arguing, too.

I predict the girl will be single again soon. Will Mark take her back when it happens? We'll have to start a pool on that.

I drove Mark last night, and he was in a good mood. He went from one of his jobs to his apartment. I asked him what kind of tips he gets from Reed, who eats on Wednesday nights at the one of the places Mark works. "He tips well," he said. Reed doesn't tip cabbies anything, and he often tries to pay less than the meter amount. What a bastard.

Avoiding Marzetti II

One of our drivers is doing battle with Marzetti II, the old fogey who gets on everyone's nerves (see this post for info on him). When this driver is unfortunate enough to get him, he leaves the right rear window down and turns off the global window switch.

Apparently Marzetti II swears up a storm. He can't handle the wind blowing on him. The driver tells him the window is broken and can't be raised. It took two trips before Marzetti II took note of the cab No. and, when he calls our HQ for a taxi, he's now saying he'll ride in any car except that one. The driver is a little worried he'll call the owner, but if that happens he'll just say the window is intermittant. When/if they call him in to get it fixed, they won't find anything wrong with it. Heads will be scratched, and he'll get off without too much trouble.

Now that I think of it... Yeah, my windows are giving me trouble, too. So is the trunk, for that matter, and anything else to get me out of driving Marzetti II.

Looking into my crystal ball, I can see the future clearly. Over the course of a month, word will get around, and everyone's windows will stop functioning, mysteriously, when Marzetti II needs a ride. The cab company owner will put it together and get on the two-way radio to announce that all drivers will be picking him up or face dire consequences. I've seen this kind of thing before. Something similar happened with Reed.

The Dead Pool

As a side note, Marzetti II has to be in his 90s, and he's in poor health. A couple of weeks ago I started a dead pool on him, and we presently have five drivers with a guess recorded as to the date of the man's death. This is morbid, and perhaps sick, and that's just the way it is. One driver, when I approached him with my little spiral notebook and pen, said he wouldn't be part of something like that. I explained that he wouldn't have to put money in if he didn't want to. It could be "just for fun", and that way he might avoid a trip to Hell. He still refused.

Gollum has been added to the list, as well. Even though Gollum has a full, four-point walker and moves at .0001 mph (I can read about six pages of a novel in the time it takes her to get from the front door to the curb), most have her hanging on for another two to three years. (More on Gollum here and here.)

Big Marcy

I apologize up front for the upcoming crude language about large ladies. While I harbor no ill will for the bigguns, I decided to write this in the way it was discussed. Remember that we are, after all, cabbies!

After midnight our informal cab stands form across the street from any number of bars. One such stand has generated a regular customer: Big Marcy. Her qualities include the following:

+ 300 lbs or more
+ dumb
+ lazy
+ mean
+ alcoholic
+ needs alcohol rehabs and Weight Watchers.

She likes to curse, especially at cab drivers and her skinny husband. She treats him like a slave, barking orders at him. Also, Big Marcy is a short ride and she doesn't tip. Despite all this, I'm sure she's a fine woman. I'm the Pope, by the way.

Because people can't smoke in bars in California, there's usually a crowd of smokers in front of bars. Like hawks we watch these crowds for a raised hand or the yell, "Taxi!" Some people just give The Look, as if that's sufficient. When we get a taker, the guy first in line will start his car, do a U-turn, and pull around to the bar. We also watch these crowds for pukers and other undesirables. Fortunately for us, Big Marcy is easy to spot.

Standing around with other drivers, somebody will yell, "Marcy!" and the first driver will get in his car, readying to leave the stand if she wants a cab. Sometimes drivers get belled to her, meaning she called HQ from her cell. If the driver refuses the bell, he loses the next hour's worth of bells, making refusal a bad option. He might get an angry call from the cab company owner, too, and that's not pleasant.

Last night Marcy came out of a bar and jiggled her way through the throng of smokers and came to rest at the curb. We became anxious. From our vantage point across the street, we saw her raise a chubby arm. We all looked away, pretending not to see.

The arm waved with vigor, and the jokes commenced:

She's burning a lot of calories waving that arm around. We shouldn't spoil her workout by picking her up.

These old taxis don't have suspensions that can handle a girl like that.

I don't like it when my tailpipe drags on the ground.

Do you think she'd fit in the trunk?

They don't need a cab. The skinny little husband can give her a piggy-back ride.

Too bad there's not a Jenny Craig around here. We could drive by on the way to her house as a subtle hint.

(I did warn you we're cabbies. I'd like you to believe I didn't join in.)

Then the worst thing that can happen, happened. Big Marcy reached into a purse the size of a carry-on and pulled out a cell phone. The first driver jumped in his taxi, started his car, and was gone for the night. The second driver leaned in his window and switched off his radio. So sorry, he joked, I didn't hear my radio.

The third driver was looking dejected. After dispatch tried in vain to reach the first two, the third was called. I was fourth in line and, needing him to accept the bell, made a mockery of telling him it was his duty to answer the radio and take the bell. Is he a person of strong moral fiber, or not? "The honorable thing to do," I explained, "is to help that poor woman." If my appeals failed, I'd have to offer him cash.

With a lot of cursing before keying the mic, he accepted the bell, then proceeded to light a fresh cigarette. We all laughed at the slow pace he was setting. Big Marcy, meanwhile, is watching us from across the street. Then the driver did something that has never been tried before. He moved his front seats all the way back, easily done by leaning in the open windows and pressing the buttons. "My seat motors are broken," he practiced. "Think she'll fit back there?"

One smart-guy pointed out that the skinny hubby will take the back seat, and Marcy will take the front. He hadn't thought of that, but he quickly recovered, moving the passenger side seat all the way forward, then tilting the back of the seat all the way back.

Before he left he said something about not being able to reach the pedals, but he did well, considering. He made his U-eey and pulled to the curb. We watched poor ole Marcy open one door and then another, then give up.

Dispatch came on the radio:

Dispatch: What happened with Marcy? She's saying you refused to drive her.

Driver: She doesn't fit in the car. The electric seats aren't working, so we couldn't make it work.

Dispatch: 10-4.

He then went on to the next driver, who never answered.

Tonight the driver who had the "seat malfunction" received a call from the owner, who tried to catch him in the lie by telling him to bring the car to the mechanic immediately to get the car worked on. It was a blown fuse, the driver explained, and he had just replaced it.

That night the owner made an announcement on the radio: All drivers will pick up Marcy, with no exceptions.

We've gone through that with several other bad customers, like Reed and the deceased Marzetti. Now we'll have to put more work into it, just like with those others. We'll have to monitor Marcy's whereabouts during the course of her drunken evenings and evade by changing stands legitimately. I have trouble remembering, so maybe I'll use the small notebook I keep in the car for gambling pools.

If I miss the radio calls giving away her movements, I can always do what I do with the others: pay some other driver to take the bell. Somebody will usually take an idiot off my hands for $5 or $10.