So... as often happens during one of the days Monday thru Thursday, the morning was afflicted with SLOWNESS.
All of the people who had my business card and said they'd be calling for rides today decided they had better things to do. Better to not count on that business, and just be happy when it gets here.
Anywho, I'm on my last week of reduced leases. However, the leases have escalated in prices to where I'm paying the rough equivalent of what an owner-operator would. By the end of the week, I'll be paying what a day-lease driver would pay. Bottom line here is that I'm finding my earning equilibrium just in time for the next level of commitment.
Owner-operator.
I spoke to the gentleman in the Licensesee department today, and apparently I get the entire first week after signing the contract to earn my first week's lease (kind of like how they gave me a car before paying my first day's lease as a day-lease driver). Since we were able to take care of the headlight issue with Crunkmobile II (cab 1460), I may actually consider buying that one as my first O & O cab. It's a 2006 Dodge Caravan with 188,000 miles on it. It's been regularly maintained (and will continue to be on my watch) and it's my hope that I will pay off whatever price they're asking for it before too terribly long (and by that, I mean no more than 6 months).
You see, this may serve another purpose: getting my kids a car. Both my sons still live at home, and at least one of them needs a set of wheels so they can get around better. The plan, tentatively, is to drive my Ford Ranger cross-country to the SF Bay where they live and get the title transferred once I'm sure that I've got the new set of wheels well in hand and I can take about 4 days off to do the drive and fly back to Houston.
It's me, and one cat, I don't need to be a one-man, two-car family here in Houston.
Anyway, I should know by next week what I'm driving for sure...
And today... since I took the Crunker into the shop to get the headlight fixed (again), I only worked half a day and still made some pretty righteous cash. Nicely done, I say.
G
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Hot Buttered Brain Cells
For all intents and purposes, I pretty much took today off. However, the 24 hour period I leased my cab for doesn't expire until after the morning commute tomorrow. So, I'm hoping to earn a little cash off of that to at least offset the cost of the lease.
Even though I only drove the 12 hours I'm allowed to on Friday and Saturday, the workdays themselves wound up being 19 and 15 hours apiece, factoring in the breaktime in the middle of the day. I'm learning to manage that better, too.
But yeah, other than the part of Sunday that was Saturday night, it was pretty much a wash. I used the day to recover from the weekend. Now I know why day lease drivers get the option of having a "Sundays Free" program.
G
Even though I only drove the 12 hours I'm allowed to on Friday and Saturday, the workdays themselves wound up being 19 and 15 hours apiece, factoring in the breaktime in the middle of the day. I'm learning to manage that better, too.
But yeah, other than the part of Sunday that was Saturday night, it was pretty much a wash. I used the day to recover from the weekend. Now I know why day lease drivers get the option of having a "Sundays Free" program.
G
There'll be time enough for countin'... when the dealin's done.
So... I seemed to remember saying that if I could just roll into the rack having made another hundred bucks I could call this day a wash.
The three hours I took off in the middle of the day seemed to exorcise the demons that were with me during the first 4 hours of the afternoon. I made 45 bucks, got lost a fuckload of times and I got off the streets in the Southwest part of town, where I normally work, just in time for someone to get their ass shot at a soccer game.
Fuck me senseless, people. I've heard of soccer hooligans, but soccer homicidal maniacs? Christ on a stick.
Moving on to tonight.
For some reason, my "nose" said "west and north, just like you did when you got that work in Katy the other day." So, off I went down the feeder to I-10 west, and I got a call to roll up Eldridge Parkway past Clay. And, while I'm not normally one to smell dollar signs, I knew damn well this wasn't going to be a 5 dollar grocery store trip. I take a drunk guy home to his family in Missouri City safe and sound. 60 bucks.
Then, I get scooped at a Wal-Mart. BFD... you wanna scoop a 5 dollar shopping trip, pricks? Be my guest. I bid for a job off of the Beltway south of West Fuqua and get it. Another 35.
Time to go home, right? Wrong. The dispatch terminal yells at me and tells me to run deep down State Highway 288. I entertain a group of four leaving a house party on their way back to the Heights. After the tip, it's another 100. I spend 10 on gas and go run a couple of drunks from Washington street home.
BTW - and this is strictly for my last fare: Dude, if you're a douche and you gave up on your dreams just because your daddy and your little ditzy girlfriend and all the people you run with are rich, don't share your suck ass attitude with people who still believe in themselves. I am, first and foremost, a storyteller - and money and alcohol will never change that. I sincerely hope you find what you're looking for, because it sure aint at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
Of course, most people I tell the answer "I'm a storyteller by trade, actor and writer" to when they ask the question, "Why do you drive a cab?" are actually fascinated by the fact that even after these last 7 years, it's still something I pride myself on even though I've never been rich and/or famous.
Anyway, between yesterday and today, I am currently operating at a take-home margin of around 400 bucks for just this weekend without factoring in tomorrow, which I'm willing to take a little loss on. I actually had more, but I made a debit card deposit to pay a bill or two. I'm learning the fine art of "it takes money to make money," going out of my way by burning a little gas to get into position to bid on areas that have no cars, but people waiting to pick them up. Also, in my local working area, driving around instead of standing pat increases your chances of being tagged as the car that's closest to a call, regardless of your position in the queue. On a daily basis, I don't burn that much extra fuel... maybe 2-5 bucks, and the dividends seems to be self-evident.
Science and art are starting to meld in another arena for me, but the acid test is going to be when I go through Monday-Thursday. Friday and Saturday are going to be there, but I want to see how this applies to the regular week.
G
The three hours I took off in the middle of the day seemed to exorcise the demons that were with me during the first 4 hours of the afternoon. I made 45 bucks, got lost a fuckload of times and I got off the streets in the Southwest part of town, where I normally work, just in time for someone to get their ass shot at a soccer game.
Fuck me senseless, people. I've heard of soccer hooligans, but soccer homicidal maniacs? Christ on a stick.
Moving on to tonight.
For some reason, my "nose" said "west and north, just like you did when you got that work in Katy the other day." So, off I went down the feeder to I-10 west, and I got a call to roll up Eldridge Parkway past Clay. And, while I'm not normally one to smell dollar signs, I knew damn well this wasn't going to be a 5 dollar grocery store trip. I take a drunk guy home to his family in Missouri City safe and sound. 60 bucks.
Then, I get scooped at a Wal-Mart. BFD... you wanna scoop a 5 dollar shopping trip, pricks? Be my guest. I bid for a job off of the Beltway south of West Fuqua and get it. Another 35.
Time to go home, right? Wrong. The dispatch terminal yells at me and tells me to run deep down State Highway 288. I entertain a group of four leaving a house party on their way back to the Heights. After the tip, it's another 100. I spend 10 on gas and go run a couple of drunks from Washington street home.
BTW - and this is strictly for my last fare: Dude, if you're a douche and you gave up on your dreams just because your daddy and your little ditzy girlfriend and all the people you run with are rich, don't share your suck ass attitude with people who still believe in themselves. I am, first and foremost, a storyteller - and money and alcohol will never change that. I sincerely hope you find what you're looking for, because it sure aint at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
Of course, most people I tell the answer "I'm a storyteller by trade, actor and writer" to when they ask the question, "Why do you drive a cab?" are actually fascinated by the fact that even after these last 7 years, it's still something I pride myself on even though I've never been rich and/or famous.
Anyway, between yesterday and today, I am currently operating at a take-home margin of around 400 bucks for just this weekend without factoring in tomorrow, which I'm willing to take a little loss on. I actually had more, but I made a debit card deposit to pay a bill or two. I'm learning the fine art of "it takes money to make money," going out of my way by burning a little gas to get into position to bid on areas that have no cars, but people waiting to pick them up. Also, in my local working area, driving around instead of standing pat increases your chances of being tagged as the car that's closest to a call, regardless of your position in the queue. On a daily basis, I don't burn that much extra fuel... maybe 2-5 bucks, and the dividends seems to be self-evident.
Science and art are starting to meld in another arena for me, but the acid test is going to be when I go through Monday-Thursday. Friday and Saturday are going to be there, but I want to see how this applies to the regular week.
G
Saturday, February 21, 2009
World of Warcab, Anyone?
I think I understand the appeal of cab driving to people who otherwise might go back to other professions.
It's like the world's only real-life role playing game - a true-to-life Dungeons and Dragons adventure.
Get this... you go out on little quests and get prizes, in the form of vouchers, credit card receipts... and... wait for it... CASH MONEY!
Anyway, I needed another Friday like the one I had the week before and I got it last night. Today, like last Saturday, has been a little crunk. In any case, it's the proof I've been waiting for that things are consistent, if nothing else. I've come home with enough cash in my pocket to already pay for my gas and lease tomorrow. Somewhere in the middle of the early afternoon, I just started hurting. So, I got out from behind the wheel for a couple of hours and I'm getting ready to hit it fresh here in a minute. I'm going to try running from 8-3 and see how that goes. However, if I wind up with another hundred bucks in my pocket before 3, I just might rein it in for the rest of the night.
It's like the world's only real-life role playing game - a true-to-life Dungeons and Dragons adventure.
Get this... you go out on little quests and get prizes, in the form of vouchers, credit card receipts... and... wait for it... CASH MONEY!
Anyway, I needed another Friday like the one I had the week before and I got it last night. Today, like last Saturday, has been a little crunk. In any case, it's the proof I've been waiting for that things are consistent, if nothing else. I've come home with enough cash in my pocket to already pay for my gas and lease tomorrow. Somewhere in the middle of the early afternoon, I just started hurting. So, I got out from behind the wheel for a couple of hours and I'm getting ready to hit it fresh here in a minute. I'm going to try running from 8-3 and see how that goes. However, if I wind up with another hundred bucks in my pocket before 3, I just might rein it in for the rest of the night.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Well... Mama told me there'd be days like this...
It actually turned out to be a decent day in terms of keeping the bank un-broke. However, I had another one of those heartbreaking moments.
I was rolling back into Houston from Katy, a major suburb west of town along I-10. (No, Houstonians... not everyone knows where it is). I get another dispatch to go to Katy and I think, "Eh, what the hell. Why not?" I double back.
Plus in my favor, it's a timed pickup and I have 23 minutes to get my fare. It only takes 10 to get there. Second plus: he's coming back into town for at least a 15 dollar fare, based on mileage.
However, the dispatcher forgot a little something. Namely, that the customer was in a MOTORIZED WHEELCHAIR, and I can't take those in my van in the configuration that it's in. Namely, in the spot where a wheelchair ramp would be, I have a SEAT and no ramp.
I apologize profusely to the passenger and immediately get on the phone to dispatch to send the right kind of cab. I assure him that the right kind of vehicle is being dispatched. Honestly, I wanted to stay with him until it got there, but I was already past my bedtime (as originally projected) and I have this feeling that I abandoned that guy. I hate it when circumstances like that conspire to shit on someone who's dependent on someone else's vehicle to get him around town and back home. It's crap of the highest order, and I wish I could have someone's head on a bloody spike for it.
However, I would have just settled for having a wheelchair ramp in my vehicle and the training to go with it. There's another class for people who back up the Metro Lift system. However, taking that training would put me back on something I don't want, a strict schedule.
I just wish some of these issues would get handled with more accuracy.
Pbbbbbttt!
moar funny pictures
I was rolling back into Houston from Katy, a major suburb west of town along I-10. (No, Houstonians... not everyone knows where it is). I get another dispatch to go to Katy and I think, "Eh, what the hell. Why not?" I double back.
Plus in my favor, it's a timed pickup and I have 23 minutes to get my fare. It only takes 10 to get there. Second plus: he's coming back into town for at least a 15 dollar fare, based on mileage.
However, the dispatcher forgot a little something. Namely, that the customer was in a MOTORIZED WHEELCHAIR, and I can't take those in my van in the configuration that it's in. Namely, in the spot where a wheelchair ramp would be, I have a SEAT and no ramp.
I apologize profusely to the passenger and immediately get on the phone to dispatch to send the right kind of cab. I assure him that the right kind of vehicle is being dispatched. Honestly, I wanted to stay with him until it got there, but I was already past my bedtime (as originally projected) and I have this feeling that I abandoned that guy. I hate it when circumstances like that conspire to shit on someone who's dependent on someone else's vehicle to get him around town and back home. It's crap of the highest order, and I wish I could have someone's head on a bloody spike for it.
However, I would have just settled for having a wheelchair ramp in my vehicle and the training to go with it. There's another class for people who back up the Metro Lift system. However, taking that training would put me back on something I don't want, a strict schedule.
I just wish some of these issues would get handled with more accuracy.
Pbbbbbttt!
moar funny pictures
Sunday, February 15, 2009
OK... the rest of the weekend was a wash.
Saturday, for whatever reason, turned into a mountain of strangeness.
To the Saturday people: if you're not used to operating your vehicles in the dark... SLOW THE FUCK DOWN and don't use aggression to make up for your lack of familiarity. You're going to get somebody killed, and I don't want that somebody to be me. I'm too damn cool to die right now... wait until I'm in my adult diaper years to crack me with that shit. Come to think of it, I might be driving a cab then, too.
To the people who call cabs when they know they're close to being late to work: the cab driver is not responsible for getting you to work on time by violating the law. Buy a car and take your own risks... and no, I don't care if you get fired.
Anyway, the rest of the weekend was slightly better than break-even. I've decided on something for this second week: a steady schedule. Changing from my designated "want to work" times to something else to try and curry more work was a DAMN DUMB IDEA (tm) and I think I've learned my lesson. Other than 2am-4am on most days (and it's questionable on Friday and Saturday nights), there's plenty of work to be had for people who want to hustle for it.
As I sit here on Sunday night, I will be ready to wake up at 4:15 tomorrow and be back on my designated "want to work" hours. I have pasta on the way and I'm going to look at this experience as the "reset" going into this week. I know how hard I want to work, I know where to go find the work if I don't have any where I'm hanging out and I've learned that following my nose is probably the better way to 1.) get the fares and 2.) save my gas while I'm doing it.
Another thing, just about every piece of advice I got about "when to work" is crunk. You go find the work. Period. And you're dumb and/or lazy if you don't look for it or find it. The only thing that kept me from making the money I wanted to this weekend was screwing with my schedule and my sleep. The whole "mid days are slow" myth is just that... a myth.
I will go to work, I will work my hours and I will make my money. Period. It will work because I SAY it will work. Consistency will win this day more than playing silly ass games.
Word.
G
To the Saturday people: if you're not used to operating your vehicles in the dark... SLOW THE FUCK DOWN and don't use aggression to make up for your lack of familiarity. You're going to get somebody killed, and I don't want that somebody to be me. I'm too damn cool to die right now... wait until I'm in my adult diaper years to crack me with that shit. Come to think of it, I might be driving a cab then, too.
To the people who call cabs when they know they're close to being late to work: the cab driver is not responsible for getting you to work on time by violating the law. Buy a car and take your own risks... and no, I don't care if you get fired.
Anyway, the rest of the weekend was slightly better than break-even. I've decided on something for this second week: a steady schedule. Changing from my designated "want to work" times to something else to try and curry more work was a DAMN DUMB IDEA (tm) and I think I've learned my lesson. Other than 2am-4am on most days (and it's questionable on Friday and Saturday nights), there's plenty of work to be had for people who want to hustle for it.
As I sit here on Sunday night, I will be ready to wake up at 4:15 tomorrow and be back on my designated "want to work" hours. I have pasta on the way and I'm going to look at this experience as the "reset" going into this week. I know how hard I want to work, I know where to go find the work if I don't have any where I'm hanging out and I've learned that following my nose is probably the better way to 1.) get the fares and 2.) save my gas while I'm doing it.
Another thing, just about every piece of advice I got about "when to work" is crunk. You go find the work. Period. And you're dumb and/or lazy if you don't look for it or find it. The only thing that kept me from making the money I wanted to this weekend was screwing with my schedule and my sleep. The whole "mid days are slow" myth is just that... a myth.
I will go to work, I will work my hours and I will make my money. Period. It will work because I SAY it will work. Consistency will win this day more than playing silly ass games.
Word.
G
Friday, February 13, 2009
Follow Your Nose... or... There is NO Set Formula For Success in This Business
Basically, I rolled in doing a 300 dollar day. The details of this will be posted later this morning. For now, I has a sleep. A nice, long, glorious sleep since I know all my morning traffic of people going to work and what not will not be there Saturday morning. A lot of myths got dispelled today, and not just because it was Friday. Questions were asked of the most important people in this process... the customers.
OK... so it's later.
And, as you can tell from the preceding paragraph, I pretty much wore myself out by the time I got home. I can honestly say after yesterday, that if you follow your nose, and don't worry about the money, you'll make the money. My first two days, I tried too many "formulas." Yesterday was simpler: take a trip, book back in using the zone I dropped my trip off in and start driving back to my side of town and take whatever the trip computer gives me. And, if I make it back, start bidding to get back out of my side of town if I'm otherwise out of work.
And so it went. I logged in at 5 in the morning and had a couple of trips out and about. I started on my side of town and wound up in south central Houston working my way back to the Medical Center. I decided to actually turn down a trip from that area because of the traffic confusion with the light rail traffic. Medical Center is interesting and a lot like the airports. I'll never mind taking people there, but I'll let the downtown hustlers grab people from there. By then, I'd reached 9 o'clock and I decided to head to the yard to pay my lease.
I logged out, paid my lease, got gas and headed over to Taping For The Blind to finish recording this week's Sports Illustrated show. I've also been tagged to read the Houston Rodeo audio description promotional again. Apparently, for someone who's not a Texas native, I sound like a pretty natural shit kicker. I've actually scored an award for that.
After Taping, I decided to test the first myth... namely, that it's somehow "dead" for cabbies between 10am and 2pm. I logged in behind the Taping building, waited 15 minutes and then started driving back to my side of town. Well... I made it to about Hillcroft when I got flagged down by a young lady trying to get back home. She related a horror story to me of waiting for a cab for at least 45 minutes and about the guy who took her from home to work this morning.
Apparently, his meter was running and clicking off "chips," as I like to call them. Basically, other than the first $2.50 and any tips you receive, every 11th of a mile or 34 seconds of wait time clicks off in increments of 17 cents. He then stopped his meter and told her it was broken, and charged her 20 bucks for what is normally a 10 dollar ride for her. I took her home and it was 9 and a half, and I told her I'd only charge her 9. I ended up making the 10.
Object lesson learned: usually, if you pare DOWN your meter to an even dollar amount at the end of the ride, it's genuinely appreciated by your cab rider. I have never pared down and not gotten the amount back in at least a dollar's tip. So, in essence, I've never really undercharged for a ride.
Now, I've also put this together with my understanding of how people feel when the meter clicks of wait time chips. I had another fare shortly thereafter in a VERY crowded shopping center, and the only parking space I could pick her up in was surrounded by SUVs the size of Vesuvius... I shit you not. These were H2 Hummer sized or better. Technically, I'm supposed to pick up and drop off at the curbside, but traffic was flying around that area like crazy. It was safer to use a parking space. I put her in the cab, and she'd already been waiting for nearly a half hour. I apologized for the wait and I said, "Ma'am, because of the way we're parked, I'm not going to start the meter until we're properly on our way. I'm not going to charge you 17 cents every 34 seconds so I can back out of this mess safely... and to keep things safe, I'm going to be doing this slowly." She thanked me for being safe, and we backed slowly... giving way to 3 in a hurry meatheads who just had to have their Starbucks at lunch.
Twits.
In any case, I waited until the nose of my car was pointed at traffic before I hit the HIRED button on my meter - legally shaky since I'm supposed to have the meter running from the very MICROSECOND I have a butt in the seat and my car is in motion of any kind.
Crunk. Giving a customer their money's worth
However, the extra consideration turned into a three dollar tip. For me, being nice to someone is worth a 6 dollar an hour raise. The trip, including being notified, picking up and dropping off, was less than a half hour.
This led to another 15 minute wait after I drove another 10 minutes toward my side of town, and then I bid on another job. About halfway to Sugarland/Stafford, there was a gentleman and his granddaughter who'd already waited a half hour to get picked up to visit a relative at 610 and Ella. Who in their right mind works this area and doesn't take this trip, I don't know. I understood when I got there. That part of I-610 at that time of day was crazy full of traffic. Strangely, as a SF Bay Area native, I was used to it. I got them there... and that was a 42 dollar job. Then, the next 45 minutes were kind of light. A pick up at a grocery store to home. I voucher trip to a church. Then, a really heartbreaking story. The trip itself was somewhat uneventful and rather easy, but the story behind this is something to behold. I'm reconstructing this from what the rider told me and I'm putting it in chronological order for ease of reading... and head-shaking.
This gentleman, dependent on a wheelchair and in need of dialysis, was at a dialysis center on the northwest/centralish part of town. Nice guy, by the way. I emphasize that for a reason. He had arranged for Metro Lift, the part of the local transit authority that gives rides to the disabled, to pick him up at 2:30 in the afternoon. Yellow Cab of Houston also operates a back-up fleet of cabs with drivers who receive specific additional training and they drive specific routes to go get Metro Lift customers as well as the drivers with the larger vans who drive for the City.
Note of interest, by the time I got dispatched to him, it was 3:40pm.
By the time I got to him, a Metro Lift backup cab was there to pick up a different patient, and he was headed along his route instead of where this gentleman was going, so I was still committed to the trip. However, he was a little pushed out of shape and confused. At first, he was waiting for a white van from the City. They don't show up. Then one of my cab driving brethren shows up with a Metro Lift route and says, basically, that he's not going his way. Finally, I get there and I have a little of my own confusion going on.
However, I make a few heartfelt apologies - dude had obviously been through some shit - and we got him in the back of my sedan and his wheelchair properly folded into the trunk. And, we were on our way. On a trip like this, we have a person who works with the Metro Lift subsidy program who has already deduced the maximum fare based on this customer's intended destination - home. His home was off of Interstate 45 south near Hobby Airport. I started off at 4pm and got him home at 5.
I actually got him there under budget at 47 bucks. The trip calculator people said the maximum fare was $48.50. So, here's the math of the whole deal. A Metro Lift driver, who makes 14 bucks an hour and doesn't lease a vehicle, couldn't pick this guy up. Then, a Metro Lift cab driver wasn't able to take him because his destination wasn't on his route. The cabbie pays a reduced lease, and makes 22 bucks an hour for his time spent on his route; and he's expected to stay on it, so there's no fault there. So, as a result, the City of Houston ends up paying me nearly 50 bucks to take this gentleman home. But the saddest part of this isn't the economics of it.
Not eight blocks from where this guy lives is a place called "The Kidney Center of South Houston." I asked my fare, "Wow, a kidney center. Do they do dialysis there?"
"Only if you're rich," he answered.
To put it mildly, I was outraged by the whole thing. It took this poor guy however long to get to the dialysis center on the northwest side of town using MetroLift, plus the time on the dialysis machine, then the 2 and a half hours that I know of to get home because of the snafus in the transit system. I'm thinking to myself... couldn't the money that gets used to transport this guy be given to the "rich people's" dialysis center 8 blocks away from him?
Then, I got a wild hair up my butt to push further south, towards some old stomping grounds of mine. Again, about 15 minutes goes by... I stop into a little roadside mom and pop store on the side of state highway 3, grab some peanuts and a Sprite Zero and I'm not on the road another 5 minutes before the trip pops up.
Space Center Houston. I ran the Ham on Rye VR theatre at the Putt Putt on NASA Road 1 for nearly three years and I'd always been near the Space Center. Never went to it, though. Now was my chance.
It's another 25 minutes away and the folks who ordered the cab have been waiting, and will wait, an inordinately long amount of time.
I get there, and luckily they happen to be out of towners who've been using cabs to get everywhere in Houston. They're happy to see me and I get their destination... the Houstonian, off of I-610 near my part of town. I've never heard of it, but I know it's going to be Again, I tell them that I'm not going to start the meter until we're on the road-proper. I want to make sure I've properly exited the Space Center, which is now closed and may have any number of weird ways of directing me out. I don't charge people for my confusion. Also, I find out that the Houstonian... a place I've never been before, is actually off of NORTH Post Oak, and not just Post Oak... we actually have several Post Oaks in Houston, and knowing which one you're going to is a damn good idea.
We get there... and "opulent" doesn't describe it. The Houstonian isn't just a hotel, it's also a spa and resort. Good grief, it's gorgeous... nestled in trees and having valet and bellman service at every single building are just a few of the amenities. I didn't stick around to find out about the rest. After the fare and tip, it was 75 bucks. Between my two 40+ fares and all the small ones I had that day, I'd already made close to 300 bucks. Finally, just a few minutes later, I got what I decided was my last fare of the night.
A yupster calls me to take him to a destination indicated by some Yahoo map directions. I still verify it with my Key Map book just to be sure. He asks me if I can stop by a gas station to let him buy some beer and I said, "Fine, as long as none of the containers get cracked open while this vehicle is in motion. That's a big fine for me." He assures me it's for the party he's going to. I say "cool," and think to myself, "a fare and some wait time," and we start the trip. Shortly after he buys his beer, he gets a call and the plans have changed. I get an address I'm not terribly familiar with, but close to his original destination. However, since the Key Map isn't clear about where this block is - an address on Highway 59 (or specifically, the "Southwest Freeway, as it's called for addresses on the feeder roads next to the highway-proper) - I have to guestimate the exit. Also, I don't know which side of the highway the odd or even numbers are on.
Right on cue, I overshoot the exit and find I'm on the wrong side of the freeway. I tell my fare that I'm stopping the meter at 14 dollars because that's what it would have been if I'd stuck the landing right, so to speak. We double back and find a spot to check addresses and find the other side of the freeway and the spot... the Lupe Tortilla on the other feeder road. The meter actually read 20 dollars and a few cents, and as his way of thanking me, my fare gave me a 20 and told me not to sweat it when I started making change for him.
It was at that point I sensed the karma of the night starting to shift. People were taking more chances on the road, driving crazier and hugging each other's bumpers a little too closely. I'd made my 300 and that was enough. Technically, according to all the rumors, there were still another 6 and a half "hot hours" of the night left, but I really didn't care.
I called it a night at 8:15, took my dinner at Red Robin and crawled into bed at 10, allowing myself to sleep in today. Tonight, Saturday, I'm going to play close to the vest and somewhat by ear. I've already clobbered some bills and I may set a money limit for myself to balance burning gas, making money and working too late into a night where people might start getting dopey again.
All for now...
G
OK... so it's later.
And, as you can tell from the preceding paragraph, I pretty much wore myself out by the time I got home. I can honestly say after yesterday, that if you follow your nose, and don't worry about the money, you'll make the money. My first two days, I tried too many "formulas." Yesterday was simpler: take a trip, book back in using the zone I dropped my trip off in and start driving back to my side of town and take whatever the trip computer gives me. And, if I make it back, start bidding to get back out of my side of town if I'm otherwise out of work.
And so it went. I logged in at 5 in the morning and had a couple of trips out and about. I started on my side of town and wound up in south central Houston working my way back to the Medical Center. I decided to actually turn down a trip from that area because of the traffic confusion with the light rail traffic. Medical Center is interesting and a lot like the airports. I'll never mind taking people there, but I'll let the downtown hustlers grab people from there. By then, I'd reached 9 o'clock and I decided to head to the yard to pay my lease.
I logged out, paid my lease, got gas and headed over to Taping For The Blind to finish recording this week's Sports Illustrated show. I've also been tagged to read the Houston Rodeo audio description promotional again. Apparently, for someone who's not a Texas native, I sound like a pretty natural shit kicker. I've actually scored an award for that.
After Taping, I decided to test the first myth... namely, that it's somehow "dead" for cabbies between 10am and 2pm. I logged in behind the Taping building, waited 15 minutes and then started driving back to my side of town. Well... I made it to about Hillcroft when I got flagged down by a young lady trying to get back home. She related a horror story to me of waiting for a cab for at least 45 minutes and about the guy who took her from home to work this morning.
Apparently, his meter was running and clicking off "chips," as I like to call them. Basically, other than the first $2.50 and any tips you receive, every 11th of a mile or 34 seconds of wait time clicks off in increments of 17 cents. He then stopped his meter and told her it was broken, and charged her 20 bucks for what is normally a 10 dollar ride for her. I took her home and it was 9 and a half, and I told her I'd only charge her 9. I ended up making the 10.
Object lesson learned: usually, if you pare DOWN your meter to an even dollar amount at the end of the ride, it's genuinely appreciated by your cab rider. I have never pared down and not gotten the amount back in at least a dollar's tip. So, in essence, I've never really undercharged for a ride.
Now, I've also put this together with my understanding of how people feel when the meter clicks of wait time chips. I had another fare shortly thereafter in a VERY crowded shopping center, and the only parking space I could pick her up in was surrounded by SUVs the size of Vesuvius... I shit you not. These were H2 Hummer sized or better. Technically, I'm supposed to pick up and drop off at the curbside, but traffic was flying around that area like crazy. It was safer to use a parking space. I put her in the cab, and she'd already been waiting for nearly a half hour. I apologized for the wait and I said, "Ma'am, because of the way we're parked, I'm not going to start the meter until we're properly on our way. I'm not going to charge you 17 cents every 34 seconds so I can back out of this mess safely... and to keep things safe, I'm going to be doing this slowly." She thanked me for being safe, and we backed slowly... giving way to 3 in a hurry meatheads who just had to have their Starbucks at lunch.
Twits.
In any case, I waited until the nose of my car was pointed at traffic before I hit the HIRED button on my meter - legally shaky since I'm supposed to have the meter running from the very MICROSECOND I have a butt in the seat and my car is in motion of any kind.
Crunk. Giving a customer their money's worth
However, the extra consideration turned into a three dollar tip. For me, being nice to someone is worth a 6 dollar an hour raise. The trip, including being notified, picking up and dropping off, was less than a half hour.
This led to another 15 minute wait after I drove another 10 minutes toward my side of town, and then I bid on another job. About halfway to Sugarland/Stafford, there was a gentleman and his granddaughter who'd already waited a half hour to get picked up to visit a relative at 610 and Ella. Who in their right mind works this area and doesn't take this trip, I don't know. I understood when I got there. That part of I-610 at that time of day was crazy full of traffic. Strangely, as a SF Bay Area native, I was used to it. I got them there... and that was a 42 dollar job. Then, the next 45 minutes were kind of light. A pick up at a grocery store to home. I voucher trip to a church. Then, a really heartbreaking story. The trip itself was somewhat uneventful and rather easy, but the story behind this is something to behold. I'm reconstructing this from what the rider told me and I'm putting it in chronological order for ease of reading... and head-shaking.
This gentleman, dependent on a wheelchair and in need of dialysis, was at a dialysis center on the northwest/centralish part of town. Nice guy, by the way. I emphasize that for a reason. He had arranged for Metro Lift, the part of the local transit authority that gives rides to the disabled, to pick him up at 2:30 in the afternoon. Yellow Cab of Houston also operates a back-up fleet of cabs with drivers who receive specific additional training and they drive specific routes to go get Metro Lift customers as well as the drivers with the larger vans who drive for the City.
Note of interest, by the time I got dispatched to him, it was 3:40pm.
By the time I got to him, a Metro Lift backup cab was there to pick up a different patient, and he was headed along his route instead of where this gentleman was going, so I was still committed to the trip. However, he was a little pushed out of shape and confused. At first, he was waiting for a white van from the City. They don't show up. Then one of my cab driving brethren shows up with a Metro Lift route and says, basically, that he's not going his way. Finally, I get there and I have a little of my own confusion going on.
However, I make a few heartfelt apologies - dude had obviously been through some shit - and we got him in the back of my sedan and his wheelchair properly folded into the trunk. And, we were on our way. On a trip like this, we have a person who works with the Metro Lift subsidy program who has already deduced the maximum fare based on this customer's intended destination - home. His home was off of Interstate 45 south near Hobby Airport. I started off at 4pm and got him home at 5.
I actually got him there under budget at 47 bucks. The trip calculator people said the maximum fare was $48.50. So, here's the math of the whole deal. A Metro Lift driver, who makes 14 bucks an hour and doesn't lease a vehicle, couldn't pick this guy up. Then, a Metro Lift cab driver wasn't able to take him because his destination wasn't on his route. The cabbie pays a reduced lease, and makes 22 bucks an hour for his time spent on his route; and he's expected to stay on it, so there's no fault there. So, as a result, the City of Houston ends up paying me nearly 50 bucks to take this gentleman home. But the saddest part of this isn't the economics of it.
Not eight blocks from where this guy lives is a place called "The Kidney Center of South Houston." I asked my fare, "Wow, a kidney center. Do they do dialysis there?"
"Only if you're rich," he answered.
To put it mildly, I was outraged by the whole thing. It took this poor guy however long to get to the dialysis center on the northwest side of town using MetroLift, plus the time on the dialysis machine, then the 2 and a half hours that I know of to get home because of the snafus in the transit system. I'm thinking to myself... couldn't the money that gets used to transport this guy be given to the "rich people's" dialysis center 8 blocks away from him?
Then, I got a wild hair up my butt to push further south, towards some old stomping grounds of mine. Again, about 15 minutes goes by... I stop into a little roadside mom and pop store on the side of state highway 3, grab some peanuts and a Sprite Zero and I'm not on the road another 5 minutes before the trip pops up.
Space Center Houston. I ran the Ham on Rye VR theatre at the Putt Putt on NASA Road 1 for nearly three years and I'd always been near the Space Center. Never went to it, though. Now was my chance.
It's another 25 minutes away and the folks who ordered the cab have been waiting, and will wait, an inordinately long amount of time.
I get there, and luckily they happen to be out of towners who've been using cabs to get everywhere in Houston. They're happy to see me and I get their destination... the Houstonian, off of I-610 near my part of town. I've never heard of it, but I know it's going to be Again, I tell them that I'm not going to start the meter until we're on the road-proper. I want to make sure I've properly exited the Space Center, which is now closed and may have any number of weird ways of directing me out. I don't charge people for my confusion. Also, I find out that the Houstonian... a place I've never been before, is actually off of NORTH Post Oak, and not just Post Oak... we actually have several Post Oaks in Houston, and knowing which one you're going to is a damn good idea.
We get there... and "opulent" doesn't describe it. The Houstonian isn't just a hotel, it's also a spa and resort. Good grief, it's gorgeous... nestled in trees and having valet and bellman service at every single building are just a few of the amenities. I didn't stick around to find out about the rest. After the fare and tip, it was 75 bucks. Between my two 40+ fares and all the small ones I had that day, I'd already made close to 300 bucks. Finally, just a few minutes later, I got what I decided was my last fare of the night.
A yupster calls me to take him to a destination indicated by some Yahoo map directions. I still verify it with my Key Map book just to be sure. He asks me if I can stop by a gas station to let him buy some beer and I said, "Fine, as long as none of the containers get cracked open while this vehicle is in motion. That's a big fine for me." He assures me it's for the party he's going to. I say "cool," and think to myself, "a fare and some wait time," and we start the trip. Shortly after he buys his beer, he gets a call and the plans have changed. I get an address I'm not terribly familiar with, but close to his original destination. However, since the Key Map isn't clear about where this block is - an address on Highway 59 (or specifically, the "Southwest Freeway, as it's called for addresses on the feeder roads next to the highway-proper) - I have to guestimate the exit. Also, I don't know which side of the highway the odd or even numbers are on.
Right on cue, I overshoot the exit and find I'm on the wrong side of the freeway. I tell my fare that I'm stopping the meter at 14 dollars because that's what it would have been if I'd stuck the landing right, so to speak. We double back and find a spot to check addresses and find the other side of the freeway and the spot... the Lupe Tortilla on the other feeder road. The meter actually read 20 dollars and a few cents, and as his way of thanking me, my fare gave me a 20 and told me not to sweat it when I started making change for him.
It was at that point I sensed the karma of the night starting to shift. People were taking more chances on the road, driving crazier and hugging each other's bumpers a little too closely. I'd made my 300 and that was enough. Technically, according to all the rumors, there were still another 6 and a half "hot hours" of the night left, but I really didn't care.
I called it a night at 8:15, took my dinner at Red Robin and crawled into bed at 10, allowing myself to sleep in today. Tonight, Saturday, I'm going to play close to the vest and somewhat by ear. I've already clobbered some bills and I may set a money limit for myself to balance burning gas, making money and working too late into a night where people might start getting dopey again.
All for now...
G
Thursday, February 12, 2009
35 the easy way, 60 the hard way... still trying to find my way.
So, today I tried to follow someone else's advice on what the "perfect work day" is like here in Houston. Ideally, you get up at 4, hit the cab stands at hotels near where you live by 5 and stay booked in on the computer to get dispatches. ... then, at about 10 to 11, you take your rig home and sit out the dull part of the day. Then, around 2, you go back to work for another 7 hours. So, doing this math, the work day of the ideal Houston cab driver is 5am-9pm with a 3-4 hour lunch or nap-break, which comes in handy because you really don't get 8 hours to crash between that 9pm to 4am time frame, do you?
Anyway, the biggest part of the adjustment has been setting my sleep to turn around from the day sleeping I was doing before to crashing in the mid evening to getting up at 4. I can't go on less than 5 hours sleep and I think I finally got my minimum of 6 last night. Trying to roll into the rack at 11am for a 3 hour nap to extend my day just doesn't fuckin work and when I got up at 1, there was work waiting for me before 2 any damn way.
So, tomorrow, it's going to be a 12 hour day with a break in the middle to go to the yard, pay my lease and finish recording Sports Illustrated for the folks at Taping For The Blind. However, I'm only going to take that break long enough to do my "chores" instead of trying to catch some Zs.
Today broke down like this: 5a-9a, taxi; 9a-10, yard, carwash (free BTW, if you get it at the yard); 10a-1045a, partial recording at Taping; 1130-1300, attempted NAP... BUHLEETED!!! 1400-1730, taxi. So, in all that bullshit, there was really only about 7 and a half hours of work. In spite of the dorkyness of the day, it was as close to a full day as I've generated in a while. Tomorrow, I intend to keep the mission tighter and not sweat someone's "recommendations" about when I should take my breaks. As it is, on only 7+ hours of driving, I still generated better than a hundred bucks. Take away the lease and the gas cost of the day (including a wild goose chase that cost me an hour of drive time, 5 bucks in tolls and no fucking fare), I managed to pocket 60 bucks. I can only imagine what my profit will be when I find that "right" 12 hours to drive every day.
Now, in all fairness to the guy who gave me the advice, the dude is a guy who hustles downtown big time. He knows when all the people who fill the glass towers go to work, walk to lunch, and then what time things heat up downtown again. However, there's something about that routine that seems too "mechanical" to me... and I had a fare this afternoon that proved it's not all about the money.
This was my "60 the hard way." But first, the easyt
Basically, the easy fare of the day was this morning. I got a call from an apartment complex near my house and got there lickety split. 5am, I picked her up and she told me about an accident on the Sam Houston Tollway that would slow us down and that we'd have to use the feeder road to get to Highway 290 to get her to work. I got her there 3 minutes late in spite of the fact that the cops had really routed us out of the way. It was a half hour trip that bagged me 33 bucks. If every half hour of the day was that profitable, I'd be buying myself a Lincoln Navigator and turning it into a taxi cab like that other guy I hear about... dude must be a legend with a big base of personal customers. I shit you not.
My first job after my "midday break" was a fucking ghost chase and a lesson in patience. Actually, it was the first half of my lesson in patience. One the ways a smart Houston cabbie can curry more work for himself is by using the zone information display on his dispatch terminal (or computer, for want of a better terminology). By checking the zone display, he can find out where people have called for cabs in areas where there may not be any sedans or vans. This is smart, but you have to be somewhat familiar with how the zones are laid out by their GPS zone numbers.
This is where I made my mistake... by bidding on something that was 25 minutes drive time away. I did this because no new dispatches were coming through the four to six GPS zones that were in my immediate area. OOPS
By the time I got there, not only was my fare not in the leasing office like he said he would be, but when I knocked on his apartment door I got a response from what was presumably a roommate like I was a cop trying to muff dive his meth lab or something.
"Who is it?!"
"Did you call a taxi, sir?" I asked the voice from behind the drawn blinds.
"Naw! He left awwready!"
"OK. Sorry to trouble you." And I went on my merry way.
Now, another lesson I learned in patience (I guess this would be the second quarter of the first half of my lesson) was that when you use the computer to tell the dispatcher that your fare bailed out on you, the dispatcher throws you a bone and puts you back into your previous position in the queue for your primary zone.
Problem: I did this while I was still 25 minutes drive time away from my former primary zone. And guess what, the guy ahead of me had a trip he got dispatched to, so.......
My computer yells at me, "You've got a trip, BOZO!"
Deftly donning my clown shoes and rubber nose (figuratively, of course), I drove back, paying the same tolls in the reverse direction. Luckily, I was against the commute this time, so it only took 18 minutes to get there. I apologized profusely to the little old lady and her caretaker who was accompanying her on the trip.
Side note: this is an issue because all of Houston's Yellow Cab fleet is GPS dispatched. Therefore, if you call for a cab, the dispatcher knows which vehicles are in which queue to go to a certain area. However, because of the "throwing of the bone" I mentioned before, I was automatically shuffled to the front of the line in a zone I was no longer in. Normally, when I'm booked into the right zone (which happens automatically, except in this case), I'm never less than 3-5 minutes from a fare (two of which is me looking up their address using either Yahoo Maps on my computer or my Key Map, travel time is hardly an issue in the GPS zones I operate in).
So, this is where I learned patience again... or rather, exercised it with a grin on my face. This little old lady had some banking business at not one, but two, banks. However, she wasn't content to tell me what her destinations were and let me determine how to get there in advance, she insisted on giving me the route on the fly. There was something about it, probably her accent, that gave this whole trip the whole "New York Hack" feel. She didn't want to know my name, and insisted on calling me "driver," which I actually thought was a hoot. There was more than one time when I would try to look up the street she was directing me to on my Key Map and she insisted on verbally reining me like a horse with a bowler-fedora on his head (that's the hat I wear when I drive). Funny thing is, I didn't really get irritated with it. Here I was, in a situation that in many another profession, I would probably be blowing my stack and telling this person to get off her high horse with me. But I was like, "Hell, as long as she's paying the freight, it's HER frickin car. I'll just point it where she wants it to go."
Mind you, this is an exception I made for a woman obviously in her eighties (if not her nineties) and was operating at differing levels of coherency from moment to moment. I figured, at the very least, between two banks she'd be able to scare up the cab fare. Kids in their teens and twenties sporting looks of being up to no good would not even have a sliver of a chance in hell of pulling that crap on me.
Anywho... I took granny sweetcakes (I knew her first name, but I'm withholding it here. On a trip like this, you're better off with "Ma'am" anyway) to her first bank and waited. It was my first trip clicking off "wait time," which in Houston is metered at 20 dollars an hour, and more specifically, 17 cents every 34 seconds. I had already driven 21 dollars worth of fare, and clicked off another ten while she waited to be waited on in the first bank. It was here that I noticed how quickly I'd made that first 33 dollars of the day, and how slowly this 31 had taken. Wait time is nothing to sneeze at, mind you, but I started to understand where some people who do this for a living really have their attitudes fail them. In a place like New York, I get it. They pay roughly the same leases, get roughly the same wait time, plus they only get to keep their cars for 12 hours and are stuck with those 12 hours to make or break their bank so to speak and the cost of living there is outrageous by comparison. We get our cars for 24 hours, get to pick which 12 hours make us the best money and aren't picking and snapping at flaggers nearly as much. In fact, the flagger is pretty much only a downtown phenomenon. But I digress.
Next, after the first bank was the drive to the second bank and her getting "lobby" treatment at the drive-thru window. In spite of the fact that the lobby wasn't open, a clerk still walked out to us at the drive-thru and helped her with her banking, because there was apparently some issue with conducting part of the transaction just using the window. I think they've dealt with her before and just know what's more expedient. It was cool in a way. Here I was, grinning my way through most of this, and all these other folks at these banks buzzing about her like she was a queen bee. Literally, it was like I had a makeshift dignitary in my cab.
Then, the drive home. She still insisted on asking which turns I was taking and why, even though we'd driven the way there and I was actually taking a shorter way back (my legal obligation, by the way). My explanations were greeted with terse "OKs" and an understanding that I probably couldn't botch the return trip. And lest we forget that she's operating at differing levels of awareness at any given time, she still didn't forget to ask for her senior citizen discount. Literally, two and a half hours of work that came to 60 bucks. That aint too shabby. And frankly, if I could multiply that into my 12 hour workday, making about $275-300 a day wouldn't hurt my feelings any even if part of that was the slow "wait rate." I figure at $106 a day when my lease goes up to the full rate still would give me 150+ per day. Spread that out over a week, and that's where I want my income to be.
However, not every trip is/was like that. Other than the 33 dollar job to start the day, and the 60 dollar job to almost finish it, there was the smattering of short trips and frankly, too many "no trips" where some bozo calls a cab and then decides to hoof it, hit the bus stop or otherwise not be there when the cab shows up. However, I could have also given myself a 17 hour day today to try and get those other 4 hours I didn't drive today.
The other thing is that I'm trying to find the right 8 hours to sleep. Specifically, the right block of time to get the 6 hard hours of sleep along with the dozing that invariably is part of nodding off beforehand and doing my little meditations. Doing the 17 is not my idea of getting that set correctly. If I hit the rack when I want to tonight, I'll have 16 to fit my 12 plus my recording and yard time in, plus a little play with the kitty time. And right now, that's all I really need.
On the whole, I'm enjoying this little adventure, and I'm thankful that Houston Yellow has this reduced lease program in place instead of throwing me to the wolves right away. If I had to give them a hundred bucks a day to start out, I would have said, "Yo, homes, smell ya later." Easing into this has really been far more preferable.
In fact, I hadn't even thought about blogging today until I ran aground on my banking granny today. Seriously, you don't make up stories like that. You live them.
And, of course... my daily LOLcat
moar funny pictures
-ManMan
Anyway, the biggest part of the adjustment has been setting my sleep to turn around from the day sleeping I was doing before to crashing in the mid evening to getting up at 4. I can't go on less than 5 hours sleep and I think I finally got my minimum of 6 last night. Trying to roll into the rack at 11am for a 3 hour nap to extend my day just doesn't fuckin work and when I got up at 1, there was work waiting for me before 2 any damn way.
So, tomorrow, it's going to be a 12 hour day with a break in the middle to go to the yard, pay my lease and finish recording Sports Illustrated for the folks at Taping For The Blind. However, I'm only going to take that break long enough to do my "chores" instead of trying to catch some Zs.
Today broke down like this: 5a-9a, taxi; 9a-10, yard, carwash (free BTW, if you get it at the yard); 10a-1045a, partial recording at Taping; 1130-1300, attempted NAP... BUHLEETED!!! 1400-1730, taxi. So, in all that bullshit, there was really only about 7 and a half hours of work. In spite of the dorkyness of the day, it was as close to a full day as I've generated in a while. Tomorrow, I intend to keep the mission tighter and not sweat someone's "recommendations" about when I should take my breaks. As it is, on only 7+ hours of driving, I still generated better than a hundred bucks. Take away the lease and the gas cost of the day (including a wild goose chase that cost me an hour of drive time, 5 bucks in tolls and no fucking fare), I managed to pocket 60 bucks. I can only imagine what my profit will be when I find that "right" 12 hours to drive every day.
Now, in all fairness to the guy who gave me the advice, the dude is a guy who hustles downtown big time. He knows when all the people who fill the glass towers go to work, walk to lunch, and then what time things heat up downtown again. However, there's something about that routine that seems too "mechanical" to me... and I had a fare this afternoon that proved it's not all about the money.
This was my "60 the hard way." But first, the easyt
Basically, the easy fare of the day was this morning. I got a call from an apartment complex near my house and got there lickety split. 5am, I picked her up and she told me about an accident on the Sam Houston Tollway that would slow us down and that we'd have to use the feeder road to get to Highway 290 to get her to work. I got her there 3 minutes late in spite of the fact that the cops had really routed us out of the way. It was a half hour trip that bagged me 33 bucks. If every half hour of the day was that profitable, I'd be buying myself a Lincoln Navigator and turning it into a taxi cab like that other guy I hear about... dude must be a legend with a big base of personal customers. I shit you not.
My first job after my "midday break" was a fucking ghost chase and a lesson in patience. Actually, it was the first half of my lesson in patience. One the ways a smart Houston cabbie can curry more work for himself is by using the zone information display on his dispatch terminal (or computer, for want of a better terminology). By checking the zone display, he can find out where people have called for cabs in areas where there may not be any sedans or vans. This is smart, but you have to be somewhat familiar with how the zones are laid out by their GPS zone numbers.
This is where I made my mistake... by bidding on something that was 25 minutes drive time away. I did this because no new dispatches were coming through the four to six GPS zones that were in my immediate area. OOPS
By the time I got there, not only was my fare not in the leasing office like he said he would be, but when I knocked on his apartment door I got a response from what was presumably a roommate like I was a cop trying to muff dive his meth lab or something.
"Who is it?!"
"Did you call a taxi, sir?" I asked the voice from behind the drawn blinds.
"Naw! He left awwready!"
"OK. Sorry to trouble you." And I went on my merry way.
Now, another lesson I learned in patience (I guess this would be the second quarter of the first half of my lesson) was that when you use the computer to tell the dispatcher that your fare bailed out on you, the dispatcher throws you a bone and puts you back into your previous position in the queue for your primary zone.
Problem: I did this while I was still 25 minutes drive time away from my former primary zone. And guess what, the guy ahead of me had a trip he got dispatched to, so.......
My computer yells at me, "You've got a trip, BOZO!"
Deftly donning my clown shoes and rubber nose (figuratively, of course), I drove back, paying the same tolls in the reverse direction. Luckily, I was against the commute this time, so it only took 18 minutes to get there. I apologized profusely to the little old lady and her caretaker who was accompanying her on the trip.
Side note: this is an issue because all of Houston's Yellow Cab fleet is GPS dispatched. Therefore, if you call for a cab, the dispatcher knows which vehicles are in which queue to go to a certain area. However, because of the "throwing of the bone" I mentioned before, I was automatically shuffled to the front of the line in a zone I was no longer in. Normally, when I'm booked into the right zone (which happens automatically, except in this case), I'm never less than 3-5 minutes from a fare (two of which is me looking up their address using either Yahoo Maps on my computer or my Key Map, travel time is hardly an issue in the GPS zones I operate in).
So, this is where I learned patience again... or rather, exercised it with a grin on my face. This little old lady had some banking business at not one, but two, banks. However, she wasn't content to tell me what her destinations were and let me determine how to get there in advance, she insisted on giving me the route on the fly. There was something about it, probably her accent, that gave this whole trip the whole "New York Hack" feel. She didn't want to know my name, and insisted on calling me "driver," which I actually thought was a hoot. There was more than one time when I would try to look up the street she was directing me to on my Key Map and she insisted on verbally reining me like a horse with a bowler-fedora on his head (that's the hat I wear when I drive). Funny thing is, I didn't really get irritated with it. Here I was, in a situation that in many another profession, I would probably be blowing my stack and telling this person to get off her high horse with me. But I was like, "Hell, as long as she's paying the freight, it's HER frickin car. I'll just point it where she wants it to go."
Mind you, this is an exception I made for a woman obviously in her eighties (if not her nineties) and was operating at differing levels of coherency from moment to moment. I figured, at the very least, between two banks she'd be able to scare up the cab fare. Kids in their teens and twenties sporting looks of being up to no good would not even have a sliver of a chance in hell of pulling that crap on me.
Anywho... I took granny sweetcakes (I knew her first name, but I'm withholding it here. On a trip like this, you're better off with "Ma'am" anyway) to her first bank and waited. It was my first trip clicking off "wait time," which in Houston is metered at 20 dollars an hour, and more specifically, 17 cents every 34 seconds. I had already driven 21 dollars worth of fare, and clicked off another ten while she waited to be waited on in the first bank. It was here that I noticed how quickly I'd made that first 33 dollars of the day, and how slowly this 31 had taken. Wait time is nothing to sneeze at, mind you, but I started to understand where some people who do this for a living really have their attitudes fail them. In a place like New York, I get it. They pay roughly the same leases, get roughly the same wait time, plus they only get to keep their cars for 12 hours and are stuck with those 12 hours to make or break their bank so to speak and the cost of living there is outrageous by comparison. We get our cars for 24 hours, get to pick which 12 hours make us the best money and aren't picking and snapping at flaggers nearly as much. In fact, the flagger is pretty much only a downtown phenomenon. But I digress.
Next, after the first bank was the drive to the second bank and her getting "lobby" treatment at the drive-thru window. In spite of the fact that the lobby wasn't open, a clerk still walked out to us at the drive-thru and helped her with her banking, because there was apparently some issue with conducting part of the transaction just using the window. I think they've dealt with her before and just know what's more expedient. It was cool in a way. Here I was, grinning my way through most of this, and all these other folks at these banks buzzing about her like she was a queen bee. Literally, it was like I had a makeshift dignitary in my cab.
Then, the drive home. She still insisted on asking which turns I was taking and why, even though we'd driven the way there and I was actually taking a shorter way back (my legal obligation, by the way). My explanations were greeted with terse "OKs" and an understanding that I probably couldn't botch the return trip. And lest we forget that she's operating at differing levels of awareness at any given time, she still didn't forget to ask for her senior citizen discount. Literally, two and a half hours of work that came to 60 bucks. That aint too shabby. And frankly, if I could multiply that into my 12 hour workday, making about $275-300 a day wouldn't hurt my feelings any even if part of that was the slow "wait rate." I figure at $106 a day when my lease goes up to the full rate still would give me 150+ per day. Spread that out over a week, and that's where I want my income to be.
However, not every trip is/was like that. Other than the 33 dollar job to start the day, and the 60 dollar job to almost finish it, there was the smattering of short trips and frankly, too many "no trips" where some bozo calls a cab and then decides to hoof it, hit the bus stop or otherwise not be there when the cab shows up. However, I could have also given myself a 17 hour day today to try and get those other 4 hours I didn't drive today.
The other thing is that I'm trying to find the right 8 hours to sleep. Specifically, the right block of time to get the 6 hard hours of sleep along with the dozing that invariably is part of nodding off beforehand and doing my little meditations. Doing the 17 is not my idea of getting that set correctly. If I hit the rack when I want to tonight, I'll have 16 to fit my 12 plus my recording and yard time in, plus a little play with the kitty time. And right now, that's all I really need.
On the whole, I'm enjoying this little adventure, and I'm thankful that Houston Yellow has this reduced lease program in place instead of throwing me to the wolves right away. If I had to give them a hundred bucks a day to start out, I would have said, "Yo, homes, smell ya later." Easing into this has really been far more preferable.
In fact, I hadn't even thought about blogging today until I ran aground on my banking granny today. Seriously, you don't make up stories like that. You live them.
And, of course... my daily LOLcat
moar funny pictures
-ManMan
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Yanno... I Could Always Be (Working) in Prison
Over the course of this last year, I've often wondered if I've actually been afflicted with not knowing what the hell I want to be when I grow up. I don't think that's the case, actually, even though my job carousel of the last 18 months would certainly make it seem like it.
I think, in a way, it's been a matter of embracing that kind of profession that gives me the flexibility I want and lets me be expressive and true to my personality. Largely, many of the professions I've tried over the course of my lifetime have required me to alter my behavior to a certain degree. Funny as it seems, I haven't had to change that much being in the cab. Within the limits of the law, I can pretty much dress the way I want to (Houston has an ordinance barring t-shirts and shorts as an encouragement to the tourism and convention industries that take advantage of the warmer weather in the winter and spring). And during those times when a customer chooses to engage me in conversation, I really don't have to hold back a whole lot except those obvious TMI situations (religion, politics, ethnic groups and medical issues...).
However, I can remember times when my personality just forces it's way to the surface.
Last year at this time I was getting ready to "start my career" as a state corrections officer. Me and my classmates were touring one of the tougher units and a line of cells that were a step above administrative segregation reserved for those gents considered a little more incorrigable than the average bear. In other words, this was the repository for assholes of the highest order who didn't think they had anything else to lose. My classmates went in 15 at a time, and we had a group of 33. I deliberately hung back to go last as I saw one guy in the center of the line having his 15 minutes of fame. He's probably done it every time a group of "new boots" walks through every three weeks or so as the Academy gets ready to graduate a new group of officers.
Self-bragging, talks of who he's going to rape or beat up, and how fucking tough he is... blah dee freakin dah...
Me, and the two guys that are left are former corrections officers... we've already seen it, and we know the worst thing you can do to a "mister showbiz" type is break him up when he's on a roll. So, the second group comes back, and it's just the three of us... and they don't feel like going in. Again, they've been there, done that. However, I get the look from them that says they want to see if I know what's up with the loudest kid on the cell block. So, before stepping in with my class proctor and the field training officer who are leading the little tour... I say.
"So, this is E-line, huh?"
You goddamn right it is! He yells back.
"I suppose I should walk in with more than just these two ladies, huh?"
Fuckin-A right you should! He retorts.
"Come on!" I yell, looking back at my classmates. "Anyone else want to join me looking in on the KIDS?!?"
WHAT THE FUCK!!! WHO THE FUCK?? WE'RE A BUNCH OF GROWN-ASS MEN IN HERE YOU DOWN'S SYNDROME LOOKIN MOTHERFUCKER!
And that's when I stepped onto the E-line, leaving my escorts behind.
YOU'RE LUCKY THESE BARS ARE LOCKED YOU... YOU...
"Yeah, what, exactly?" I said.
He started pacing from side to side in his cell... without a word
"10 straight minutes of bullshit crunk followed by this. Is that what you've been trying to tell us, that you're a MAN?"
He sits on his bunk and looks away from me. A voice from another cell chimes in.
"You got him, boss-man."
"We all have something to lose in a place like this," I thought out loud. "You don't have to lose your cool if you don't want to."
And that, among other things, is why I hung up my career in corrections a couple of weeks later. There is a possibility, however slight, that the phone will ring again and I will need to drop what I'm doing to go audition, do a gig, or go write something. In the cab, I can push two buttons and be invisible to the rest of the cab-driving world. In the joint, it would have taken an act of GOD to get me to an audition.
Here's to finally having a place to let me be me... and that little bit of freedom.
G
I think, in a way, it's been a matter of embracing that kind of profession that gives me the flexibility I want and lets me be expressive and true to my personality. Largely, many of the professions I've tried over the course of my lifetime have required me to alter my behavior to a certain degree. Funny as it seems, I haven't had to change that much being in the cab. Within the limits of the law, I can pretty much dress the way I want to (Houston has an ordinance barring t-shirts and shorts as an encouragement to the tourism and convention industries that take advantage of the warmer weather in the winter and spring). And during those times when a customer chooses to engage me in conversation, I really don't have to hold back a whole lot except those obvious TMI situations (religion, politics, ethnic groups and medical issues...).
However, I can remember times when my personality just forces it's way to the surface.
Last year at this time I was getting ready to "start my career" as a state corrections officer. Me and my classmates were touring one of the tougher units and a line of cells that were a step above administrative segregation reserved for those gents considered a little more incorrigable than the average bear. In other words, this was the repository for assholes of the highest order who didn't think they had anything else to lose. My classmates went in 15 at a time, and we had a group of 33. I deliberately hung back to go last as I saw one guy in the center of the line having his 15 minutes of fame. He's probably done it every time a group of "new boots" walks through every three weeks or so as the Academy gets ready to graduate a new group of officers.
Self-bragging, talks of who he's going to rape or beat up, and how fucking tough he is... blah dee freakin dah...
Me, and the two guys that are left are former corrections officers... we've already seen it, and we know the worst thing you can do to a "mister showbiz" type is break him up when he's on a roll. So, the second group comes back, and it's just the three of us... and they don't feel like going in. Again, they've been there, done that. However, I get the look from them that says they want to see if I know what's up with the loudest kid on the cell block. So, before stepping in with my class proctor and the field training officer who are leading the little tour... I say.
"So, this is E-line, huh?"
You goddamn right it is! He yells back.
"I suppose I should walk in with more than just these two ladies, huh?"
Fuckin-A right you should! He retorts.
"Come on!" I yell, looking back at my classmates. "Anyone else want to join me looking in on the KIDS?!?"
WHAT THE FUCK!!! WHO THE FUCK?? WE'RE A BUNCH OF GROWN-ASS MEN IN HERE YOU DOWN'S SYNDROME LOOKIN MOTHERFUCKER!
And that's when I stepped onto the E-line, leaving my escorts behind.
YOU'RE LUCKY THESE BARS ARE LOCKED YOU... YOU...
"Yeah, what, exactly?" I said.
He started pacing from side to side in his cell... without a word
"10 straight minutes of bullshit crunk followed by this. Is that what you've been trying to tell us, that you're a MAN?"
He sits on his bunk and looks away from me. A voice from another cell chimes in.
"You got him, boss-man."
"We all have something to lose in a place like this," I thought out loud. "You don't have to lose your cool if you don't want to."
And that, among other things, is why I hung up my career in corrections a couple of weeks later. There is a possibility, however slight, that the phone will ring again and I will need to drop what I'm doing to go audition, do a gig, or go write something. In the cab, I can push two buttons and be invisible to the rest of the cab-driving world. In the joint, it would have taken an act of GOD to get me to an audition.
Here's to finally having a place to let me be me... and that little bit of freedom.
G
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Day One, Part Two... Much Better
One can always speculate as to what a first day on a new job is going to be like. Well, here's the scoop.
It was FABULOUS... and I didn't even do the full 12 hours. That, I'm saving for tomorrow. Since I was starting to nod at the wheel a bit from all the waking up I did in the middle of the night last night, I'm pretty sure that all my sleep (if you can actually call it that) was broken and battered... and may have added up to two hours.
Honestly, I don't know what I was trippin' over.
It started a little rough, with a call at an apartment complex that turned into me not knowing where the open gates were. However, I still got my fare to her job on time, and it turned into my first fare with a tip.
I handled my first Metro Subsidy, my first Metro Lift assist, my first credit card - all in the same day. I left the house with 40 bucks and came back with a hundred and that was with me constantly logging myself out of the system to brush up on stuff I was weak on - in that regard, it definitely wasn't even a full 8 hour day. BTW - thank goodness I'm supplementing my Key Map with having my laptop and the Cricket stick. Being able to find some streets using the internet instead of flipping back and forth when the dispatcher gives me the wrong Key Map page was nothing less than a godsend. And, true to their word, Cricket's network is sufficiently built out to where I was dropping my connection all the time. Definitely worth the 40 bucks, and is much easier to read than some tiny-assed GPS module.
This afternoon, I nap to catch up... then tonight, I treat myself to anime, a basket of fries and an iced tea. Tomorrow, I do the full 12 with a better sense of what to do, how to do it, and how to get it done quickly without sacrificing safety and service.
Oh... here's another "I can laugh about it now:"
As I was leaving my apartment, I realized I was missing the keys to the front door. I found them on the floor of my cab, apparently having slipped off when I put the cab key on my key ring. They are now quite secure. Literally, I was worked up into a sweaty lather over it and I didn't stop raining on myself until half way through breakfast. If I am good at nothing else, I am DAMN GOOD at getting myself pissed at nothing... and then laughing at myself afterwards. =D
It was FABULOUS... and I didn't even do the full 12 hours. That, I'm saving for tomorrow. Since I was starting to nod at the wheel a bit from all the waking up I did in the middle of the night last night, I'm pretty sure that all my sleep (if you can actually call it that) was broken and battered... and may have added up to two hours.
Honestly, I don't know what I was trippin' over.
It started a little rough, with a call at an apartment complex that turned into me not knowing where the open gates were. However, I still got my fare to her job on time, and it turned into my first fare with a tip.
I handled my first Metro Subsidy, my first Metro Lift assist, my first credit card - all in the same day. I left the house with 40 bucks and came back with a hundred and that was with me constantly logging myself out of the system to brush up on stuff I was weak on - in that regard, it definitely wasn't even a full 8 hour day. BTW - thank goodness I'm supplementing my Key Map with having my laptop and the Cricket stick. Being able to find some streets using the internet instead of flipping back and forth when the dispatcher gives me the wrong Key Map page was nothing less than a godsend. And, true to their word, Cricket's network is sufficiently built out to where I was dropping my connection all the time. Definitely worth the 40 bucks, and is much easier to read than some tiny-assed GPS module.
This afternoon, I nap to catch up... then tonight, I treat myself to anime, a basket of fries and an iced tea. Tomorrow, I do the full 12 with a better sense of what to do, how to do it, and how to get it done quickly without sacrificing safety and service.
Oh... here's another "I can laugh about it now:"
As I was leaving my apartment, I realized I was missing the keys to the front door. I found them on the floor of my cab, apparently having slipped off when I put the cab key on my key ring. They are now quite secure. Literally, I was worked up into a sweaty lather over it and I didn't stop raining on myself until half way through breakfast. If I am good at nothing else, I am DAMN GOOD at getting myself pissed at nothing... and then laughing at myself afterwards. =D
Day One, Part One - Read the Fabulous Manual, Sir!
One of the issues that was potentially causing me stress was the fact that I'd purchased a power inverter for my cab so I could run my laptop and get extra navigation assistance from yon creaky internet using my Cricket USB. On an initial try, I thought the 12V line in my lighter socket wasn't working until... I found the BUTTON that turns the power inverter ON. Non-crisis averted.
I was supposed to get up at 4, but I tossed and turned all night... mostly due to the fact that I'm not 100% sure of all the little nuances of doing this. The other part, of course, was/is trying to change my sleep schedule to work with the best possible deployment time. My achilles heel, if there ever was one, is my own quest for perfection. And, let's face it, as easy as it sounds to pick people up from one place and take them to another in a motor vehicle, there are enough legal and paperwork variables that I'm probably stressing them a lot harder than I have to.
Plan of action - use the extra time at IHOP to study. Go on-duty at 5 and keep on marching.
I was supposed to get up at 4, but I tossed and turned all night... mostly due to the fact that I'm not 100% sure of all the little nuances of doing this. The other part, of course, was/is trying to change my sleep schedule to work with the best possible deployment time. My achilles heel, if there ever was one, is my own quest for perfection. And, let's face it, as easy as it sounds to pick people up from one place and take them to another in a motor vehicle, there are enough legal and paperwork variables that I'm probably stressing them a lot harder than I have to.
Plan of action - use the extra time at IHOP to study. Go on-duty at 5 and keep on marching.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Bureaucracy, and Launch Time
So, here we are...
Today, I went back in to get my repeat drug test. To those of you not following the drama so far, I had a major arthritis flare up the morning of my first drug test. True to form, I was in enough pain that I took a vicodin to knock the pain down. After all, I didn't want to go into the driver physical limping all around.
Now, the first "bad on me" was the fact that I could have waited until the day after to do the physical. I wasn't going to be ready to start driving until today/tomorrowish anydoggoneway. Nevertheless, I went in, took a urinalysis not less than 8 hours after having a vicodin and WHAMMO popped hot for opiates. Duh...
I've already detailed the BS chain last time, so moving forward I'll simply say that I went ahead and made sure I didn't take any vicodin, regardless of any pain I felt over the weekend. Luckily, I had no additional flare ups, and I was going to knock them down with my steroids and OTCs, regardless. I went in this morning, whizzed in the whiz quiz bottle and... sho 'nuffins, I was clean.
However, that was not the end of the clinic causing drama for me. They decided not to include the results of my physical in my packet to the City inspectors. So, after a grouchy call to them (and believe me, I was fuckin' grouchy... there was already enough time lost over this shit), they told me they had my original schedule M (medical) at their office. It sounds less dramatic than it was, but I was getting so much double speak from the person answering the phone, as if she just didn't want to freakin help, that I was steaming out of both ears and physically shaking in the Inspector's office. This isn't a good thing when you're sharing space with law enforcement officers and other people taking other tests for various and sundry security clearances. Needless to say, I finally impressed upon the person on the other end of the phone that they were holding onto a piece of paperwork that they weren't supposed to be withholding from me. My shuttle driver, Ms Brown, was kind enough to run me back over to the clinic and back to the Inspector's office at the airport where I was issued my 30 day temporary taxi and limousine driver's licenses. The nitwit at the clinic, by the way, had my schedule M already sealed in an envelope and was holding it out in her extended arm as I entered her little place of work. I can honestly say that this was the first time in a very long time that I had let any situation of any kind torque my nuts like that. But damn, I quit a perfectly good job to try this and being up to my ass in bureaucracy, compounded by other people's incompetence, was getting on my last nerve.
At any rate, it's long since over, and I'm quite over it. However, writing about it is definitely a good final catharsis.
From this point, I got walked around to my various jumping off points and got treated to my own comedy of errors. This is also known as the "FNG Blues." =)
I went to the cashiers office to secure my initial issues of things I would need to work out in the field: credit card imprinter, key map of Houston/Harris County, voucher slips for the Metro Lift program, credit card receipts, cash receipts and finally... I was given a vehicle.
Cab 1358... heretofore known as "The Crunkmobile," and it shall be known as the same in all perpetuity until I get another one. As far as I can tell, it's the Mercury version of Ford's Crown Victoria, with 151,000 miles on it, and the rear seats have ground-in dirt that I can't even get away with complaining about. I could probably take it over to a place like Colonial Car Wash and pay 40- bucks for them to TRY and get the stains out, but I fear it'd be a fruitless endeavor. I'm a new guy, and I'm going to get a piece of shit car until I get about 3 weeks down the line. My best strategy is to put my best foot forward in terms of my own attitude and personal appearance and make any necessary apologies for the vehicle I was given if it comes up in conversation.
It was also less than perfect in other ways as well. I had to go get a self-insurance certificate for it. I found out that this was nothing more than getting a xerox copy of a standard notice instead of something printed for that specific vehicle. Anyway. I got it, I folded it, and it's in the otherwise empty glove box of the car.
Also, I had to un-train myself on the operation of the trip computer and radio. In my training class, I was told that I had to turn on the radio first before turning on the GPS/trip computer so the trip computer would have a data channel to transmit on. True enough. But, because of the crunk-ass electrical system in this car, and the bass-ackwards way they wired the computer and the radio together, you have to turn on the computer first, then the radio. I actually drove The Crunkmobile to the radio shop to find out that I had to do it in that order. The tech giggled and I rolled my eyes when I tried it myself and said, "DAY-UM! I sure feel a thousand percent smarter now, BWAH!"
Me, with the honors degree in information systems, the A+ and CCNA certifications, getting my ass kicked by a 10-channel radio in a taxicab. You may stop laughing at your own leisure. I'm not sure I haven't stopped laughing at myself yet.
My day, such as it was, took a turn for the nice when I went to get my last check from the fine folks at United Protective Services. I treated myself to lunch at Chili's, and took my truck over to the taxi yard and exchanged it for a spot in the side lot with The Crunkmobile and took The Crunker out to get it some gas and take it home. During this time, I decided to log in to the computer and run the meter on what is known as a "personal trip." Basically, any time you run your car and you don't want to get hired, you run your meter to turn off the "vacant" light. There are no "OFF DUTY" indicators on a Houston taxi like there are in New York or other major cities. Besides, this also gave me an idea of how to stop the meter and reset it at a new destination. I went to Wal-Mart to get myself a new pair of walking shoes. I wanted something black, made of fabric, and something I would NOT have to put a shine on. I'll keep them clean and neat, but I'm sick of doing the GI Joe thing with my leather shoes all the damn time. I also found a power inverter for 30 bucks that should keep my laptop running with my Cricket stick in the car and I scored some new Zebra pens. Basically, I just want the "office" aspect of what I'm doing squared away before I start working.
"Wait a minute," you may ask, "if you have a car, why aren't you running around collecting fares?"
This is the truly beautiful part of starting with Houston Yellow. My first day's lease isn't due until 1pm tomorrow. And, because it's only $9.50, I'm in no rush to run blindly out and do something crazy without re-studying some of the things I feel like I'm weak on. I'm going to look at some of the trip computer things I haven't revisited in a while (I took that class two weeks ago) and I'm not going to work until 5a.m. tomorrow. I've worked out a plan of attack with one of the licensee managers and he stated I already live in a good area of town and that I don't have to drift too far from home to go get a fare. Westheimer at the Beltway already has a good smattering of hotels, eateries... and at night, the very interesting club life on Richmond (Men of LaBare, anyone?) - and of course, I'm directly in between the Galleria and West Oaks Mall.
For now, I'm going to do one more walk around The Crunkmobile, drag all my ill-gotten gains inside the house and assemble my "office" in my laptop bag so everything has a place and is in it's place so I don't have any sneaking surprises tomorrow. I can just drag the bag out, put it in the front seat, put my 30 day temp in the license holder up front, and go get it.
You should see my get-up too. Red shirt with white collar and cuffs, my black leather vest, and a half-fedora/half-bowler hat. I shall be Sharpie McSharpenstein (tm).
Whether the first day merits a blog entry or not remains to be seen. As it is, the adventure for tonight is to figure out how I'm going to make myself go to sleep so I can get ample rest before I have to rouse myself at 4am. That should be an adventure. I want to get up early so I can do the Denny's breakfast thing. Nothing fancy, just an All-American Slam and iced tea, but I already know I'm in the mood to have someone else cook. And, if the first day is really worth shouting about, I'm probably going to finish it off by going to Anime Night at the Alamo again.
Two weeks in a row of Anime Night... can I stand the strain? Stay tuned and find out!
-MisterMan
Today, I went back in to get my repeat drug test. To those of you not following the drama so far, I had a major arthritis flare up the morning of my first drug test. True to form, I was in enough pain that I took a vicodin to knock the pain down. After all, I didn't want to go into the driver physical limping all around.
Now, the first "bad on me" was the fact that I could have waited until the day after to do the physical. I wasn't going to be ready to start driving until today/tomorrowish anydoggoneway. Nevertheless, I went in, took a urinalysis not less than 8 hours after having a vicodin and WHAMMO popped hot for opiates. Duh...
I've already detailed the BS chain last time, so moving forward I'll simply say that I went ahead and made sure I didn't take any vicodin, regardless of any pain I felt over the weekend. Luckily, I had no additional flare ups, and I was going to knock them down with my steroids and OTCs, regardless. I went in this morning, whizzed in the whiz quiz bottle and... sho 'nuffins, I was clean.
However, that was not the end of the clinic causing drama for me. They decided not to include the results of my physical in my packet to the City inspectors. So, after a grouchy call to them (and believe me, I was fuckin' grouchy... there was already enough time lost over this shit), they told me they had my original schedule M (medical) at their office. It sounds less dramatic than it was, but I was getting so much double speak from the person answering the phone, as if she just didn't want to freakin help, that I was steaming out of both ears and physically shaking in the Inspector's office. This isn't a good thing when you're sharing space with law enforcement officers and other people taking other tests for various and sundry security clearances. Needless to say, I finally impressed upon the person on the other end of the phone that they were holding onto a piece of paperwork that they weren't supposed to be withholding from me. My shuttle driver, Ms Brown, was kind enough to run me back over to the clinic and back to the Inspector's office at the airport where I was issued my 30 day temporary taxi and limousine driver's licenses. The nitwit at the clinic, by the way, had my schedule M already sealed in an envelope and was holding it out in her extended arm as I entered her little place of work. I can honestly say that this was the first time in a very long time that I had let any situation of any kind torque my nuts like that. But damn, I quit a perfectly good job to try this and being up to my ass in bureaucracy, compounded by other people's incompetence, was getting on my last nerve.
At any rate, it's long since over, and I'm quite over it. However, writing about it is definitely a good final catharsis.
From this point, I got walked around to my various jumping off points and got treated to my own comedy of errors. This is also known as the "FNG Blues." =)
I went to the cashiers office to secure my initial issues of things I would need to work out in the field: credit card imprinter, key map of Houston/Harris County, voucher slips for the Metro Lift program, credit card receipts, cash receipts and finally... I was given a vehicle.
Cab 1358... heretofore known as "The Crunkmobile," and it shall be known as the same in all perpetuity until I get another one. As far as I can tell, it's the Mercury version of Ford's Crown Victoria, with 151,000 miles on it, and the rear seats have ground-in dirt that I can't even get away with complaining about. I could probably take it over to a place like Colonial Car Wash and pay 40- bucks for them to TRY and get the stains out, but I fear it'd be a fruitless endeavor. I'm a new guy, and I'm going to get a piece of shit car until I get about 3 weeks down the line. My best strategy is to put my best foot forward in terms of my own attitude and personal appearance and make any necessary apologies for the vehicle I was given if it comes up in conversation.
It was also less than perfect in other ways as well. I had to go get a self-insurance certificate for it. I found out that this was nothing more than getting a xerox copy of a standard notice instead of something printed for that specific vehicle. Anyway. I got it, I folded it, and it's in the otherwise empty glove box of the car.
Also, I had to un-train myself on the operation of the trip computer and radio. In my training class, I was told that I had to turn on the radio first before turning on the GPS/trip computer so the trip computer would have a data channel to transmit on. True enough. But, because of the crunk-ass electrical system in this car, and the bass-ackwards way they wired the computer and the radio together, you have to turn on the computer first, then the radio. I actually drove The Crunkmobile to the radio shop to find out that I had to do it in that order. The tech giggled and I rolled my eyes when I tried it myself and said, "DAY-UM! I sure feel a thousand percent smarter now, BWAH!"
Me, with the honors degree in information systems, the A+ and CCNA certifications, getting my ass kicked by a 10-channel radio in a taxicab. You may stop laughing at your own leisure. I'm not sure I haven't stopped laughing at myself yet.
My day, such as it was, took a turn for the nice when I went to get my last check from the fine folks at United Protective Services. I treated myself to lunch at Chili's, and took my truck over to the taxi yard and exchanged it for a spot in the side lot with The Crunkmobile and took The Crunker out to get it some gas and take it home. During this time, I decided to log in to the computer and run the meter on what is known as a "personal trip." Basically, any time you run your car and you don't want to get hired, you run your meter to turn off the "vacant" light. There are no "OFF DUTY" indicators on a Houston taxi like there are in New York or other major cities. Besides, this also gave me an idea of how to stop the meter and reset it at a new destination. I went to Wal-Mart to get myself a new pair of walking shoes. I wanted something black, made of fabric, and something I would NOT have to put a shine on. I'll keep them clean and neat, but I'm sick of doing the GI Joe thing with my leather shoes all the damn time. I also found a power inverter for 30 bucks that should keep my laptop running with my Cricket stick in the car and I scored some new Zebra pens. Basically, I just want the "office" aspect of what I'm doing squared away before I start working.
"Wait a minute," you may ask, "if you have a car, why aren't you running around collecting fares?"
This is the truly beautiful part of starting with Houston Yellow. My first day's lease isn't due until 1pm tomorrow. And, because it's only $9.50, I'm in no rush to run blindly out and do something crazy without re-studying some of the things I feel like I'm weak on. I'm going to look at some of the trip computer things I haven't revisited in a while (I took that class two weeks ago) and I'm not going to work until 5a.m. tomorrow. I've worked out a plan of attack with one of the licensee managers and he stated I already live in a good area of town and that I don't have to drift too far from home to go get a fare. Westheimer at the Beltway already has a good smattering of hotels, eateries... and at night, the very interesting club life on Richmond (Men of LaBare, anyone?) - and of course, I'm directly in between the Galleria and West Oaks Mall.
For now, I'm going to do one more walk around The Crunkmobile, drag all my ill-gotten gains inside the house and assemble my "office" in my laptop bag so everything has a place and is in it's place so I don't have any sneaking surprises tomorrow. I can just drag the bag out, put it in the front seat, put my 30 day temp in the license holder up front, and go get it.
You should see my get-up too. Red shirt with white collar and cuffs, my black leather vest, and a half-fedora/half-bowler hat. I shall be Sharpie McSharpenstein (tm).
Whether the first day merits a blog entry or not remains to be seen. As it is, the adventure for tonight is to figure out how I'm going to make myself go to sleep so I can get ample rest before I have to rouse myself at 4am. That should be an adventure. I want to get up early so I can do the Denny's breakfast thing. Nothing fancy, just an All-American Slam and iced tea, but I already know I'm in the mood to have someone else cook. And, if the first day is really worth shouting about, I'm probably going to finish it off by going to Anime Night at the Alamo again.
Two weeks in a row of Anime Night... can I stand the strain? Stay tuned and find out!
-MisterMan
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I Thought It Was Just The Bureaucracy, but...
Take these issues, put them together, and decide for yourself.
Today was the day I was going to take GHTCs shuttle to the medical clinic for my driver physical and drug test, plus my little trip to the airport for my written drivers' exam. I did those things, and then...
"They screwed up your drug test," the answer came back from the inspector on the other side of the counter.
"Beg pardon?" I said.
"It says here you tested positive for opiates."
"Yes, I have an arthritic condition that requires something stronger than over the counter medication, what of it?"
"We'll need a note from your doctor, on his official letterhead, saying he prescribed the medication for you," she said... and then, her supervisor said as well. Feh.
I get it, the City doesn't want a bunch of potheads, crackheads and pillheads (don't even get me started on drunks) running around in taxicabs.
I go to my doctor's office, and I don't even get to see my doctor. The little man at the window decides to tell me that the doctor is getting ready to close up the office, and that he'd be able to write the letter in "3-5 business days."
3-5 business days? To write a letter that's barely one page? Right. I dismissed myself before I bit his head off.
In retrospect, those things may not be issues after all for one real reason. I can submit a new drug test to the City that's clean, and they'll move forward with my licensing process.
"Clean." Even I have to bite my lip a little when I think about that. It's not that I'm "unclean" because of it. If OTC pain relievers and antiinflammatories did anything for what I have, I'd be taking them. I'd be gladly trading the crunk feeling I have during my first two hours of taking a vicodin for the feeling of, well, nothing. The fact is that my brain fights off so much pain from this that my mood elevates and I walk better when I take my painkillers. However, to run the residue out of my system, I am trying to manage with Advil for today and early tomorrow to see if the whiz quiz pops negative for me tomorrow morning. Generally speaking, there is no amount of codeine that stays in my system for much more than 24 hours, and I can only guess that Wednesday's fluke was due to the fact that I had a flare up at 2:30 in the morning that required an extra dose of steroids and another vike to get me where I could sleep again.
Trust me. When pain prevents you from sleeping, you've got yourself some damn pain, brother.
In any case, I'm pretty confident I can get another drug test and have it pop negative for me.
However, there's an old saying about things happening in threes.
So, I run down to the grocery store last night with all my spare change looking for something sweet. I run it into the machine, it spits me out a voucher for 7 bucks and the cashiers won't take them anymore. I have to go to Customer Service, which is of course closed by the time I get to the window.
Anyway, I took care of it this morning and scored some Doritos and a small tub of sour cream. My cravings had changed overnight.
All in all, I look at yesterday as the day that was just meant to see how I handled small disappointments. Sometimes, you just wind up pouring a little wine on your head and keep on dancing.
Anyway, tomorrow I'll try the drug test thing again and record my post Super Bowl issue of Sports Illustrated. Life will go on and I should be driving by Monday.
G
Today was the day I was going to take GHTCs shuttle to the medical clinic for my driver physical and drug test, plus my little trip to the airport for my written drivers' exam. I did those things, and then...
"They screwed up your drug test," the answer came back from the inspector on the other side of the counter.
"Beg pardon?" I said.
"It says here you tested positive for opiates."
"Yes, I have an arthritic condition that requires something stronger than over the counter medication, what of it?"
"We'll need a note from your doctor, on his official letterhead, saying he prescribed the medication for you," she said... and then, her supervisor said as well. Feh.
I get it, the City doesn't want a bunch of potheads, crackheads and pillheads (don't even get me started on drunks) running around in taxicabs.
I go to my doctor's office, and I don't even get to see my doctor. The little man at the window decides to tell me that the doctor is getting ready to close up the office, and that he'd be able to write the letter in "3-5 business days."
3-5 business days? To write a letter that's barely one page? Right. I dismissed myself before I bit his head off.
In retrospect, those things may not be issues after all for one real reason. I can submit a new drug test to the City that's clean, and they'll move forward with my licensing process.
"Clean." Even I have to bite my lip a little when I think about that. It's not that I'm "unclean" because of it. If OTC pain relievers and antiinflammatories did anything for what I have, I'd be taking them. I'd be gladly trading the crunk feeling I have during my first two hours of taking a vicodin for the feeling of, well, nothing. The fact is that my brain fights off so much pain from this that my mood elevates and I walk better when I take my painkillers. However, to run the residue out of my system, I am trying to manage with Advil for today and early tomorrow to see if the whiz quiz pops negative for me tomorrow morning. Generally speaking, there is no amount of codeine that stays in my system for much more than 24 hours, and I can only guess that Wednesday's fluke was due to the fact that I had a flare up at 2:30 in the morning that required an extra dose of steroids and another vike to get me where I could sleep again.
Trust me. When pain prevents you from sleeping, you've got yourself some damn pain, brother.
In any case, I'm pretty confident I can get another drug test and have it pop negative for me.
However, there's an old saying about things happening in threes.
So, I run down to the grocery store last night with all my spare change looking for something sweet. I run it into the machine, it spits me out a voucher for 7 bucks and the cashiers won't take them anymore. I have to go to Customer Service, which is of course closed by the time I get to the window.
Anyway, I took care of it this morning and scored some Doritos and a small tub of sour cream. My cravings had changed overnight.
All in all, I look at yesterday as the day that was just meant to see how I handled small disappointments. Sometimes, you just wind up pouring a little wine on your head and keep on dancing.
Anyway, tomorrow I'll try the drug test thing again and record my post Super Bowl issue of Sports Illustrated. Life will go on and I should be driving by Monday.
G
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