Sketchbook Cabbie, Part Deux
More human stories coming from the backseat of my taxi cab
For a short time, only on weekends, to earn extra cash, I drove a cab. The gig was brief but poignant in ways I never would have expected. I learned a lot about people and human experience from those I drove. Only occasionally would I catch a glimpse, in my rear view mirror of who in the backseat I was driving. I mostly listened to them talk. I’d ask a few questions. The stories I heard were imbued with a palpable sense of tragedy, comedy, despair, and hope.
In my idle moments, I would write in my journal and make sketches, after the fact, from memory, at the taxi stand, while waiting for my next fare. I’ve written about my musings as a Marin County cabdriver before. Here are a few more.
Walkin’ to Oregon
Parked at Vista Point at the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge, I strike up a conversation with an Irishman, who’s walking from Santa Cruz, California to the Oregon border. His name is Major Finbar O’Shaughnessy of Hollywood, Ireland. He’s sweaty from carrying a heavy backpack, after a five day journey. He’s fallen behind his pack of hiking buddies. I offer to drive him into Sausalito for free. I don’t think he’ll break any rules in order to catch up. I ask him about the camo clothes he’s wearing, so he tells me he’s on a furlough from a 4-year tour of duty in Afghanistan with the Royal Irish Mounted Rangers. He’s going back into service after this adventure. The guy is in great shape and looks a lot younger than the age he says he is. He tells me he has a wife and seven grown kids back home. He’s lived a full life, with a few weeks of independence left to call his own. After the drop off, he insists on sending me a bottle of Irish whisky when he returns home, for the favor I provide. Cheerio, mate!
Dude, Help Me Get My Car Back?
It’s a Saturday afternoon and I’m driving a few miles from the Budget Motel to the Marin Vehicle Pound in Corte Madera. Faux Jay and Silent Bob (I call them) are in the back of my cab about to smoke a joint. They need to get their car back. These two stoners had it impounded the day before by the U.S. Park Police after being arrested smoking pot.
“We were on Muir Beach. It was just a little hash, ok,” he tells me.
“Didn’t you know you were on federal land, guys?” I inquire.
Silent Bob answers, ”I’ll bet if we jumped in the ocean, they couldn’t arrest us.”
This is the tone of the conversation on the drive over.
“Guys, you gotta roll down the window, okay?” I say.
I find them a bit amusing until they ask me, “Can you drive the car off the lot for us. They need to see a license. We can give you $20.”
“Where’s your license?,” I ask.
“In the glove compartment, dude.”
“Hmmmmm,” I wonder.
“We need to get back to Colorado,” he adds.
I figure I should consider helping them get out of Marin.
At the impound, Ron, the tow truck operator has no tolerance for their attitude. Silent Bob hands over some form…a request to retrieve the vehicle.
“Where’s the title and registration”, Ron asks. “I need the title and registration for the vehicle.”
“Dude, I just bought the car two days ago,” says Silent Bob.
“Then where’s the title transfer,” Ron asks.
“In the glove compartment, maybe.”
Off we trot past the gate that Ron unlocks. I’m trailing further behind.
The car door gets unlocked and Faux Jay goes into the glove compartment.
“Dude, the cops musta took ‘em.”
“Okay,” Ron suggests. “You need to go to the DMV and get a copy of the title and get it signed, then come back. I can’t give you the car till then.”
“Dude, no way!”
Back in the cab, my stoners are bummed, as I drive them back to the Budget Motel.
“It’s $85 bucks a day for the impound, “ Silent Bob says.
“You guys, I’ll take $20 for this little excursion,” I’m done. “By the way, it’s a holiday on Monday so you’ve got a few days to wait.”
“Dude,” murmurs Faux Jay, “Hey, there’s a P.J. Changs Restaurant over there. I gotta eat.”
New Jersey Family: Back to Reality
I’m parked at the taxi stand in Sausalito. I watch tourists rush off the ferry from San Francisco. A cute family approaches. The Dad, Mom and the two kids are from New Jersey and want to go to the Marine Mammal Center. They’re so excited, especially the kids. They tell me that for the past year, they’ve contributed to the Adopt-a-Seal Program and more directly to the rehabilitation of Astro, the steller sea lion. Astro was brought to the Center as a pup with injuries from a shark. The vet staff brought him back to life, tagged him with a GPS device and returned him to the Pacific. After a few years Astro was brought back with Toxic Algae Poisoning, a tragically common issue that seals are inflicted with. I take them on the short trip through the old tunnel to the Center just up from Rodeo Beach. I provide some of my tourism info. They are keen to know. I drop them off at the Marine Mammal Center’s new building.
Dad books me for the return trip in an hour and a half. I drive them back around the Marin Headlands and use their camera to snap the photo for their next Christmas card. It’s a good shot with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge below and San Francisco beyond that. The mother and the young son are talking. “Would you like to live here,” she says to him. ‘No’, he says. ‘I want to go back to reality.’ The young ones always need to go home.
Two Ex-Cons Released to My Cab
San Quentin Prison releases parolees every Saturday and Sunday morning at 8:00 at the San Rafael Bus Depot. As I sit at the taxi stand, the unmarked prison van with darkened windows pulls up and lets out about a dozen freedom-loving cons. In an instant they all scramble out in their gray sweat suits to the buses or to one of the waiting cabs. Two older dudes approach mine. One wants to negotiate a flat fee to downtown San Francisco. The typical fare on the meter runs about $70, plus bridge toll. But I tell him it’ll be $50 total, since I need the gig. I insist they pay me upfront as they get in. No sooner am I pulling away from the curb than one of them demands we stop at Subway for a sandwich. I deal with it. After that detour we’re off down Highway 101 to the city.
Each man has been in San Quentin for about 80 days. “It was crowded,” they say. The California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation gives a released inmate $1.10 for each day they’re in prison. They’re required to buy those gray sweats. With the money they gave me for the trip, they can’t have much left for liquor, which is what they’re talking about now. I push on, over the Golden Gate Bridge and into downtown. I drop them at the Goodwill Store at Mission and Van Ness. They want to buy some new (used) clothes, so as to blend in. I bid them well.
Recidivism rates for men in the U.S. are currently at 90%. Odds are, I’ll they’ll be back in my cab or someone else’s after their next release. I provide transport and no judgment. That’s enough.
Bipolar Expres
I pick up people up in my cab and for a very brief time I get a ‘slice of their life’. Nat tells me he writes a blog called Bipolar Express about his life with bipolar disorder. He shares his coping strategies in order to inform, to educate and to entertain.
He tells me he wants to break the stigma around it. “I’ve come out of the bipolar closet,” he says. “People think it’s contagious. They don’t appreciate what people afflicted with bipolar disorder have to offer. Did you know DaVinci had it?”
I can sympathize a bit. We artists think differently and respond creatively in nontraditional ways. For Nate, life is tough enough, especially with his brain disorder. But he’s creative and proactive and wants to make a contribution. I dig that.
All drawings © Bill Russell
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Thanks for sharing your slice of life characters. Your stories come alive with your sketches!