The Hack Diaries: Day 1

Saturday morning. 4 AM.
Showed up for my first 12 hours shift with a large Dunkin Donuts Hazelnut and my unsullied ambition. My first cab was a Ford Sedan that had hack saw marks where it's ignition had once been and it wouldn't start so I told the dispatcher and he set me up with a cool mini-van.
Minivans seemed safer and more lucrative to me somehow. Minivans are soccer moms and little league kids heading for pizza, karate teams, cheerleaders and elderly people with lots of groceries.
Not many serial killers tend to favor the Town and Country so I took some comfort in that.In addition, there was a drink holder for my Dunkin Donuts coffee cup and it seemed sturdy. Once I was set and the mileage was set to go and gave the Dispater the "Car 38 Clear" he sent me on my first job.
I set the GPS to Furnace Brook Parkway, which was a long road but familiar and close by.My first fare turned out to be a 22 year old girl who wasn’t going far, but the one mile walk seemed too far to do the walk of shame in Do-Me boots. – 2.20 tip. Fair gratuity for a short enough ride. Her phone looked like it cost more than my watch, but it’s all part of the costume of the young, which I took into account.
After that I cruised around some of the stands to see which one looked empty and in need of cabs despite the earliness of the hour. I sat at the Quincy Center T station for a while, the radio was quiet as I’d expected a Sunday morning to be. I figured I’d shoot the breeze with a couple of other drivers who I’d hope would share a kinship rather than a rivalry. I lucked out and shook a couple of hands.
As I was the first one there, I took the first fare to get off the train in search of a ride. A punkish kid in his mid 20s with a purple streak down the center of his hand and a canvas bag around his acoustic guitar. I didn’t expect much from a busker, but he seemed safe. We talked and shared lots of dudes, mans, and bros. $1 tip. What the hell. I was new enough to be grateful. Have a good one.
The radio was quiet between 7 and 8 until I got a call not too faraway from my spot at the Kam Man Asian Market. It turned out to be a waitress at the local IHOP who knew the value of a tip to hand me a whole $10 for a 6.60 fair.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I ventured.
She said, “sure,” no hesitation. Are those cream filled footballs back on the menu at IHOP now that football season is back.
“Absolutely, aren’t those good?” she said enthusiastically. Perhaps she was trying to get that tip back in trade. “They’re part of our featured menu now.”
I told her she’d see me this week.
Driving a cab wasn’t as scary as I’d expect it.
New York City cab drivers tend to get flagged down by people walking. In Quincy, it’s usually someone who calls for a cab to pick them up. Those aren’t as scary as the random types who stick you with a screwdriver if you go to a different church than they do. Besides, more often than not, we have their address to pick up or drop off. We can find them. The violent types don’t tend to give their addresses or destinations.
For example, I picked up a fare from Faxon Commons who needed to getto North Station to catch a train in fifteen minutes. I got her there. I drove faster than I tend to on my own for the reasons that A)it wasn’t my car and B) I had a tip riding on it. She scanned her credit card and it didn’t register. She scanned it again with one foot out the door, then she asked me to come to her apartment to get the $50 fare later that night.I stopped by several times, leaving a note on my business card. She called me and left a voice mail at 10 PM, after I was in deep REM sleep, then the next morning and asked me to come get the fare. The mention I would be calling the police seemed to grease her wheels in making good.Later in the day, I brought my van to help a couple of guys move some equipment, a TV, some computer stuff and a few IKEA artworks about four blocks. At the end of my shift, I found a state of the art laptop in the passenger shotgun seat. I drove to where I’d dropped him off and buzzed every mailbox but no go. His neighbor happened to know him,so I left him a business card. He called me the next morning and I met him at Quincy Center T station while on lunch and he tipped me more than his total fare had been the day before. He has my card, he knows I’m honorable and I expect he’ll be calling back. The tip got me a Nathan’s #4 combo platter lunch.
On the whole life is good. I feel good. I feel honorable. Looking forward to driving in the driving rain from Hurricane Earl next weekend. Guys named Earl don't scare me. The hurricane has the name of a toothless guy in a trucker cap who works at a Citgo Station. How scary can he be?