Thanks for the Tip!

I used to be a regular contributor to a Phoenix area entertainment guide known as Fast Lane Magazine in a column called "Road Rage: Tales from the Taxi." The following story first appeared in my column published in the January 8, 2004 issue. This keep this in mind while reading it, as there are some less than timely references to Christmas and Saddam Hussein.

I decided to post this piece here, at this time, because I thought it would be a nice complement to my last posting, which involved roast beef sandwiches and bumper-stickers, but also included a rant about how some people don't tip. Okay, the part about Saddam Hussein isn't really germain to the whole tipping thing, but it was in the column then, and for the sake of artistic integrity (giggle!) I've left it in here. Here goes...

Hello again, my friends, it’s certainly good to see you! I’m glad we’ve had this opportunity to get together, as I hope that what I have to say will bring some joy into your lives at this most festive time of the year. Here we are, near the end of yet another year. My year was certainly full and blessed, and I hope yours was, also. Although, for personal reasons of belief I do not celebrate Christmas, I do so enjoy this time of year as people make plans to celebrate with loved ones, and also make plans for the New Year to come.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I do think that we have quite a lot to celebrate about. For one, everyone who is reading this column has, at the very least, survived another year, and had at least that opportunity to improve their situation, and that of their loved ones. For another, although, sadly, America is still virtually at war in Iraq, that arch-enemy of peace, Saddam Hussein, has been hunted to the ground, quite literally, and captured, thus bringing us, and the Iraqi people, just a little bit closer to closure in this matter. As your Cab Guy, I was amused at the news that there was a taxi parked outside of the house where Saddam’s hidey-hole was discovered. Apparently, he had been using it to get around during the time that he was on the run. I wonder if he was a big tipper? My instinct tells me that if the driver even asked for the fare, let alone a tip, he would have received a bullet in his head for his troubles!

I don’t know about you, but I wonder how Saddam felt in his last few days of freedom. In moments of quiet reverie, I pretend I am he, and imagine what he would think:

“You know, I never would have thought it would come to this, trapped in this shitty little hole in the ground. I mean come on! I’m Saddam Hussein, the dictator of Iraq, chief of what was once the fourth largest army on the planet. For over thirty years I’ve done things my own way. If someone didn’t like it, tough shit, I fed them a bullet."

"Where did I slip up? Was it Iran? Kuwait? The Kurds, damn their eyes? What? What went wrong? Those puissant Americans! Who would have thought a couple of Bushes could have brought down a might oak like myself?"

"And so here I am, stuck in this shitty little hole in the ground, sharing a blanket with about a million lice, down to my last $750,000 dollars. Shit… this really sucks!”

I wonder if Saddam Hussein ever thinks about me? I don’t know, maybe Fast Lane Magazine makes it to Iraq every now and again. If that’s the case…

“Hey Saddam… think your little grotto in the desert sucked? (Pointing to my crotch) Suck this, you miserable little canker sore!”

Alright, enough about that guy, I’d better shut up before I really get started. Let’s move on to the actual humor section of this edition of Road Rage. Allow me to bring to you an amusing little tale of whimsy, entitled:


"Thanks for the Tip!"

The other day I was talking to another cab guy that I know. (Notice how he is “cab guy” in lower-case? There can only be one upper-case “Cab Guy”, and he is me!) After chipping our gums for a few minutes, he told me that yet another cab guy had just told him a story that he thought would be perfect for my column. Smart-ass that I am, I told him that I was the sole judge of all things perfect for my column, but he could take his best shot. So he told me the story that the other cab guy had just finished telling him.

I had to admit, that it would, in fact, be perfect for my column. Always desiring to hear the story straight from the horse’s ass, I mean, mouth, I gave him my card, and asked him to have the other guy call me when he next saw him. Well, last night the other guy called me to tell his tale, and since I was still scraping around for something to put in this edition of Road Rage, I welcomed the timeliness of his call. Anyway, the fellow’s name is Alan P., and like me, he has driven a cab in the Valley for a number of years, and has seen a lot of crap in those years. I have to admit, I have never heard anything like this story before, so I’m going to let Alan tell you in his own (paraphrased) words:

“Well, the other day, I picked up this lady who told me that she needed to get home. She told me where she lived, so off we went. Had I’d know what was going to happen, I would have asked for the money up front, because I knew it was going to be about a $30.00 fare, but as she was reasonably well dressed, and wasn’t acting weird, I didn’t even consider her to be the type of person who would “cab and dash.”

"As we pulled into her apartment complex, she told me that the speed bumps were really terrible, and that I needed to slow way down. As we came up on a speed bump, she reminded me to slow down, which I did, almost to a full stop. When I did that, she was out of the car like a shot. By the time that I put the car in park, got out of my seat belt and got out of the car, she had already made her way between two buildings in the complex, and was gone.'

"Well, obviously I was more that a little pissed, and disappointed at the loss of thirty dollars, but, it wasn’t the first time ever that I was stiffed, and probably won’t be the last time, so I sucked it up and went back to the car. When I got to the car, I went ahead and checked out the back seat, like I always do after every passenger, just to see if she had left anything of value behind. Imagine my shock when I saw a lady’s clutch purse there on the back seat."

"I opened the door to retrieve the purse. Imagine my delight to see, upon opening the purse, that not only was my passenger’s picture ID was in the wallet, but the address on the wallet was for the complex where I had let her off! But wait, there’s more! Guess what else was in the purse? $65.00! What a stupid lady she was, to run out on a thirty dollar fare, leaving her purse, ID and sixty-five dollars behind!"

"The way I figure it, she probably was just a little pressed for time, so rather that hold it against her, I took the money, put into the wallet a note that said, “Thanks for the big tip, I appreciate it!”, and turned her purse in at the complex office!”

I couldn’t resist telling that story to several other people, who all agreed that it was definitely worthy of inclusion in Road Rage. But wait, there’s more! Cab drivers are as a group, like many other groups, subject to telling war stories. Put two or more cabbies together at one location, and sooner or later, one of them will say, “Hey, I got to tell you about this fare that I had the other day!”, and then proceed to tell a story that the other cabbie has likely lived through. (You know what I mean, it’s like Hollywood: although the actors may be different, the plot rarely changes.) When he’s finished, the second guy will probably tell a story, and likely as not, try to top the first guy’s story.

Well, in this instance, I was not surprised to hear someone tell me what they would have done, had Alan’s story happened to him. This guy, let’s just call him “Pete” says he would have tacked a different ending on to his story. Really, I say, do tell! And so he did. Here’s Pete’s version:

“Well, if I had found that broad’s purse, I’d have taken the money alright, but I wouldn’t have stopped there. I would have wanted her to suffer a little bit, just like me, and I would have wanted to watch. So what I would have done, after stashing the cash, would have been to call the cops, had them come over, and bang on her door. I think it would have been a real hoot to see her sweat, having to explain herself to the cop who told her she had to pay up or go to jail: ‘But, Officer, I had sixty-five dollars in that purse. You should be arresting him for stealing thirty-five dollars from me!’ Man, I would have loved seeing her in the hot seat! It would have been sweet. Of course, after a little while of watching her squirm I’d have told the cop I couldn't waste anymore time, I needed to get back to work, and let her off the hook!”

I told Pete that I thought he was a true gentleman, but I don’t really think that he grasped the irony of my statement.

Well, yet another cabbie, “Jack” seems like as good a name as any, heard me tell Alan’s story, and Pete’s rejoinder, and I guess he just couldn’t resist having a little fun himself, because he said that he had something to throw into the mix.

“Well, I’ve got to agree with Pete. I’d have taken the money, stashed it away, and then called the cops, also. It would have been sweet to see her squirming around like a worm on a hook. I live for shit like that. But there is no way I would have let her off the hook that easy! You’ve got to teach people like that a lesson, one they’re never, ever, going to forget. I call that lesson, ‘Stick it in me, and I’ll break it off in you!’ What I’d have done, when the cops got there, is let her go through her song and dance about having money in the purse. I’m sure that at some point the officer would have said something like, ‘If you had sixty-five dollars in your wallet, why didn’t you just give him thirty of it and be done. Now you owe him the thirty that was on the meter when you ran, plus whatever’s been rung up since then. From here, I can see that the meter is up to sixty dollars, and it’s still running. I suggest you give him that amount, or I’ll have to arrest you for theft.’ I bet she’d have paid up. Now, that’s my idea of justice!”

I’m sure that somewhere, right now as you read this, some cab guy is telling Alan’s story to another cab guy, and throwing in his two cents. I’m sure that sooner or later, one of these jokers is going to claim he would have done all that and more, up to and including hounding her until she ate a gun. One thing about cab guys: through us the milk of human kindness flows quite cold! Until the next time we meet, stay safe, and stay sane! See you next year!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy