You Want to Go Where?

Sunday morning when I came out to work, it didn't appear as if there were very many calls on the dispatch system. Certainly, none of them were anywhere near me. So I went on down to the Greyhound Bus Station to see what I could scare up. I wasn't disappointed.

As soon as I pulled onto the property, I saw that no other taxis were waiting for fares, so I was first up. I pulled the cab right up in front of the door, and sat back to await my first fare of the day. I didn't have to wait long, nor did I have to go very far to get that person where he was going.

Upon my return to the Greyhound I found that I was first up again. Once again I pulled up right in front of the door to wait for a fare. But this time, rather than kicking back in the cab, I got out to stretch my legs. Three cabs pulled in almost immediately, so I knew that I'd have someone to talk to if the wait was long. But, getting out of the cab, and leaning against the trunk must have been interpreted as an invitation to have a conversation, as a leather-jacketed man made a beeline over to my cab.

But I was wrong about him wanting to have a conversation. He wanted to talk alright: about how to get him from where he was, to where he wanted to go. The problem was, while where he was could be described in the physical world, where he wanted to go seemed to be more in the realm of an intellectual concept. The Phoenix Greyhound Bus station, having a particular address and cross streets, could be located on a map. His destination, lacking even an accurate proper name, could not be located, even in his own mind.

You see, where he wanted to go was the hotel where he had a reservation and a confirmation number, which he showed me written down a piece of paper. But he couldn't remember the name of the hotel.

"I want to go to the AmeriBest Hotel. Do you know where it is?", he asks.

"No, but I have a phone book, I can look up the address."

"You don't need to do that, I have the phone number right here," and showed me the piece of paper again.

I dialed the number, and wasn't surprised to find it out of service.

"The number's disconnected, sir."

"Well, maybe it isn't AmeriBest, maybe it America's Best."

Well, maybe it is, but 'America's Best' isn't listed in the phone book either, and I tell the guy that. Then I get the bright idea to ask some of the other cabbies if they might have a clue to where the guy wants to go. After consulting one cabbie who actually had what appeared to be a list of Phoenix area hotels, I thought that maybe where to guy wanted to go was 'America's Best Value Inn' in Tempe. The guy said it sounded familiar, he wasn't sure, but he was willing to take a chance. So we drove out to Tempe.

I had a nice conversation with the man, who's name turned out to be Eric. He had just come up from Benson, in southern Arizona, to start a new job with a trucking company. He would be staying at the hotel overnight, and in the morning, someone from the company would pick him up and take him to the truck yard, where he would pick up the semi-truck that he would be driving. He said he sure hoped that the hotel we were going to was the right one, otherwise, he didn't know what he'd have to do.

"Maybe next time write down the name and address of the hotel before leaving home?", I thought.

"Well, sir, if it's not the right place, there's lots of other places close by. I wouldn't worry about anything," I said.

After a leisurely ten minute drive, we pulled into the America's Best Value Inn. At this point the meter was at about $18.00. Eric went inside to see if he was in the right place. After a minute, I joined him. It turned out he wasn't in the right place. He did have a reservation at an America's Best Value Inn. But it was clear on the other side of Phoenix, as far west of the Greyhound as the one in Tempe was east of it.

After I jotted down the address of the other place, Eric and I hit the road again. This time we had a leisurely twenty-minute ride, but the conversation was still good. Eric wasn't mad at me for taking him to what turned out to be the wrong place. After all, he said, I did the best I could with the information I had. He didn't even seem to be too upset that by his own actions he had effectively tripled his cab fare. He seemed to be one of those perpetually calm people who take what comes their way, making no attempt to control what he can about what goes on around him.

Arriving at the other America's Best Value Inn, the meter now read $48.00. Eric gave me three twenties, and asked for two dollars back. Ten on forty-eight? Not a bad tip at all!

"I want you to have the extra ten for helping me as much as you did, making the phone calls and all. Thanks!"

"Well thank you, Eric. Good luck on the new job. Maybe I'll see you around some time."

With that, I got in the cab, and drove away. Back to the Greyhound. Where I was again instantly first up.

But I was think about how I was going to tell this story, and how I would end it. I decided it needed a moral, so I spent all the rest of Sunday composing it. And here it is:

"Everyone will eventually get to where they are going. But if they write down the name and address of their destination, they'll get there much. much quicker. And much, much cheaper!"

Thanks for listening.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy