Goodbye for now

Posted in Personal Stories on November 29, 2009 by Jay

When I responded to a craigslist ad looking for cab drivers in the Chicago suburbs, our family was in increasingly desperate financial straits. I thought my unemployment benefits were about to run out and I was looking for something, anything, to pay some bills and help us stay afloat. I knew next to nothing about driving a taxi.

In an initial conversation with someone at the dispatch office, I learned that to become a regular driver, I’d have to watch a video, complete some on-the-job training, pass an exam and pay a whopping $450 DOLLAR A WEEK cab lease!

I hadn’t planned on that last part.

I had immediate doubts about whether it made sense to go forward. But then, we got some unexpected news. My final unemployment check showed up and it wasn’t, in fact, the final check. My benefits had been extended another twenty weeks.

So I consulted Taxi Wife and we decided I should give the cab thing a go. Perhaps, we thought, I could drive enough hours to pay the lease and bring in a couple hundred extra bucks.

It seemed plausible. I was determined to make it work. But a little over two months into the adventure, the writing was on the wall. Any visions I had of a wallet, stuffed with cash, were, well, just that–visions.

So a little over two weeks ago, I said goodbye to taxi driving.

On the surface, little has changed. Our family’s financial situation is as difficult today as it was the day I picked up my first passenger. My job prospects seem almost as bleak. But something is different. Something inside me changed when I got behind the wheel of that taxi and began writing. I felt less alone, less afraid of the future, more connected to my creative core, an essential part of who I am that I’d allowed to wither under the depressing weight of long-term unemployment.

It’s precisely those core parts of ourselves–and doing whatever we have to do to hold on to them–that help us summon the will to stand and fight in a crisis.

I’d kinda forgotten that. Recession Taxi helped me remember.

I want to stop here and offer thanks and huge hugs to family and friends who made donations to the site. The money helped pay the Fleet Master on a few, very thin weeks. I also want to thank everyone who read my posts and took the time to comment, even once.

I’m busy pitching freelance pieces left and right and am also brainstorming on an idea for a new blog. I hope to have more on that soon.

In the meantime, best wishes for a wonderful, peaceful holiday season and thanks for reading.

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Being biracial in a mixed-up world

Posted in Personal Stories with tags , , on November 29, 2009 by Jay

That’s the title of Taxi Wife’s beautifully-written new piece in the Chicago Tribune. Of course, I’m biased. You can read it here.

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Good Luck in the North!

Posted in Taxi Stories with tags , , , , on November 10, 2009 by Jay

safe_image.phpThe call came yesterday, a little unexpectedly, around lunchtime. I’d just left the taxi dispatch office, where I’d cashed out some senior citizen coupons for a whopping sum of $9.00.

Hello John

I can put you today in car in the north.  I already have driver for 875. 168 is open and at shop!

There was no talk of any car auction or what type of vehicle I’d be getting. The Fleet Master simply ordered me to the special garage. We’d meet there and do the exchange.

I sped off, my curiosity building.

I imagined a white Crown Vic or maybe even a Honda or Kia sedan with “168” plastered on the front and back windshields. I gripped the steering wheel of the Windstar tight, my moments as her commander fading away. I’d miss the old beast, to be sure, my very first taxicab. But change happens every five minutes in the post-modern, recession-ravaged economy, right?

There’s no crying in cab driving!

I had to go on. I had to be strong.

I turned into the alley and pulled to a stop on the sidewalk outside the Fleet Master’s Special Garage. The Fleet Master hadn’t shown up yet, but a tall, strapping Russian guy in a track jacket was walking back and forth, staring at me, as I unloaded my stuff from the Windstar.

Finally, he approached.

Who are you here to see?

The Fleet Master sent me, I told him. I’m supposed to meet him here.

He’s coming here? I work for the Fleet Master. Hold on a minute.

He dialed the Fleet Master on his cell phone, had a short conversation with him in Russian and walked back over to where I was standing.

You take that one, he said, pointing to a white minivan, parked behind a beat-up sedan.

As I walked closer, I could hardly believe my good fortune. It looked like a Windstar, but this was no Windstar. No sir. I was about to assume command of a most special vehicle. I’m calling her the TC-168—a 2002 or 2003 Chrysler Town and Country, a veritable mansion on wheels.

Now, when I was just a boy, a Chrysler was one classy ride. And I’m happy to report that after just a few minutes behind the wheel, I knew the TC-168 would be a fine standard bearer of this tradition of fine craftsmanship and excellence.

Aesthetically, the TC-168 has almost all of its original leather bucket seats. There’s a slamming stereo, with a big, booming bassy speaker system. The pick up mostly kills, the brakes don’t make any noise, and with a little over a hundred and fifty-five thousand miles on her, the TC-168 is just a child compared to the more ragged, physically challenged Windstar.

But should I get too disoriented during my transition to this sleek new vehicle, there are some features that will make it feel like the van I came to call my second home.

When you turn the TC-168 on a “service engine soon” warning shows up on the dash, and stays there, much like that little illuminated picture of an engine did in the Windstar. And sometimes, when you try to accelerate quickly, and I mean really accelerate, the TC-168’s engine, much like the Windstar’s, revs, whines and growls to the point of near explosion, the vehicle tottering along slowly, before finally rocketing forward.

An hour or so after driving away, I pulled up to the dispatch office to complete the format transfer. The Fleet Master arrived a few minutes after I did and came over to greet me.

Hello Johnny!

He sometimes calls me Johnny now, a sign of our growing bond.

He took me into the office to fill out paperwork and make copies of my driving record and license. As I stood there, the guy taking over the Windstar stood in a doorway. People were trying to speak explain things to him, but he didn’t speak a word of English and looked like he hadn’t been in America very long.

The paperwork completed now, the Fleet Master wished me well.

Good Luck Johnny!

Good luck in the North!


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Little Pink Taxi

Posted in Taxi Stories with tags , , on November 6, 2009 by Jay

f2461d38-4d5f-41ab-b2c9-4d1fe678134b.hmediumThe Mexican city of Puebla is fighting back against the harrasement women sometimes endure at the hands of male taxi drivers. How is Puebla doing it? By taking the men out of the equation.

 

 

(Photo: Joel Merino/AP)

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Headin’ For the Boarder (of Wisconsin that is)

Posted in In the News, Personal Stories, Polls, Recession Stories, Taxi Stories with tags , , , , , , , , on November 5, 2009 by Jay

safe_image.phpWell, not exactly that far north.

But an exciting opportunity has presented itself.

The Fleet Master has generously offered Recession Taxi the opportunity to change territories and vehicles!

Here’s the deal.

I’d be moving, from northern Cook County–where I’ve been driving for the last two months–to southern Lake County. Financially, it will actually work out better: more local territory to cover, more expensive rides to and from both airports and the city and a less expensive cab lease. Equally as appealing, though, are the expanded storytelling opportunities. I plan to continue writing about my daily taxi adventures, my dealings with my Fleet Master and our family’s struggle in this recession. Moving north, though, gives me an opportunity to broaden my exploration of the human toll this recession has exacted and what’s going to be required to heal and recover.

Try these numbers on for size:

211.8%, 161.8%, 60.9%

Those are the amounts home foreclosures have gone up–in just the past year–in three of the communities I’ll be spending my days driving around in, according to a report released this week by the Woodstock Institute.

Through writing, still photography, audio and video, I hope to shed a little light on the stories behind those numbers.

But first thing’s first! I need your help!

In a phone call yesterday, the Fleet Master and I discussed my impending move. He’s thrilled. He’s got guys lining up, three deep, to jump into the cockpit of the USS Windstar 875. The big question: what will I be driving?

John, I put you in a car on Monday. I go to auction this weekend to buy car. I could put you in Windstar or Dodge Caravan, but the Crown Vic is great car. In winter, you put fifty, sixty-pound bag of rock salt in trunk and you’re good.

Geez.

This is a key decision and I can’t make it alone.

Readers, please vote and help me choose my next vehicle! And thanks, for your ongoing support.

 

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The Kindness of Strangers

Posted in Personal Stories, Recession Stories with tags , , , , , , on October 30, 2009 by Jay

safe_image.phpI pulled the Windstar into the garage.

It was the end of a not especially lucrative day, but there was pot roast in the slow cooker.

I grabbed my bags and walked to the elevator. When I got off, I decided to check the mail. It was still sitting there in the box and as I thumbed through the catalogues and other junk, there was this letter. It was to my wife from some address I didn’t recognize, in Lake Zurich, IL. I held it in my hands. It had some heft to it. I ran my fingers across the front. There was something in there. I could feel it.

You got this, I said, handing it to my wife, as I put my things down. She looked at the return address, just as baffled as I. She tore open the envelope. Inside was some kind of card and a short, single-spaced letter.

Dear Tamara,

I read your article in yesterday’s Tribune…

My wife wrote this commentary about our family’s struggle in this recession. It ran in the Sunday paper, on the op-ed page.

It’s frightening how we all have fallen into a false sense of security as we go about our day-to-day lives.

Writing—be it a commentary, a short Tweet, a Facebook update or blog post—has become a recession tonic for us, a lifeline to sanity in a stormy time. Something happens when you remove the filter and plunge, really plunge, into the weeds of your situation in a public way and explore your fear, vulnerability, outrage and despair. You feel a little less alone, a little more able to endure. But you’re also more vulnerable to the unexpected bursts of silence and solidarity expressed, directly and indirectly, by friends, family and complete strangers.

My husband is in sales, and although he still has his job, revenue is down and so is the change in our pockets.

I’ve been struck by people’s response to our situation, especially as it’s grown more dire. Many friends and family have been right there, reaching out, steadfast:

“Hang in there.” “We’re thinking about you.” “You’re gonna get through this.”

Others, though, have kinda disappeared.

It’s really tempting to develop hard feelings about this.

But the reality and complexity of life cautions against it.

We read on, together now on the couch.

I’m enclosing a $25 dollar gift card to Jewel to help you and your family put some food on the table. It’s not much, but it’s what we can afford to give right now.

We looked at the gift card that had fallen out of the envelope, stunned.

This unexpected expression of kindness and compassion from a total stranger got me thinking.

How easy is it, in calmer times, to develop this heroic narrative about how you yourself would respond in a crisis, be it your own or that of someone you care about?

In my somewhat grandiose story, I’m the courageous, call anytime guy, coming to the rescue, day or night, in whatever way the situation requires.

Ha!

The problem with that fantasy is that it basically overlooks the messiness and struggle of daily life.

People are damn busy.

They have jobs, families, pets, relatives, mortgages, cars on the fritz, friends to see, errands to run, groceries to buy, meals to make and a million other things to do that make it hard to see anything, other than what’s right in front of them.

On top of that, it’s just hard to know the right thing to do or say, when people you love are suffering.

So sometimes, you don’t say anything.

I know. I’ve done it.

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Killing Me Softly

Posted in Taxi Stories with tags , , , , , on October 28, 2009 by Jay

safe_image.phpSo if you’ve been reading this blog for a bit, you’re well aware that the USS Windstar 875 has chronic health problems. Since my initial misadventures at the Fleet Master’s Special Garage, I’d wondered when the next ailment would rear its ugly head. Today, I got my answer.

Several days ago, the Fleet Master rang me.

Hello John. You must get emissions test.

He gave me the address of a state testing center and told me to get ‘er done. So today, I headed over there around lunchtime.

The emissions facility is up on a small hill. It’s in a neighborhood full of one-story buildings housing auto mechanics, body shops and various small-scale manufacturers.

I drove up and got in line. About ten minutes later, a geeky science guy in a blue state-issued jumpsuit was waving me forward into the testing garage. I pulled to a stop.

Now, I want to pause here and say that I’ve always known that I was basically driving a bucket of bolts on wheels. The Windstar ain’t no VW Routan. Hell, it ain’t even a Kia Sedona.

Still, I was shocked when science guy leaned in the driver side window and read the Windstar’s mileage out loud:

159,094! Holy Shit! (That would be me, not science guy.)

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Now, 159,054 is one thing when the vehicle is getting top-notch care. But the Windstar has been getting serviced at the Fleet Master’s Special Garage, where the automotive equivalents of Band-Aids and glue are the remedies of choice.

Science guy instructed me to get out of the front seat and go sit in a small waiting area. Two minutes later, he leaned his head in and told me to get back in the front seat and start the engine.

About ten seconds went by.

Your vehicle has failed the test.

Science guy then circled two numbered codes on the emissions report. Take care of these and come back before the end of December.

The Windstar, it turns out, has been belching toxic particulate matter from its exhaust pipe, slowly killing me, my passengers and the rest of humanity.

What a shock.

 

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The Hundred Dollar Ride

Posted in Taxi Stories with tags , , , , , on October 27, 2009 by Jay

safe_image.phpMonday can be a very schizophrenic taxi day. The early morning hours usually promise at least a couple rides to the airport, as business travelers head out of town. But after about 9:00-9:30 AM, you can just about fossilize in the seat of your cab. The taxi overloads are calling names, but not yours. And after a while, you begin to feel drugged, the heat coming through the air vents and the rapid-fire staccato of the dispatch radio putting you into an opiate-like, trance.

129 Ready! 132 Ready! 860 Ready! 50 Please do not short block! 123 at pick up!, 67 credit card approved!, 100, Zone 12—4th, 112 10-8!, 985 10-6, 839 post! 985 no order! 778 post, 2e, third, 885 ready!, 144 ready!, 880 ready!, 109 please go to the door, ring the bell or see the receptionist at the front desk!, 832 ready!

Yes, my master.

By mid-week, the hotel I’m sitting at right now will be full, buzzing with people in town for this conference or that meeting. You’ll drive them to their corporate compounds and back again at the end of the day. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll take a whole vanload of them to some steakhouse, where, corporate credit cards a blazing, they’ll eat red meat, drink a shitload of wine and be inebriated enough to pull the trigger on a huge tip when you come back for them.

Right now though, that scenario is a pipe dream.

IMG_0728

The Monday dead zone at post 6.

The hotel parking lot is nearly empty and cabs are waiting around, going nowhere fast. So you read, you write and when you can’t keep your eyes open any longer, you do the taxi man’s recline, easing your seat as far back as it will go and closing your eyes.

If you’re a guest, need to go somewhere and see a row of cabs but no drivers, don’t be fooled!

They haven’t abandoned their vehicles.

They’re most likely inside, in full taxi man recline, sawing wood!

Anyhow, remember how I said at the beginning that Monday can be schizophrenic?

Sometimes, you tilt back, turn on a little heat, crank up some tunes, close your eyes and WHAM!

875 Ready!

Hopefully, you wake up in time to get your order.

Yesterday, this happened to me mere moments before I was going to call it a day.

Thankfully, I was wide-awake and lucky, it turns out, to have stayed on the clock those few extra minutes.

My trusty pager sent me to a nearby department store, where four beautiful Canadian women were waiting with armloads of shopping bags.

Could I take them downtown?

Alrighty then! Windstar at your service!

Turns out they’d ditched their husbands for a few days to come to Chicago, shop, eat out and, of course, see Oprah. The banter in the Windstar was spirited. The economy came up. How was the recession treating us down here, they wanted to know. I told them all about my recession job, driving the Windstar. Good for you for getting out there, one gal said. You could be sitting at home on your ass!

They asked if we could stop at Target on the way into the city. Great, I thought. Maybe they’ll let me make a little movie of them shopping at Target with their cab driver.

They weren’t into it.

But the journey was hardly a bust.

When we finally pulled up to their hotel on Michigan Avenue, at a little past 7, I got out to see if I could help with their shopping bags. As we said our goodbyes, one of the women stepped forward to pay me. Here’s a hundred dollars for your trouble, she said, pressing a fat roll of bills into my hand.

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A Big Thanks To a Fellow Cheetah Parent

Posted in Uncategorized on October 26, 2009 by Jay

safe_image.php Readers, please forgive me, as I take some space here to say thanks and engage in a shameless bit of promotion.

First, a huge shout out and gracias to Josh Gilbert for becoming Recession Taxi’s first official donor!

Dude, I wish we had a pledge gift for you. Sorry, we’re working on it. I could offer you an autographed photo of the Windstar? Or maybe a money collection seminar with the Fleet Master?

Josh’s son Giles and our boy Sammy are both Cheetah’s at the local Y. They’re all around good peeps and we appreciate their support.

So speaking of donations (shameless promotion commencing), I moved the donation button up–from the bottom of the left rail–to near the top.

We certainly don’t expect anyone to donate. But if it strikes your fancy and you want to, it’s now easier to find.

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Taxi Wife, The Straw That Stirs the Drink

Posted in Personal Stories, Recession Stories with tags , , on October 24, 2009 by Jay

safe_image.phpAs I sit here today, October 23, 2009, the recession has left us severely battered. But we’re not broken. There’s an undercurrent of warmth and love in our home that continues. And it has everything to do with Taxi Wife. On more occasions than I can count, she’s knelt down, put the family on her back emotionally and carried us forward. She’s been especially patient and understanding with yours truly. She’s born witness to my pain and neither condemned–nor co-signed–my occasional spirals into tiresome self-pity and hopelessness. Taxi Wife can also write her ass off. She’s got an essay in this Sunday’s Chicago Tribune about our situation. Check it out here. I love you honey.

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