Recession Taxi

The 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!