Last night sucked! My first call involved a domestic violence situation. It was in Lockland, which is a basically just a confusing little mass of streets buried underneath the intersection of I75 and Cross County Highway, and I always get lost there. When the dispatcher gave me the address, I was pleased to hear it was to an apartment complex I had picked up and dropped quite a few times, so I thought I would get there quickly, everyone would be happy, and no one would yell at me. However, I shouldve known better from previous experiences there.
When I got there, a woman I had dropped there a couple of times came out. Shes always mean and nasty and usually fucked up. She was carrying a tallboy, so I figured I was going to get yelled at when I told her Im not allowed to have open containers in the cab. When she got in the cab, I could see she had been crying, so I stopped short. She was just sitting there kinda blank, so I suppose a few seconds passed with me just staring at her wondering what to do. Another woman came out of the building, and she got out. I could see they were arguing. Next, a couple men came down, and she started carrying on with one of them. Next thing I know, he pops her in the face.
Now, a million things go on in anyones mind when one sees such things, and my reactions to anything are more delayed than most peoples. I never know what to do in these situations. Do I get on the horn and ask the dispatcher to call the cops? Do I get out and try to play hero? My opinion is that getting the cops involved usually makes things worse, can piss the guy off big time, and can put the woman in even greater danger on down the line. Me trying to play hero is usually the best thing, actually. Since Im a pacifist, I only try to diffuse situations instead of playing macho games with other peoples lives. I play the fool, and try to focus people on the idiocracy of my tactics, thus drawing danger away from the victim and on to myself. I can take a beating most of the time, but, unfortunately, sometimes I do get seriously injured. I still piss brown every month or so as a result of a kick to the kidney some cranked-up Nazi gave me in, like, 1989 or thereabouts. This may add to my hesitation when action without thought may be what is called for.
Anyway, the guys just turned around and walked away right after the one guy popped her, and the other woman walked back into the building, so my fare just came back to the cab. She just sat there crying, and didnt close the door. I told her we needed to get out of there right away before the guy came back. I told her that it was none of my business and I didnt know what the fuck was going on, but that he had no right to do that to her regardless, and all the rest of the standard regurgitated bullshit, but she just started in sobbing worse.
Everything I said sounded really hollow to me because I knew it most likely sounded really hollow to her. Many people say they dont understand why women stay with guys like that, which I think is really cold. I think that, most of the time, women in these situations honestly are in love with the men who beat them. I will even go so far as to say I think that sometimes batterers sincerely are in love with their victims, perhaps even passionately so. People have many reasons for living with violence, and not all are wrong. I believe strongly that the violence itself is always evil, but not all aspects of relationships that may be violent. Such relationships are destined to a tragic end, in any event. What I do not understand is why people choose to judge the victims so harshly. Where is their sympathy? Where is their empathy? All I can think is that some people have always had good fortune throughout their lives, and do not understand misfortune.
Anyway, my fare would not speak and just continued to sit there and sob with the cab door open. The two men eventually came walking back towards the cab. They came to my side of the cab, fortunately. The other fellow, the one who did not do the popping, came first, and the popper hung behind. I rolled the window down and asked him, Yes, sir? Can I help you, sir? trying to act like I didnt particularly care what was going on so as not to seem too patronizing. He said, You got change fo a twenty? to which I replied, Yes, sir. We did our business and they walked away. My fare got out of the cab and followed them. Her boyfriend shouted, I gave ya cab fare an thats all Im gonna give ya! She came sobbing back to the cab and I resumed my attempts to get her out of there.
After a minute or two, she said she was going upstairs to get her clothes. I pleaded with her that we just get out of there, but she was adamant. She started to get out of the cab, so I reached back and grabbed her ankle and said, Please, maam, I just dont want him to hit ya again. I guess I shouldnt have touched her because, Jasus, if I thought she was sobbing before, she was absolutely wailing then. And, of course, it was all for naught because she went back inside anyway. I sat there with the horn in my hand debating whether to get the cops out there and intently watching the shadows on the ceiling through their apartment window. After a few minutes, she came back out and sat in the cab leaving the door open.
She said he wouldnt let her get her clothes. I told her that it didnt matter and that she should wait until tomorrow when things had calmed down and then come back with a few friends to get her things. But, please, lets just go! I begged. Then she said, I aint got no money fo the fare. I kinda started laughing, then, and said Whadaya think? Like Im gonna quibble with ya about the fare? Dont worry about the fare! Besides, your boyfriend already paid the fare. Then she said she didnt have the money to get back. Something tells me she wasnt planning to come back to get her clothes and then leave again. Anyway, I gave her the tenner her boyfriend gave me and told her not to worry about it and that we should just get outta there (for like the millionth time). Finally, she agreed and shut the cab door.
It was a very quiet ride back to her place. I remembered where she lived, so I didnt even have to ask her that much. I kept rolling things over in my head if I had done things right. She left her tallboy in the cab when she went inside to get her clothes, and I had put it outside my door. I felt kinda bad about this and figured I couldve talked my way out of a citation if I got pulled over in this event, so I stopped at a gas station and bought her another. I was worried if where I was taking her was her place or maybe a friends place who wouldnt be inclined to take her in this particular evening. She had me stop round the corner, thanked me graciously but sadly, and walked off. I suppose that was the most I could do. I dont know. She did say she was going to her mothers house the next day, but I still worry.
This whole affair had me pretty shook up for a while. I blew through a really fucking major intersection on a red light later on because my head was just somewhere else. The light was like red red, not like I had just missed the yellow or something, and cars were driving through and the whole bit. A lotta people honked and slammed on their brakes, but no one wrecked. When I realized what was going on, when I was like amidst crossing traffic, I just gunned it the rest of the way, fishtailed round the bend, and went on without incident. I was lucky, as usual. I was just happy no other cabs were around to laugh at me.
In general, it was a pretty rotten night anyway, which is also as usual. I was just kinda dazed for the first several hours, then just got crabby. I tried to fight it off, but I did snap at one customer who yelled at me for not turning down his street like Im just supposed to know every fucking side street in Cincinnati. I couldnt understand what he was trying to say when I asked him the street name. He just kept saying, em, em, em street, man! He was a fucking asshole, but I still feel bad for not kissing his ass, I guess, but I was just having a really bad night and didnt feel like eating his shit with a big smile on my face. Anyway, someone got a call in that neighborhood later that night and I heard the dispatcher say Elm Street. I was like Elm! Thats what that stoned monkey was trying to say. If I could understand the dispatcher on that staticky radio better than him, it was his own damned fault.
Then I got this old guy going to the VA hospital who was completely unintelligible. Hardly a word! I already knew he was going to the VA on a social charge, but he wanted to go to Covington first, or so I finally figured out. He kept telling me to turn this way and that way, because right and left was about all I could understand him saying, taking me way off the straight line to the VA. I thought he was telling me to go to Childrens Hospital first, which kinda made sense for a social charge, but not for an old man. I finally figured out he was saying Covington when we got off the highway exit. He stayed in Covington and never went anywhere close to the VA, which I dont think is Kosher. Between me trying to figure out which direction he wanted me to go, turning back the other way, and getting back towards Kentucky, he racked up a $28 fare. The VA is maybe a $10 fare from his house, max. I called the dispatcher and he told me not to worry about it, so what the fuck do I care. I just deduct charges from the lease on my cab, so if whatever agency was paying for this guys fare balks, I still got a pretty damned good ride, even though he was a pain in the ass.
Lets see, what else do I want to bitch about last night. I got two rides out to Mt. Washington, which is way out on the east side. We dont do much business out there. There is one regular rider who calls almost every night, but it always takes hours to get someone to go out there because no one ever logs that neighborhood because it is so far out, even though it is only ten minutes away from a stand where we do a lot of business. It would be maybe thirty minutes or more in the daytime, but Im not the only regular nightshift driver, so I dont get it.
Im usually central or west working the high-crime, poor, black neighborhoods because most of the cabbies are too racist to take the calls (even the black cabbies). So I bust ass and make lots of money while they sit on their asses in Hyde Park competing for a few good bar fares. OK, lets face it, black folk dont tip. Rich or poor, they dont tip. Old people dont tip either, white or black. Well, actually, old folks will give you a quarter extra on a ten dollar far, or let you keep the change. Black folk, on the other hand, will sit there five minutes while I count out the dimes from my coin roll. Dont call me racist for saying this, because if Chris Rock said that, you would laugh your ass off. However, not all black folk, in the public housing projects or wherever, are thieves. I have had gun at the base of my neck several times. I just give them what money I havent hidden away yet, and they run off, probably more scared than I am. It is true in my own case that I have only been robbed by young, black men. Make what you will of that. On the other hand, for every young, black man that has robbed me, at gunpoint or otherwise, Ive probably driven a thousand other young, black men without incident. Anyway, this perception of black folk definitely works to my benefit in that I pull in more money than the lazy, racist cabbies.
Back to what I was saying before, I got two rides out to Mt. Washington last night. I figure I know why no one works the public housing projects, but I thought that one customer we get every morning had such a hard time getting a cab because Mt. Washington was so far out. In my memory, it did take a while to drive out there, but I had not been there since before my wife left. She grew up in that neighborhood. She was dirt poor, but it is a middle class, white neighborhood with relatively little crime. My wife always talked about how snobbish they all were to her there because she was a poor kid. So, I figured, it must be the time involved in driving out there. However, it took me maybe ten minutes to get there from Mt. Lookout Square, so I dont know. We always have cabs in Mt. Lookout.
My problem with going out there was that it is where my wife grew up. I had never gotten a ride out there and I have always been on the other side of town when I heard a call there. Last night I found myself there twice. I thought to myself, considering what had happened on my first call and how that crappiness had been drawn out all throughout the night, that there must be a God after all, and that He must be, just as I so often suspect, the Grand Deceiver who has created this universe exclusively to punish me. But then I wonder, if this universe was created exclusively to punish me, then my crime must also be merely a part of the Grand Deception. What, then, is my true crime, and what other universe did I commit that crime in. This all goes round and round into infinite insanity. Anyway, I have no need for any of this. I am far too extraordinary at punishing myself.
When I got there, a woman I had dropped there a couple of times came out. Shes always mean and nasty and usually fucked up. She was carrying a tallboy, so I figured I was going to get yelled at when I told her Im not allowed to have open containers in the cab. When she got in the cab, I could see she had been crying, so I stopped short. She was just sitting there kinda blank, so I suppose a few seconds passed with me just staring at her wondering what to do. Another woman came out of the building, and she got out. I could see they were arguing. Next, a couple men came down, and she started carrying on with one of them. Next thing I know, he pops her in the face.
Now, a million things go on in anyones mind when one sees such things, and my reactions to anything are more delayed than most peoples. I never know what to do in these situations. Do I get on the horn and ask the dispatcher to call the cops? Do I get out and try to play hero? My opinion is that getting the cops involved usually makes things worse, can piss the guy off big time, and can put the woman in even greater danger on down the line. Me trying to play hero is usually the best thing, actually. Since Im a pacifist, I only try to diffuse situations instead of playing macho games with other peoples lives. I play the fool, and try to focus people on the idiocracy of my tactics, thus drawing danger away from the victim and on to myself. I can take a beating most of the time, but, unfortunately, sometimes I do get seriously injured. I still piss brown every month or so as a result of a kick to the kidney some cranked-up Nazi gave me in, like, 1989 or thereabouts. This may add to my hesitation when action without thought may be what is called for.
Anyway, the guys just turned around and walked away right after the one guy popped her, and the other woman walked back into the building, so my fare just came back to the cab. She just sat there crying, and didnt close the door. I told her we needed to get out of there right away before the guy came back. I told her that it was none of my business and I didnt know what the fuck was going on, but that he had no right to do that to her regardless, and all the rest of the standard regurgitated bullshit, but she just started in sobbing worse.
Everything I said sounded really hollow to me because I knew it most likely sounded really hollow to her. Many people say they dont understand why women stay with guys like that, which I think is really cold. I think that, most of the time, women in these situations honestly are in love with the men who beat them. I will even go so far as to say I think that sometimes batterers sincerely are in love with their victims, perhaps even passionately so. People have many reasons for living with violence, and not all are wrong. I believe strongly that the violence itself is always evil, but not all aspects of relationships that may be violent. Such relationships are destined to a tragic end, in any event. What I do not understand is why people choose to judge the victims so harshly. Where is their sympathy? Where is their empathy? All I can think is that some people have always had good fortune throughout their lives, and do not understand misfortune.
Anyway, my fare would not speak and just continued to sit there and sob with the cab door open. The two men eventually came walking back towards the cab. They came to my side of the cab, fortunately. The other fellow, the one who did not do the popping, came first, and the popper hung behind. I rolled the window down and asked him, Yes, sir? Can I help you, sir? trying to act like I didnt particularly care what was going on so as not to seem too patronizing. He said, You got change fo a twenty? to which I replied, Yes, sir. We did our business and they walked away. My fare got out of the cab and followed them. Her boyfriend shouted, I gave ya cab fare an thats all Im gonna give ya! She came sobbing back to the cab and I resumed my attempts to get her out of there.
After a minute or two, she said she was going upstairs to get her clothes. I pleaded with her that we just get out of there, but she was adamant. She started to get out of the cab, so I reached back and grabbed her ankle and said, Please, maam, I just dont want him to hit ya again. I guess I shouldnt have touched her because, Jasus, if I thought she was sobbing before, she was absolutely wailing then. And, of course, it was all for naught because she went back inside anyway. I sat there with the horn in my hand debating whether to get the cops out there and intently watching the shadows on the ceiling through their apartment window. After a few minutes, she came back out and sat in the cab leaving the door open.
She said he wouldnt let her get her clothes. I told her that it didnt matter and that she should wait until tomorrow when things had calmed down and then come back with a few friends to get her things. But, please, lets just go! I begged. Then she said, I aint got no money fo the fare. I kinda started laughing, then, and said Whadaya think? Like Im gonna quibble with ya about the fare? Dont worry about the fare! Besides, your boyfriend already paid the fare. Then she said she didnt have the money to get back. Something tells me she wasnt planning to come back to get her clothes and then leave again. Anyway, I gave her the tenner her boyfriend gave me and told her not to worry about it and that we should just get outta there (for like the millionth time). Finally, she agreed and shut the cab door.
It was a very quiet ride back to her place. I remembered where she lived, so I didnt even have to ask her that much. I kept rolling things over in my head if I had done things right. She left her tallboy in the cab when she went inside to get her clothes, and I had put it outside my door. I felt kinda bad about this and figured I couldve talked my way out of a citation if I got pulled over in this event, so I stopped at a gas station and bought her another. I was worried if where I was taking her was her place or maybe a friends place who wouldnt be inclined to take her in this particular evening. She had me stop round the corner, thanked me graciously but sadly, and walked off. I suppose that was the most I could do. I dont know. She did say she was going to her mothers house the next day, but I still worry.
This whole affair had me pretty shook up for a while. I blew through a really fucking major intersection on a red light later on because my head was just somewhere else. The light was like red red, not like I had just missed the yellow or something, and cars were driving through and the whole bit. A lotta people honked and slammed on their brakes, but no one wrecked. When I realized what was going on, when I was like amidst crossing traffic, I just gunned it the rest of the way, fishtailed round the bend, and went on without incident. I was lucky, as usual. I was just happy no other cabs were around to laugh at me.
In general, it was a pretty rotten night anyway, which is also as usual. I was just kinda dazed for the first several hours, then just got crabby. I tried to fight it off, but I did snap at one customer who yelled at me for not turning down his street like Im just supposed to know every fucking side street in Cincinnati. I couldnt understand what he was trying to say when I asked him the street name. He just kept saying, em, em, em street, man! He was a fucking asshole, but I still feel bad for not kissing his ass, I guess, but I was just having a really bad night and didnt feel like eating his shit with a big smile on my face. Anyway, someone got a call in that neighborhood later that night and I heard the dispatcher say Elm Street. I was like Elm! Thats what that stoned monkey was trying to say. If I could understand the dispatcher on that staticky radio better than him, it was his own damned fault.
Then I got this old guy going to the VA hospital who was completely unintelligible. Hardly a word! I already knew he was going to the VA on a social charge, but he wanted to go to Covington first, or so I finally figured out. He kept telling me to turn this way and that way, because right and left was about all I could understand him saying, taking me way off the straight line to the VA. I thought he was telling me to go to Childrens Hospital first, which kinda made sense for a social charge, but not for an old man. I finally figured out he was saying Covington when we got off the highway exit. He stayed in Covington and never went anywhere close to the VA, which I dont think is Kosher. Between me trying to figure out which direction he wanted me to go, turning back the other way, and getting back towards Kentucky, he racked up a $28 fare. The VA is maybe a $10 fare from his house, max. I called the dispatcher and he told me not to worry about it, so what the fuck do I care. I just deduct charges from the lease on my cab, so if whatever agency was paying for this guys fare balks, I still got a pretty damned good ride, even though he was a pain in the ass.
Lets see, what else do I want to bitch about last night. I got two rides out to Mt. Washington, which is way out on the east side. We dont do much business out there. There is one regular rider who calls almost every night, but it always takes hours to get someone to go out there because no one ever logs that neighborhood because it is so far out, even though it is only ten minutes away from a stand where we do a lot of business. It would be maybe thirty minutes or more in the daytime, but Im not the only regular nightshift driver, so I dont get it.
Im usually central or west working the high-crime, poor, black neighborhoods because most of the cabbies are too racist to take the calls (even the black cabbies). So I bust ass and make lots of money while they sit on their asses in Hyde Park competing for a few good bar fares. OK, lets face it, black folk dont tip. Rich or poor, they dont tip. Old people dont tip either, white or black. Well, actually, old folks will give you a quarter extra on a ten dollar far, or let you keep the change. Black folk, on the other hand, will sit there five minutes while I count out the dimes from my coin roll. Dont call me racist for saying this, because if Chris Rock said that, you would laugh your ass off. However, not all black folk, in the public housing projects or wherever, are thieves. I have had gun at the base of my neck several times. I just give them what money I havent hidden away yet, and they run off, probably more scared than I am. It is true in my own case that I have only been robbed by young, black men. Make what you will of that. On the other hand, for every young, black man that has robbed me, at gunpoint or otherwise, Ive probably driven a thousand other young, black men without incident. Anyway, this perception of black folk definitely works to my benefit in that I pull in more money than the lazy, racist cabbies.
Back to what I was saying before, I got two rides out to Mt. Washington last night. I figure I know why no one works the public housing projects, but I thought that one customer we get every morning had such a hard time getting a cab because Mt. Washington was so far out. In my memory, it did take a while to drive out there, but I had not been there since before my wife left. She grew up in that neighborhood. She was dirt poor, but it is a middle class, white neighborhood with relatively little crime. My wife always talked about how snobbish they all were to her there because she was a poor kid. So, I figured, it must be the time involved in driving out there. However, it took me maybe ten minutes to get there from Mt. Lookout Square, so I dont know. We always have cabs in Mt. Lookout.
My problem with going out there was that it is where my wife grew up. I had never gotten a ride out there and I have always been on the other side of town when I heard a call there. Last night I found myself there twice. I thought to myself, considering what had happened on my first call and how that crappiness had been drawn out all throughout the night, that there must be a God after all, and that He must be, just as I so often suspect, the Grand Deceiver who has created this universe exclusively to punish me. But then I wonder, if this universe was created exclusively to punish me, then my crime must also be merely a part of the Grand Deception. What, then, is my true crime, and what other universe did I commit that crime in. This all goes round and round into infinite insanity. Anyway, I have no need for any of this. I am far too extraordinary at punishing myself.
hey, i got those mp3s ripped! where shall i send them to?
-Gina