Wanted: Scooby Doo Mystery Inc. Clue-puter

Tonight some kid with luggage was waiting outside the bus depot. He said his bus didn't come for six hours so instead he wanted to go to capital city but only had about half the cab fare. I'd been quite profitable so I agreed to get the guy at that price.

In a bit of a power play on my part, I was going to detour him downtown to pay my electric. I mentioned this to the kid and he kind of freaked and said I could pay the bill and come back. The driver that originally talked to him pulled in and I explained I was going to pay a bill and return. Five minutes later, I did and the kid was gone. The driver said he took off walking.

I should add, when I pulled up, he brought his luggage right to the back of the cab. It was only when I mentioned the detour, that he backed off on it, and apparently had no intention on going to capital city in a cab.

I cannot figure out what was really going on.

Here are my ideas;

1. He had bus fare to capital city, and thats what he would pay for a cab. About half fare.
2. He did not trust me, and was too nervous to get in my cab.
3. He did not want to go downtown because there may have been police there.
4. He was planning on robbing me, and changed his mind, once I mentioned I had to pay my electric, I was humanized.

St. Kitts

I sometimes wonder about the power of saints. I started driving about 4 years ago, and had a St. Christopher Medallion in my cab from a very early date. Periodically I would switch cabs, and it would not make the switch right away. I have had a Jesus on my dashboard recently, and I have found it keeps me nice. What I mean is, it is always within the corner of my eye, and it reminds me to be a nice guy.

This past weekend, I replaced my St. Christopher / Our lady of the High ways, visor clip and it took me a while to realize it but it was like I has a lic to print money. Granted it was Halloween weekend, and I am pretty sure I put it up on All Saints Day, and even lamented Christopher's Catholic demotion from the universal calender. see below ¹

I know it was a coincidence. But after a terrifically busy Halloween night, Saturday was rather sleepy. I slept all day, for the most part, and got to work around 11:45 pm. I had a few passengers, but nothing major. I went home relatively early, happy with the knowledge that I had been so profitable the night before.

One of my co-workers was not feeling up to a call from a hotel to the airport at 5:30, and at about 3:45 asked if I'd take it for him. I agreed, and although I was home already, I went back out with plenty of time to spare. While waiting, I fixed the long-broken window handle in my van. It had not worked for quite a while according tot he person I bought the van from. It just so happens it was the guy t hat I was covering for. The party came out, and I drove them tothe airport. They all asked for receipts, and I had to fumble around looking for them, as that does not come up for me often.

Once I came out with my hand-written receipts a woman approached me and asked if I could take her to a town 35 miles away. She was pretty unhappy about something, I could tell. She asked if I took debit, but did not, and referred her to some that most likely did. But I offered the ATM option. I think it was my willingness to compromise that kept her with me. Another way I deal with that is to let them purchase fuel for me.

Once we were on her way, I gleaned bits of her story. She was at the terminal with luggage. I assumed she had arrived. She was traveling to her future in-laws house. But as the story progressed, it became clear, the obvious was not so. Her story was, as she put it "wack". and clearly she did not want to go through the details with me. But what had happened was; she ended up at the airport with luggage two days early. Her ticket for the following day was with her ID in the town 35 miles away. It was 5:45 and she was concerned that she would even be able to wake the mother.

On the way to the atm, I had enough questions in my mind, that I asked her to confirm making this trip was her best option, and she assured me the man's mom would understand. And that this was her only option. I did not want to pry, I explained that sometimes while upset, people do not always come up with alternatives, and I wanted to put them out there in case that was so. But she assured me this was best. This is another reason, I am glad she went with me. I do not think other drivers may have been so patient with all the uncertainty in the situation.

We went on our way. She had previously attempted to sleep in the smoking lounge at the airport, but was welcome to lay down in the back seat. I had a comfortable and almost scenic drive through the palisades of the Kentucky River. By the time we got to the town, she gave me rather vague landmarks to find the condo in question. She did not have the exact street address. Not being from the town, the landmarks were not all that meaningful. But without much trouble we found the place. She paid me $86 and asked I wait to make sure she got in. Actually, I would have balanced the luggage on my head on the way in.

I drove back, $86 dollars richer, in addition to the $22 I got from the hotel run. All earned by me after I went in for the night, content in my revenue for the weekend.

I put the St. Christopher "Patron Saint of Cab Drivers" medallion on my visor on All Saints Day. This story happened the same day. I relay this to you. Draw your own conclusions.

Bonus Halloween story.

By the end of the night, I was exhausted, and one of my regulars that also lives 35 miles out of town, called me, and it was clear she was beyond common sense intoxicated. She told me where she was, but I was otherwise engaged and trying to clear up for her as best I could. She kept calling me back, and was giving me other bar names each time. I clarified, and she had not moved. Her mind was just merging a lot of bars into one. The last time I heard a man explain they were not the same thing. When I asked who she was with, she said just herself. Usually she splits the cab fare with two or three other girls that live on the same farm. That brings the fare down to about $20 a person. I cut them a break too. But usually there is one that is the most sober and I can look to them for direction. This girl was by herself. These farms have houses all over them, and I was unsure which house was hers. By the time we got to the farm, we got to her gate, and she did not have the control card. She confidently explained she would hop the fence as usual and be fine.

This was not acceptable to me. I wait until ladies get inside their homes before I drive away, and was not about to let an intoxicated woman, dressed like a playboy bunny, hop a fence and disappear into the inky blackness of Woodford County. We argued a bit, and I emphasized with her ability to accomplish her task, but explained, it was for me, as much as her. I couldn't feel good about myself, if I did not confirm she was home safe. I repeated, that I could not even see the house, she said was there. I did not fear for her safety. It was warm enough, the grass was soft enough, but I did not want her to fall asleep outside when I could prevent it. She relented. Also she did not have the full fare, but by then I had polished my shining armor and was ready to slay dragons for her.

1. 
   

1. In Spite of It All, St. Christopher Hangs In There
2. visor clip not exactly like mine
   

Tattoo You, Tattoo Me, Da Plane Da Plane

I was for a while complete unaltered. Unmodified. Unadorned. [...] I had my tonsils, my appendix, no piercings, no tatoos, UC, and what not. I began to feel, I was kind of the anti-radical radical. Because of the vast numbers of tattooed and pierced individuals in my social group, I was clearly the outsider. Was I square?

I came real close to getting a below the waist piercing back with Bob Andrews has Retail Hell down the block from the Parsley Peapod. But closer inspection of the procedure proved to make me de-select that option. For a while I worked at the latter, and became quite familiar with body jewelry and the different options available. I find it aesthetically pleasing to look at on others. But I do not have a compelling need to add it to myself. Even external, non pierced jewelry is rare for me. I don’t even wear a watch. I’ll buy rings, only to take them off for a shower, and forget I ever owned them.

Holes close, but tattoos are much closer to forever. The thing I always said, was, I knew of no design I would want to be forced to live with the rest of my life. Yes, I know, they can be painfully removed now. But still.

Almost 5 years ago now, I underwent the knife. My breast bone was split open, my rib cage was spread apart, and my blood was pumped through an external pumping device, while doctors, grafted new arteries to my five clogged ones. I had a quintuple bypass. This left me with a 8 inch scar down the center of my chest. My chest hair parts like a boy’s on school picture day. But as scars go, it is quite smooth. In fact, I have heard scars referred to as angry. If that is the norm, mine is downright friendly. In fact a local artist, and well a newspaper columnist described it as sexy. When I wear deep V shirts, I will once in a while field the casual inquisitor about it. It is then, I realize I do not even realize it is there.

This reminds me of the previous caveat I had about a tattoo. I did not realize, I may forget it is there. Especially if it is not where I see it regularly.

My dad was in a horrific cycle accident when I was an infant, and split his chin and jaw open, leaving an angry scar. I stopped seeing it, and was puzzled when people asked me about it. Then I remembered.

Now, for a design, I would want something culturally relevant to me. I have considered the Chinese characters, native American lore, as well as the cartoon and tattoo standards out there, but wanted it to be personal.

For me that means Norse or Teutonic. Cool. I would not have to ape someone foreign culture for a cool design. But was I? I have several European friends. They get frustrated by our obsessive clinging to our ancestral homelands. “I am Irish!” or whatever. Which kind of turned me to what is quintessentially American, or Minnesotan.

I have also considered religious iconography. Since my heart surgery, I have began purchasing Sacred Heart stuff. But very recently I recalled something I remembered from a long ago trip to the Black Hills.

Two Aces, and Two Eights, all black. Wild Bill Hickock’s “Dead Man’s Hand”. It fits me for many reasons. While I am very much alive, many consider this life to be my second coming. Before my surgery, most of my friends considered my hospital to be my death bed.

Statistically, a person that survives 5 years after my surgery, survives another 20 or so. I am surviving my 5th year. March 2009, is my five year anniversary. I wonder how this tattoo idea would be like laughing at death.

Not sure. But here I have committed my thoughts to the written word.

Fwd: Cranky

In my three short years as a rolling Lucy Van Pelt: the doctor is in,
I do not think I have come across such dispair and unhappiness. It is
not unusual to find that people are sad or angry, but for some reason
it seems more intense this season. I had two people admit they've
thought about hurting themselves last night. It was not the angst
ridden desperation but more the almost ashamed afterward admission.
Somehow its more chilling to hear the latter than a threat. I do what
I do that I do. Five cents please.

sent from my Samsung u740

Louie's Loans and Grants Committee

I don't know what it is about people on the edge, but they look to cab drivers as sources of cash. Maybe its because so many drivers are the favorite sons of people on the edge. The edgers that finally made it. But I get hit up for money all the time. One lady, she works at the Domestic House of Pancakes and lives in a motel with her non-working husband.

I can't call him unemployed because, to be considered unemployed you must be in the work force. To be in the work force, you must be looking for work. He does not leave the room. He is either depressed or agoraphoibic or both. But thats not the topic. A few weeks back she called me from the DHoP to come get her rent money. At first it was to be a round trip, but I offered to do it for her, and only charge her one way.

It started to be daily, and one day she did not have the money to pay me for the trip. Then a few days later she paid me for half the trip. Shortly after that she called and said she was told not to come in that day, and if she could borrow her rent money. I refused, and later on, she had talked her work into letting her come in. I discussed this with some other drivers, and one said he'd have probably lent her the money if she was his customer. I'd gotten in the habit before, and its a tough call. If it drags out too long, it sours things.

Shortly there after same thing, but this time she said she had to pay it before she left for work, but could pay me back at work, with DHoP advancing her the money. This went on a few days, and then DHoP refused to advance her the money. DHoP is not the best place to work. Crappy customer base, Crappy Management and a crappy staff. This lady even said she'd fire herself, if she was the manager.

So now this lady ows me $36. I started comping her rides to help her out until she got on her feet. I gave her some stern but caring talk about how this does not seem to be a short term shortfall, but a fundamental budget budget problem. They are paying over $1000 a month for a seedy room, when a tolerable apartment can be had for $450. I also touched on her husband. If it was in his head, he should seek counseling, if its drugs they should seek counseling. If its neither of that, she needs a better job.

Cracky Pete, on the other hand is part PT Barnum, part Tom Sawyer and the rest Fred Sanford. He's always got something he wants to give me. But really its to sell to me. We've gotten out of the habit of tying value to any of the objects. From my perspective when I have cash to spare, and I see him, I give him money. Essentially he is a hobo scrounger. He has found me some great stuff, but he does not have a good idea of what I value. He knows I like electronics, but he knows nothing of the diference between a monitor left out on the curb, and a speak and spell. He has gotten me some bamboo, some wicker chairs a digital camera, and handheld game system. I cannot count how much money I've handed over. I explain to him, the money is for him, not for the stuff. Sometimes I give him money and he has no stuff. Other times he gives me stuff and I don't give him money. I've explained to him, I will not short myself to give him money. And that he has to have more "customers" than me. If not he'd better get some more because I've got a few more recipients of my charity.

Wilma is a mentally ill wanderer. She used to come by leSplat, where I used to work and I'd giver her coffee or cokes, and a sandwich. Now I giver her cash and rides. If I see her at the omelette house, I'll pay for her breakfast. Apparently she has cancer real bad and is dying and does not understand it. Some local shopkeeper is her legal guardian and has an attitude toward her like a farmer has with cats. Let them wander around blissfully unaware. She feels institutionalizing her would be "wrong" and treating her would be pointless. I take her to the university hospital a lot in the winter, but thats mostly to keep warm. Her routine there is to tell them she's been beat up, and then the police take her to the squad room, and she chills until morning.

My latest is the lotto queen. I first encountered her in line at a speedymart as she was laboring over her choices. I say, if people would spend as much time with the jobs ads, as they do picking out scratch offs, there would be no unemployment in this country. She asked how much it would cost to take her to her motel. As it would happen, same motel as the waitress. I told her $5 and she agreed. Upon arrival she told me she could only pay in winning lottery tickets. She offered me $10 in winners. I agreed. a few rides later, she gave me $25 for $15 in case and a ride home. But last night she asked to borrow $9.50 so she could "Get in a card game". This tickled me so much I asked her if she wanted $20 instead. She grew real serious and asked how much interest I'd be charging her. I laughed and said it had been a busy night, and I'd lend it interest free. She must have lost because she did not call me back. But I do know she's room 119.

Freeman

As I have never revealed my name in this blog, readers may wonder if I am a fugitive from Justice. Until 3:30 today I had a warrant out for my arrest. Last night I decided to be a man, and make an attempt to make good on it. I did not confess. I did not alert the media. I just skulked into the district court building. I bypassed the metal detector and went to the all night court counter. But I was informed I could not take care of it at 4am, but had to return between the hours of 8 and 4 and go to court services first.

Now a little on what brought me to this point. I was charged with multiple crimes, and pursuant to our US Constitution, I was, of course, innocent until proven guilty. I got my attorney on it, and he struck a plea deal for the least of the charges. He got the court date extended a very large time away. It was for August 2nd. I had many other traffic fines to pay, and breathed a sigh of relief on the extended deadline. But I forgot when it was. As August was drawing to a close, I realized I had most likely missed it, and knew I had a bench warrant out for my head on a stick.

But no more. I walked in again today, bypassed the metal detector, and went to court services. She took my ID and left to talk with some officers. I tensed up a bit, and told myself, it is always better to take your punches than to live always looking over your shoulder. She came back and said to me. "Failure to wear seat-belt"

I agreed and for an instant understood how Arlo Guthrie felt. She told me to go tot he payment window and pay my $163.50. I did, and was finally a free man! Originally I was cited for going 89 in a 55 mile an hour zone AND no seat belt. The former would have put my hack license in jeopardy, the latter does not. It was my happiest fine ever paid.

Oh and the reason I always bypass metal detectors is my pace maker. I include it for dramatic effect.