Bride of Taxi Bits and Pieces!

One of my favorite regular passengers was a nice old lady name Miss Alice (see Sweet Miss Alice ). She was a client of the Regional Transportation Program, so RTP would contract Elite out to drive her three times a week from Southern Maine Dialysis to her daughter's house in Scarborough. But I haven't had her in my cab for months. It's not simply a matter of me not getting the assignment: she wasn't picked up by any of Elite hacks. I wondered if she died. Alice is in her eighties with deteriorating health, going from walking on her own with no help, to walking with some assistance, and finally only being able to walk with a wheeled walker. Despite this drastic change Miss Alice never lost her sunny disposition. I made her laugh often, and I liked that. Last week I drove to 1600 Congress Street, and while waiting for a fare I saw her. She was in a wheel chair and was pushed into an RTP van equipped to aid people with certain special needs. Her omnipresent smile was gone, and, in fact, she looked downright miserable. I am glad that Miss Alice is still alive but bummed out that she quite obviously has taken a turn for the worse, and that sucks.

Speaking of regular passengers that I like, last Tuesday I picked up one of my faves. He never goes very far. His rides are always $4 or less, and always gives $6 (sometimes $10 if he's really drunk). He got in Black Betty and told me I was his favorite cabbie. Later that night I pulled up in front of Blackstones to pick up a transsexual, and he was outside with his buddies smoking. And there he proclaimed me the best cab driver in Portland, and him and his friends started hooting and hollering. It was the first time I've been such appreciation by gay men since my rendition of "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)" during Sucker Punch Weekend.

The Eastland Park Hotel was the site for the senior dance for the ladies of St. Joseph's College (colloquially known as "St. Joe's Hos" (or is it ho's? hoes?)). I've never seen so many drunk women in formal wear wandering the streets. And they all needed help from their dates to remain on their feet.

I was stuck behind some slow motherfucker with Kentucky plates. The license plates also had "War on Terror" printed on them. Is the state of Kentucky a hotbed for al-Qaeda activity? I thoughty I heard a rumor that Mohammed Atta, Jr. was plotting to blow up Louisville's blue grass refineries.

I was dispatched to the Days Inn to pick up someone named "Chantal." I arrived and two women of color hopped in. They talked amongst themselves, and one made a phone call identifying herself to the receiver as "Caramel." I dropped Chantal off in Bayside, and she took off running. Caramel asked if I saw what she saw, and I did: Chantal's dress was riding up as she sprinted, her plump chocolate-colored rump exposed and bouncing. Do the kids still use "badonkadonk?" If so, this lady was sporting the badonkadonkest badonkadonk I had ever seen. I then dropped  Caramel off and we spoke briefly...
CARAMEL: Sorry I won't be showing you my ass.
GUAK: My loss for sure.
C: Next time I'll wear a dress for you.
G: Now we're talking!

Six guys piled into my cab the other night. Five of them wore button-down shirts that were either white or pale blue. The sixth guy bucked the trend by wearing a blue and white checkered button-down. They spoke to each other about how they all had sex with the same lucky lady, two of them having her at the same time.

Last week I got a request to pick up the widow of the Second Best Cab Driver In Portland (see Willard Whitaker May 27, 1966 - April 10, 2011 and Willie Part 2 ). I picked Jenny up at her place of employment at the Mill Creek Shopping Center and drove her to her Parkside apartment. She mentioned that Willie sometimes visit her at night and keeps her company. He stays until she tells him to go be with his daughter (who died at a young age). I don't believe in angels or ghosts or any sort of life after death, but in this instance I hope Jenny's right: I would like to think this amazing fella still lives on in some fashion.

After what seemed like forever (but was really only about a month), my Friday night regular called me looking to bring her and two of her friends to the Old Port. I love those gals. I wouldn't call them cougars per se; they're not on the prowl (or at least not all of them are), but I reckon y'all catch my drift. The ladies are reasonably well-behaved, though one did ask me if I liked tag teaming.

I had the pleasure of transporting my favorite Dutchman to the train station.

Monday night I picked up two women at the Holiday Inn By The Bay. My mission, if I chose to accept it, was to drive them to the Florence House so they could pick up some things and drop them back off at Holiday Bay. The Florence House is the location for the city's women's shelter, but it also provides transitional apartments for women that are almost ready to live on their own (or at least with less government assistance). It's in these apartments where those two broads lived. I accepted the mission, and it proved to be an interesting one...

WOMAN #1: I don't know what you're wearing, but you smell good. It's making me hot.
WOMAN #2: Yeah, you're making our twats wet. I'm so hot I'm going to unzip my sweatshirt.
W #2: Don't let her! She's wearing nothing underneath!

I didn't need her warning because for some reason I glanced over and discovered that on my own. Woman #2 was in the front seat, and I noticed her girls were in all their naked...umm...glory? It's sad, a bit depressing even, that the first pair of bare breasts I've seen in months belong to a gross quasi-homeless woman with several missing teeth.

We got to the Florence House, and after a short wait I'm driving them back to the Holiday Inn. And the stimulating conversation continued:
W #2: Do you have a wife?
GUAK: No, I don't.
W #2: Do you want a wife?
G: Heh.
W #2: Do you want to fuck a bitch?

I can be a bit slow on the uptake at times. It was then I realized these two ladies weren't just fucking with me: they wanted The Guak to be the meat in their sandwich. They were giving me their room numbers and digits. They asked me if I wanted to hang out with "wild and crazy girls that like to party."

What happened next I'm almost ashamed to admit. I say almost because I only did it for the story and what's the point of a story if you're not going to share it? I assure you it's not all that scary and gross. So we pull up to their hotel and W #2 put her hand on my cheeks and positioned my face so it's facing hers. She said "come here" and went in to kiss me. So I obliged the troll lady. It wasn't making out, just a bit of a smack on the lips. Maybe it lingered a little long. It probably did. The gals went on their way, and I went back to work.

If I get tuberculosis I know who to blame. Myself.