Archive for April, 2011


Five Dollar Dingbat.

A few weeks ago, I was drivin up 3rd avenue on the Yuppie East Side after I dropped a passenger off somewhere around 82nd street.  Usually I hate that area so I turn right back around and head back downtown via Lexington for two reasons.  One to get the fuck outta dodge and two because 2nd avenue is all jacked up with construction even though there are more bars and the ilk around there.  Don’t get it twisted, most people that go to those bars don’t even go far anyway so to me it’s a waste of effort.   Surprisingly, I see someone hailing for a cab at 83rd street and I blocked this dude from cutting in front of me to pick up this woman.  I thought it was success.

Her: 86th and East End Avenue.
DK’s Brain: WTF.

I get there in 2 minutes tops.  The total comes out to $4.70.  This woman takes about 3-5 minutes playin hot potato with herself tryin to find me the money for this fare.  I immediately sense that this is gonna be a problem.  I’m hopin she didn’t spend her last $5 at the McDonalds that I picked her up from.  Then she tells me some shit about how she’s gonna call her mom so she can give her the money.  SERIOUSLY?  I tell her that $5 really isn’t that serious and if she really doesn’t have this money she can hop out.  Yet she insists on wanting to pay me this $5 so she tries using her card.  Declined.  Times are hard.

Having your credit/debit card declined is definitely in my top 5 most embarrassing things that can happen to someone by the way.  Especially when you see their reaction “oh this can’t be.”  To quote Obama, YES IT CAN.

Anyway, she’s pissin me off wasting ten minutes of my life that I’ll never get back, even if I went through a time warp.  I make the U-Turn and just tell her to get out since obviously this $5 isn’t happening.  She’s hella apologetic.  I don’t buy into it.  Your ass was just too lazy to walk 6 blocks get the hell outta here.  Givin me that “sorry to bother you” look that peddlers give you on the subway.  I just got peddled in my mind.  Whatcha gonna do?  Drive back downtown at 330am.

And so on.


I Got An American Cab Driver!!!

There are approximately 48,000 people with taxi licenses in the city.  A vast majority of them weren’t originally born in the U.S.  Common knowledge I understand.  Hell, even when I get into cabs it’s almost a guarantee that it won’t be a fellow American, much less a New Yorker.  Nevertheless, I always get a kick out of people who bug out because I don’t have an international accent.

A couple of Saturday nights ago (the night before Palm Sunday), I’m cruisin down 2nd avenue around 9th street where I see this buxom of a white chick lookin for a cab.  She looks flustered because I think a cab had just refused her service.  I pick her up:
Her: Don’t kill me but I’m goin to Brooklyn.
DK’s Brain: Shit, traffic nightmares.
Me: Yeah that’s fine.  Where at tho?
Her: Carroll Gardens…
Me: Word let’s do this.
Me: Umm..yeah.
DK’s Brain: WTF
DK’s Brain:  Jackpot.
Me: Obviously.

This is only the 2nd time I’ve actually had a girl voluntarily sit up front with me so I found this hella intriguing.  Plus she was lookin good; I mean she had that Aubrey O’Day look (but she’s brunette), told me she loves black guys and flaunted her thickness.  What more do I need?  She screams out the window a few times about how she has an American cab driver and how real this shit is.  I know I’m not fake ha.  I was crackin up the entire time because I didn’t realize the significance of her monumental event.  She tells me that she likes to bother white people.  I concur with her ha.

Her looking at my satellite radio presets: Is this SADE?
DK’s Brain: If I were only a smooth operator.
Me: HAAAAAA no SHADE 45.  It’s a rap station.

She comments on my work attire which is a hoodie and fleece pants and how I just be chillin.  Obviously, it’s not like I gotta wear a tuxedo.  We chat it up a bit more, primarily about television shows and our blogging.  We exchange info and I actually did hit her up a couple of days later.  Of course, it’s my luck that she has a boyfriend but hey…she’s still chill.   That was an ego-booster of a trip and the rest of my night went hella fuckin smooth.  Considering the night before I was all out of whack, this was much needed.

NYC Taxis: the only cars where you can actually post up, pick up ladies and THEY pay you to take em home.  Love it.  And so on.


Dear God It’s Friday.

Most people like to thank God that it’s Friday.  Or they’ll say goodness if they’re not so religiously inclined.  I tend to like working Fridays, at least more than I do Saturdays.  Not this past week though.

Look, the money squeeze is out.  I know and respect this.  One of my biggest pet peeves though is people asking me if my taxi can fit five people.  No it cannot.  If people are bitching about how small my cab is and two people are sitting in the back…then how are four people gonna fit at all?  Alcohol does impair your judgment that badly.  Nevertheless these damn Korean kids ask me if five can fit and I tell them no.  These assholes STILL try to do it and the dude that sits in the front tells me to not worry about it and that he’ll “get me”.  I am PISSED.  The dudes in the back know this, yet keep sayin weird shit to each other such as your bum feels good on me etc.  I know they were jokin around with each other but this shit was NOT cool.  If I get pulled over, I pay the price not them.  “You got this if I get pulled over?”  “Oh no don’t worry about it it’s not gonna happen.”  Fuck you.  Then you “get me” by paying $10 on a $9.50 fare yeah that’s the way your Won-Dolla Tip Nation bitchmades roll.  You no hook brotha up.

So you wanna go to some club in Brooklyn and hail a cab from Columbus Circle all because a train is running local.  Are you serious right now?  You do realize it’s gonna cost way more than $2.25?  If it was like midnight I’d understand but I know it doesn’t take THAT long to get down to Empire Blvd and Flatbush Avenue on the train.  You have me play Power 105 in the car, I’m stuck in traffic for 40 minutes, I have to listen to your loud boogi asses talk about how poppin a place you think certain spots will be because a radio DJ will be there, and so on.  Funkmaster Flex DJ’in at a club ain’t shit anymore, it might have been back in…1995.  You don’t tip me on a $31.10 fare and then you thank me on top of that?  If you’re not gonna tip me you have no right to speak to me.  Seriously.  Don’t thank me.  Fuck off.

Same goes for you two Astoria-bound snowflakes.  Don’t commend my music and then tip me nothing.  Trying to spark up a conversation about my Sirius XM go spark up your batteries on your respective vibrators.

And so on.



I figure putting up my typical titles is redundant so I won’t do that anymore.  Nevertheless, in my 14 months of driving I have been quite fortunate enough to not deal with any passengers who christened the back of my cab with their bile and shit.  That was…until Friday night.

Friday night was annoying as fuck as it was (I’ll document more on this in a future post) and I just dropped off these hooligans in K-Town.  I was so pissed off that I flipped my off-duty light on for a little while because K-Town is a headquarters of the Won Dolla Tip Nation and I wanted to get the fuck out of dodge.  I changed my mind though and picked up this dude and his stumblin, bumblin girlfriend who were going towards Canal Street and the West Side Highway.  Meh whatever that’s cool.

All of a sudden, I smell a strange odor emitting from the back.  It’s like a combination of cognac and food.  I don’t say anything for a little while until I speed down Varick and ask them if someone had thrown up.  They decline that they did but I know damn well that they did.  I do have a feeling that it wasn’t that serious because it wasn’t a strong odor but I was just shakin my head.  Finally when I pull up to their apartment, the dude begins to profusely apologize for his girlfriend’s transgression.  He tips me $10 on the card and promises that he’d be back in 5-10 minutes to clean up the mess.  Yeah not a problem.  I actually trusted that he’d come back because he kept asking me if I needed anything and plus I needed to take a breather.

When I check the back, it really wasn’t too bad.  She probably ate a slice of pizza with onions and tomatoes or some shit.  She did puke a bit on his jeans as well and after waiting about 7 minutes, decide that I’m gonna grab towels and begin the process.  Wiping off the crap wasn’t gonna be the problem; it was gonna be trying to get the stench out.  Fortunately, I come prepared with that and I got Armor All for the interior leather as well.  The whole process only takes me about 5 minutes.  By the time he actually comes down with his cleaning products:

Him: Nah nah nah nah I got it.
Me: I was basically done anyway.
Him: Ahh man you didn’t have to.  I said I would do it, you shouldn’t have to put up with shit like this…this is my fault, well her fault too but you know what I mean.
Me: It wasn’t that bad.
Him: Yeah I get that but you shouldn’t have to do this.
DK’s Brain: True.
Him: I got the rest of this (it was about 90% clean at this point anyway).  You need any of these cleaning supplies?  Take it, just take it, and here’s another $5 that’s all I have but I’d give you more.
Me: Ha it’s all good I don’t need…
Him: Just take it say no more.  You’re a good dude.

Well then.  Who woulda thought that someone puking would actually change the course of a night…for the better?  And so on.


DK’s NYC Taxi Cab Chronicles (No Comment).

In an average shift I’ll have anywhere from 1-3 passengers that want to elicit conversation with me.  Lately, I’ve been more hesitant ever since that damn Spanish fag all but tried to molest me.  Nevertheless we usually talk about current events, my car, my job, sports or whatever else.  But this was well…different.

I drop someone off at the epicenter of Rainbow Alley (which is Christopher and Bleeker streets) and some kid wearin a pink polo shirt with the collar popped sees my cab and runs towards it.  It was a Saturday night so you know cabs are at a premium.  He hops in with a couple of female friends and we’re heading towards the infamous MPD which is not a long cab ride at all.  I have a cab sign that mentions Rosie O’Donnell, and that sparks up a game of “would you rather.”

Him: Would you rather…bang Rosie O’Donnell or Whoopi Goldberg?
Me: What the fuck?  Uhhhh…Whoopi Goldberg I guess.  She got dreadlocks to pull on at least.
Him: Okay, okay…how about…Rosie O’Donnell…or the dead body of Megan Fox?
Me: ……………………………………
Me:  Megan Fox’s dead body?
Him: Rosie O’Donnell…or Megan Fox with one arm bleeding to death as you’re fucking her?
Me: Where in God’s name do you think of this stuff???  The latter, I guess.
Him: Rosie O’Donnell doggystyle and in the dark…or Megan Fox after 5 pornstars ran train on her with no condom on…and she’s dead?
DK’s Brain: What the fuck is this dude’s fetish with a dead Megan Fox?
Me: If the chick is dead, would any possible STD’s be dead along with it?
Him: I never thought of that, good question though.
(I didn’t answer this question and we’re a couple of blocks away from the spot)
Him: Alright, final question.  No one would know about this.  Not even a soul.  You fucking Brad Pitt…or getting fucked by a male sheep?
Him: That’s not a choice.  Remember, nobody would ever find out.
DK’s Brain: But gettin out right now is.  And are you kidding?  If I answered you’d brag to people about a cab driver answering such a disgusting question.
Me: NO COMMENT.  We’re here, by the way.
Him: Ahh damn.

Drugs are bad.  And so on.


So Yall Wanna Bitch Huh?

Taxi cab drivers have hella stereotypes that yall give us.  Yall aren’t much better, though.

Taxi Drivers Stink: Yes, I’ve been in some cabs that do.  You can’t necessarily blame the driver; whilst some do because they eat too many damn spices, other times it’s the cabs that they have to rent that smell.  Some of the passengers that get in are no better.  When someone is drunk, you know how odorous that drunk smell is?  I’m surprised it doesn’t melt down my nasal passages n shit.  At least drivers have an excuse to stink also, being out on the road for almost half a day and being away from home for even longer than that.  Most of yall though have the luxury of goin home first.  Pay attention to detail.

Taxi Drivers Talk Too Much On The Phone: It’s illegal to do so when you have a passenger in the car.  I respect that because hey if the average person can’t be on their cell phones while at work,  neither should we.  We have to remain alert.  But yo…I swear some of yall talk/text your lives away and I pull up to the stop and yall muh fuckas STILL talkin?  Pay the fuck up, I got places to go.  God forbid if I missed your stop, it’d be hell.  Yall would yell and bitch and moan (in a non-sensual way) then try to report me, etc.  But since apparently the customer is always right, I have to sit there and waste valuable time because you’re waitin for that “lol yea” text?  Fuck off.

Taxi Drivers Don’t Speak English Well: For the most part this is true.  But obviously, they speak it well enough because you have to take an English proficiency portion of the test and if you fail that part you ain’t gettin a license.  Some of yall clowns don’t understand English well.  Don’t slam my fuckin door.  Not being able to read the full fare.  When it says $6.10 and $1.00 in the extras that means it’s $7.10.  I guess that’s another reason why the SATs were a fail for some of yall.  You don’t just swipe your credit card in the reader, there is in fact a process where you don’t have to go on to figure out.  Some of yall who get in I can’t understand where yall going yourselves.  “108 1st avenue”  Alright, so I’m assuming the address.  “No No NO 108 street 1st avenue” TELL ME THIS BEFORE.  Oh, and the dreaded calling out your corner at the last second deal?  Pisses me off to no end.  I drive a car, I’m definitely not gonna be on a gymnast squad anytime soon so stop it.

This is an immigrant job: Well, the one negative about NYC is that people are quick to judge you based on your career path.  Someone like me doesn’t stand much of a chance with the ladies versus a dude wearing the basic suit and tie shit…even if I may be making more than him.  Why?  He has an office job, and I’m doing something in which a vast majority of drivers don’t have college degrees and in some cases, not even a HS degree.  However, in an era where your education doesn’t seem to be valued as much even though employers CLAIM it plays a role, however you make the money and pay the bills at the end of the day counts right?  Then again, it should always be that way.  Don’t look down on me because while I do need yall, yall need us too.  I heard at one point this was primarily a job where it was mainly native New Yorkers that drove, but that’s no longer the case.  Shit happens.  I’m in the minority now.

When it’s all said and done, fling your negative stereotypes/connotations.  Do remember though, it’ll always be flipped back if you’re not careful.  And so on.


DK’s NYC Taxi Cab Chronicles (Quick Quotation Edition).

I take this dude wearin a Punisher shirt from Cobble Hill up a bit to Bridge & York streets in DUMBO.  Quick fare, just $6.70 but hey on a Tuesday night you take whatever you can get especially when it’s an intra-Brooklyn trip.  He gives me a $10 and I give him back $3.  After he counts his money and straightens it out:
Him: I would tip ya…but I’m broke.
Me: Ha at least you’re honest.
Him: It’s the only way to be ya know?
DK’s Brain: Walk your ass next time.

I’m on the Yuppie East Side at 85th street going crosstown towards Lexington because I don’t expect to pick up anyone.  Suddenly, this couple hails a cab and I proceed to pick them up.  Well, it just turned out that the chick gotta have her makeout session with her date and she hops in the cab smiling as expected:
Her: I’m only  going to 88th and Lexington, I’m sorry.  I’m wearing heels and I just want to go home.
Me: Psh it’s all good, money is money to me especially tonight.
Her: I wanted to get away from that guy too.
Me: I thought you were feelin him though?  You were cheesin and everything when you got in.
Her: No not like that.  He took me out to an expensive dinner.
Me: Well the way you were kissin him…
Her: I didn’t give him tongue!
Me: Then again I didn’t witness the entire Bold and Beautiful-esque scene so I can’t judge.  But you’re leading him on tsk tsk.
Her: I knowww, I feel really bad.  He’s such a nice guy.
DK’s Brain: Where HAVEN’T I heard this before.

We’d talk about date ideas for a bit and I come to find out that she’s from Dallas-Fort Worth, a place I’ve been to.  She loves it out there, I told her I didn’t like that because I spent most of my time in FW.  She understood.

On Friday night I was heading home and I seen these three black dudes trying to get a cab and I gave them per usual the benefit of the doubt.  It was 4am anyway and I figured since they were hailing to go downtown that they’d get me out of Manhattan and at least into Brooklyn.  Turns out they’re goin to Jamaica.  Even better for me.  The fare was $34.70 and they give me $35.
Dude: Yo good looks for pickin us up man, muh fuckas passin us by like we ailens n shit.
Me: Yeah I know how that’s like.
DK’s Brain: The concept of tippin is ailen to you and you look like Shelden Williams too (no Candace Parker).

Girl: I dress sexy for myself.
Me: As you should, although I know you do it to garner attention too stop lyin.
Girl: Well, any male attention I do get is a bonus.
Me: I’d approach you if I were drunk.  Don’t take it the wrong way though, it’s because I’m shy and wouldn’t wanna get rejected so I’d drink to muster confidence.
Girl: Aww only when you’re drunk though?
Me: I mean you’re cute right now and I’m sober.
Girl: Haha that’s better well thank you.

And so on.