Hi gang,
I know it's been awhile since I've posted here and I just wanted to pop in and say hi and let you know what's up with me.
I started working a graveyard shift at Allsup's, a C-store chain that's huge in New Mexico and west Texas. Seriously Allsup's is every bit as prevalent here in NM as Circle K or 7-11 is anywhere else, in fact Allsup's bought out several corporate owned 7-11s in NM and Texas several years ago.
Anyway it's been mostly work & sleep since then, we've been adjusting my meds, etc., etc.
My wife and I have been bickering a little more since I started back working.
I guess she worries about me, but I think it's more, on some deeper level, that she enjoyed being able to say she was carrying the whole load & supporting her sick husband.
Not that she's not bearing most of the load, I make a third what she does, maybe just short of 1/2.
The job itself?
It's OK, nothing special, it's boring & repetitive, which seems to work for me.
After less than 2 months I'm full time graveyard shift manager, not by merit, but because every one else on the shift has been fired or quit (depending on who you ask).
I started as a part-time grunt worker whose main purpose was covering off days, truthfully that's all I was looking for, I was trying to avoid responsibility and thus minimize stress.
Now I'm # 3 in seniority in the store (including management).
I'm still working on my book, progress is slow but with the advice given by 'The Beautiful Percy', I think it's going pretty well.
In short, I'm grinding it out.
Just like everybody else, kinda nice actually.
My boss, aside from a few needed concessions, treats me the same as everyone else.
The customers and my co-workers treat me pretty much as equals.
The best part of my job is that it's not Wal*Mart.
We'll talk again,
The Greeter
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Did I kill Big Jim?
I've been battling myself these last several days, which I consider better than the suffocating depression that lifted some after the Dr. increased my Tegretol dose by 50%.
Some of the color has come back into the world for me, but it's a double edged sword, it comes at a price. I still feel worthless, I still have suicidal thoughts, and am still vulnerable to attack, but (for now) I am able to defend myself, it's worthwhile when I catch myself enjoying things again.
But like they say nothing good comes without a price, self doubt was planted in me the other night after I posted a story about an accident I had in 2001.
Here's a link to the thread where the story appears;
http://fuckedforum.com/bbs/show_last_reply/29094#msg_308400
It's the 1st post in the thread.
I was ultimately found not responsible for either death by the authorities, I still hold myself responsible. A response in that thread started me thinking about culpability (shared responsibility for an event), it made me think about Big Jim and how he died, it made me wonder if I share responsiblity for his death, or if I alone am responsible ( I briefly reference Big Jim's murder in "The Good Ol' Days" entry in this blog).
Here's the whole story of Big Jim's murder, you decide for yourself and let me know what you think by commenting on this blog entry.
Big Jim was a driver for a rival company, both of his sons worked for me (yes they were twins, Not so Big Jim jr. & Medium Nate) and the plan was for him to come work for me as soon as I had an opening.
Big Jim and the twins were fixtures at the 'Country Boy's Social Hour' as most of us called it.
Big Jim was a legend, after 21 years as a cop, he was shot in the line of duty serving a warrant on a drug dealer and forced to take a medical retirement. When he died he'd been a cabbie for 14 years, he was 57 years old when he was killed.
His twin sons, Not so Big Jim Jr. and Medium Nate didn't fall far from the tree, both had been Phoenix police officers, following in there dad's footsteps. Both were forced to take medical pensions only 4 months apart. Nate was hit by a Fed Ex van during a foot pursuit and Jim's cruiser was hit by a drunk driver. Both followed dad into cab driving to supplement their medical pensions.
Nate came to me first, bringing Jim in a few months later. Big Jim liked the way I did things and was going to defect from Discount Cab as soon as I brought up another car.
One misty night in Febuary 2000, we were stacked 5 deep at the 1st & Monroe cab stand, waiting for the foot traffic from the Suns game. I was 1st up on the queue(sp?) with Big Jim second and the twins behind us along with a mexican cab.
The four of us were 'logged off' at the stand, standing outside smoking and joking, when 2 guys approached from the direction of the arena.
My cell rang just as they arrived, one of my stripper personals, I shined 'em on to Big Jim so I could run my personal call. I promised him a good call later as we got in our cabs.
The next time I saw him he was dead.
Nate called me a half hour later, Big Jim was missing in the area of 40th street and Thomas road.
My heart jumped into my throat, I'd just dropped my fare at 32nd street & Washington so i wheeled the cab around and hauled ass 4 miles northeast to the search area.
I knew what I'd find, dozens of cabs, from every company in town, crawling all over the area like ants on a chocalate bar, so thick that they were almost hitting each other, but not a single cop.
Jim was found by a Yellow cab 30 minutes later, his cab butted up against a light pole, he was slumped over the wheel, shot at least three times in the back and head, the meter still running, the car still running and in gear. I knew the guys I passed him at the stand were the killers.
The cops arrived to find cabs lining both sides of the street in every direction as far as the eye could see, and Jim's sons standing with me in the circle of light.
The rage in the air that night, I've never witnessed anything like it.
The police never found a suspect, we doubted that there was a whole lot of effort made.
A cabbie just isn't important enough to make any real effort, not since the Jason Schecterlie incident.
The boys claim that they didn't blame me, I believed them , but I blame myself.
Nate and Jim both quit soon after, opting to work for their uncle installing security systems, Nate was killed by a drunk driver in 2004, Not so Big Jim was paralyzed after being shot in the back during a home invasion robbery in 2007.
Did I kill Big Jim?
We'll talk again,
-The Greeter
Some of the color has come back into the world for me, but it's a double edged sword, it comes at a price. I still feel worthless, I still have suicidal thoughts, and am still vulnerable to attack, but (for now) I am able to defend myself, it's worthwhile when I catch myself enjoying things again.
But like they say nothing good comes without a price, self doubt was planted in me the other night after I posted a story about an accident I had in 2001.
Here's a link to the thread where the story appears;
http://fuckedforum.com/bbs/show_last_reply/29094#msg_308400
It's the 1st post in the thread.
I was ultimately found not responsible for either death by the authorities, I still hold myself responsible. A response in that thread started me thinking about culpability (shared responsibility for an event), it made me think about Big Jim and how he died, it made me wonder if I share responsiblity for his death, or if I alone am responsible ( I briefly reference Big Jim's murder in "The Good Ol' Days" entry in this blog).
Here's the whole story of Big Jim's murder, you decide for yourself and let me know what you think by commenting on this blog entry.
Big Jim was a driver for a rival company, both of his sons worked for me (yes they were twins, Not so Big Jim jr. & Medium Nate) and the plan was for him to come work for me as soon as I had an opening.
Big Jim and the twins were fixtures at the 'Country Boy's Social Hour' as most of us called it.
Big Jim was a legend, after 21 years as a cop, he was shot in the line of duty serving a warrant on a drug dealer and forced to take a medical retirement. When he died he'd been a cabbie for 14 years, he was 57 years old when he was killed.
His twin sons, Not so Big Jim Jr. and Medium Nate didn't fall far from the tree, both had been Phoenix police officers, following in there dad's footsteps. Both were forced to take medical pensions only 4 months apart. Nate was hit by a Fed Ex van during a foot pursuit and Jim's cruiser was hit by a drunk driver. Both followed dad into cab driving to supplement their medical pensions.
Nate came to me first, bringing Jim in a few months later. Big Jim liked the way I did things and was going to defect from Discount Cab as soon as I brought up another car.
One misty night in Febuary 2000, we were stacked 5 deep at the 1st & Monroe cab stand, waiting for the foot traffic from the Suns game. I was 1st up on the queue(sp?) with Big Jim second and the twins behind us along with a mexican cab.
The four of us were 'logged off' at the stand, standing outside smoking and joking, when 2 guys approached from the direction of the arena.
My cell rang just as they arrived, one of my stripper personals, I shined 'em on to Big Jim so I could run my personal call. I promised him a good call later as we got in our cabs.
The next time I saw him he was dead.
Nate called me a half hour later, Big Jim was missing in the area of 40th street and Thomas road.
My heart jumped into my throat, I'd just dropped my fare at 32nd street & Washington so i wheeled the cab around and hauled ass 4 miles northeast to the search area.
I knew what I'd find, dozens of cabs, from every company in town, crawling all over the area like ants on a chocalate bar, so thick that they were almost hitting each other, but not a single cop.
Jim was found by a Yellow cab 30 minutes later, his cab butted up against a light pole, he was slumped over the wheel, shot at least three times in the back and head, the meter still running, the car still running and in gear. I knew the guys I passed him at the stand were the killers.
The cops arrived to find cabs lining both sides of the street in every direction as far as the eye could see, and Jim's sons standing with me in the circle of light.
The rage in the air that night, I've never witnessed anything like it.
The police never found a suspect, we doubted that there was a whole lot of effort made.
A cabbie just isn't important enough to make any real effort, not since the Jason Schecterlie incident.
The boys claim that they didn't blame me, I believed them , but I blame myself.
Nate and Jim both quit soon after, opting to work for their uncle installing security systems, Nate was killed by a drunk driver in 2004, Not so Big Jim was paralyzed after being shot in the back during a home invasion robbery in 2007.
Did I kill Big Jim?
We'll talk again,
-The Greeter
Thursday, April 3, 2008
DENIED!
Well life sucks, that's not exactly any kind of earth shattering new information, more like,
"This just in; Sun sets in the west!"
Last Friday life got, well suckier, Disability denied my claim. This was my appeal after being denied once already.
So now I'm looking for work, I hear that Wal*Mart's hiring :o), hey, I've already got the clothes :o(
I have no doubt that blood would be spilled if I went back. Best case scenario, just mine, but there's a real possibility that I'd take someone (someones) with me.
Probably not a great idea.
I live in a small town, having fled Phoenix, barely escaping with my life. Another year there would definitely have killed me.
If I'd stayed in Phoenix there would be more jobs, but also perhaps 100 times more competition for them, here there are fewer jobs, and I'm not qualified for most of them, my physical disabilities preclude me from the rest.
I'm fucked either way.
I still think I made the right decision leaving the big city for the small town, if I have to be sitting somewhere fucked, I'm better off being here, where I can relax, in Phoenix my fear of crowded places made even grocery shopping an extremely unpleasent experience.
Mrs. Greeter is working 60 + hours a week to almost support us while I sit around on my ass crying. It's been almost a month since I listed anything on ebay, I'm running out of things to sell and truthfully, I'm sick of people getting my prized possessions for almost nothing then bitching that the postage is too high. I need to put some stuff up soon though.
My work on my book is stalled because I just can't seem to get excited about anything.
I hope I can pull out of my funk pretty soon.
The meds numb this and dull that, but I still have the bad thoughts, I think about death a lot. Only Mrs. Greeter and my desire to live long enough to keep my brother from getting my share of our small inheritence keep me interested in breathing.
I'm not real excited about the money (I don't know how much it'll be or when it'll come), I just don't want him to get it. For whatever reason my mother stated if either of us died before the inheritence is paid the surviving sibling gets the other's share. She made no provision for our spouses. I know he would leave my wife hanging, if he were to pass(God forbid), I'd see that his wife got his share, that seems only fair to me.
I'm gonna go for now, I just thought I'd update the blog.
Hopefully the next update will be a little more entertaining.
Until next time,
-The Greeter
"This just in; Sun sets in the west!"
Last Friday life got, well suckier, Disability denied my claim. This was my appeal after being denied once already.
So now I'm looking for work, I hear that Wal*Mart's hiring :o), hey, I've already got the clothes :o(
I have no doubt that blood would be spilled if I went back. Best case scenario, just mine, but there's a real possibility that I'd take someone (someones) with me.
Probably not a great idea.
I live in a small town, having fled Phoenix, barely escaping with my life. Another year there would definitely have killed me.
If I'd stayed in Phoenix there would be more jobs, but also perhaps 100 times more competition for them, here there are fewer jobs, and I'm not qualified for most of them, my physical disabilities preclude me from the rest.
I'm fucked either way.
I still think I made the right decision leaving the big city for the small town, if I have to be sitting somewhere fucked, I'm better off being here, where I can relax, in Phoenix my fear of crowded places made even grocery shopping an extremely unpleasent experience.
Mrs. Greeter is working 60 + hours a week to almost support us while I sit around on my ass crying. It's been almost a month since I listed anything on ebay, I'm running out of things to sell and truthfully, I'm sick of people getting my prized possessions for almost nothing then bitching that the postage is too high. I need to put some stuff up soon though.
My work on my book is stalled because I just can't seem to get excited about anything.
I hope I can pull out of my funk pretty soon.
The meds numb this and dull that, but I still have the bad thoughts, I think about death a lot. Only Mrs. Greeter and my desire to live long enough to keep my brother from getting my share of our small inheritence keep me interested in breathing.
I'm not real excited about the money (I don't know how much it'll be or when it'll come), I just don't want him to get it. For whatever reason my mother stated if either of us died before the inheritence is paid the surviving sibling gets the other's share. She made no provision for our spouses. I know he would leave my wife hanging, if he were to pass(God forbid), I'd see that his wife got his share, that seems only fair to me.
I'm gonna go for now, I just thought I'd update the blog.
Hopefully the next update will be a little more entertaining.
Until next time,
-The Greeter
Thursday, March 20, 2008
WHY?
I have previously mentioned that I am a rapid cycling Bipolar w/ Intermittent Explosive Disorder and Schizo-affective tendacies.
I am currently taking Tegretol twice daily, and Seroquel 1 hour before bedtime.
Tegretol is prescribed mainly as an anti seizure medication, but is also prescribed as a mood stabilizer, which is why I take it.
Seroquel is an anti psychotic drug. It is widely presribed to the mentally ill (as I understand it) as a sedative. It flat knocks me out, that's no shit.
I take Seroquel for 2 reasons;
1) I have a great deal of trouble sleeping. What sleep I did get was thin and restless. I've been plagued by nightmares for many years that disrupted my sleep, I also sleepwalk, and due to having worked nights for most of my adult life I 've had trouble going to bed before 4am.
Taking this medication between 11pm and Midnight, has minimized, but not eliminated these problems. I still occasionally sleepwalk and they nightmares have become less frequent (but not by much), they don't wake me as often as they did.
2) The medication adresses a problem I didn't know I had, audio and visual hallucinations!
For as long as I can remeber, I have seen and heard things that I couldn't explain. Nothing serious you understand, I was seeing shapes and shadows, the occasional flashing geometric patterms, mostly in my peripheral vision.
The things I heard were equally harmless, laughter, muffled conversation, voices calling my name or saying HEY! as I was falling asleep, music that sounded like it was coming from another room, T.V. static, shit like that.
I associated the things I saw to my eye problems, I've had 15 eye surgeries, mostly related to retina damage, so I see "floaters" which I understand to be minute bits of debris moving around in my eyes, what I've seen was for the most part, easy to mistake for "floaters". For me at least.
The stuff I heard I never even questioned, I just thought that was part of my thought process.
As a kid I would have times when my mind raced, seemingly out of control (something that, years later, I discovered were Manic phases of my yet undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder).
I thought the stuff I heard were by products of stuff like that, I thought it happened to everyone.
I'd always thought that hallucinations were just stuff like Jesus feeding parking meters and leprichauns on your shoulder telling you to burn the world!
You can imagine my surprise!
Anyway, the medications above work to stabalize my mood and suppress the SERIOUS anger issues I have.
The last 6 or 8 weeks I've been feeling not myself, like a faded washed out version of myself, like a copy of a copy of a copy.
I don't want to do anything, don't really enjoy anything, not sleeping well despite the sedative.
Until yesterday I didn't know what to make of it. I'm depressed!
I didn't recognize it for what it was because I've never experienced depression without the other shit!
Again, imagine my surprise!
So I ask WHY?!
Why wouldn't the psychaitrist give me an anti depressant BEFORE giving me a mood stabilizer?
Why not put me in a good mood and stabilize that?!
Dr. Martinez, you have some 'splaining to do!
I am currently taking Tegretol twice daily, and Seroquel 1 hour before bedtime.
Tegretol is prescribed mainly as an anti seizure medication, but is also prescribed as a mood stabilizer, which is why I take it.
Seroquel is an anti psychotic drug. It is widely presribed to the mentally ill (as I understand it) as a sedative. It flat knocks me out, that's no shit.
I take Seroquel for 2 reasons;
1) I have a great deal of trouble sleeping. What sleep I did get was thin and restless. I've been plagued by nightmares for many years that disrupted my sleep, I also sleepwalk, and due to having worked nights for most of my adult life I 've had trouble going to bed before 4am.
Taking this medication between 11pm and Midnight, has minimized, but not eliminated these problems. I still occasionally sleepwalk and they nightmares have become less frequent (but not by much), they don't wake me as often as they did.
2) The medication adresses a problem I didn't know I had, audio and visual hallucinations!
For as long as I can remeber, I have seen and heard things that I couldn't explain. Nothing serious you understand, I was seeing shapes and shadows, the occasional flashing geometric patterms, mostly in my peripheral vision.
The things I heard were equally harmless, laughter, muffled conversation, voices calling my name or saying HEY! as I was falling asleep, music that sounded like it was coming from another room, T.V. static, shit like that.
I associated the things I saw to my eye problems, I've had 15 eye surgeries, mostly related to retina damage, so I see "floaters" which I understand to be minute bits of debris moving around in my eyes, what I've seen was for the most part, easy to mistake for "floaters". For me at least.
The stuff I heard I never even questioned, I just thought that was part of my thought process.
As a kid I would have times when my mind raced, seemingly out of control (something that, years later, I discovered were Manic phases of my yet undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder).
I thought the stuff I heard were by products of stuff like that, I thought it happened to everyone.
I'd always thought that hallucinations were just stuff like Jesus feeding parking meters and leprichauns on your shoulder telling you to burn the world!
You can imagine my surprise!
Anyway, the medications above work to stabalize my mood and suppress the SERIOUS anger issues I have.
The last 6 or 8 weeks I've been feeling not myself, like a faded washed out version of myself, like a copy of a copy of a copy.
I don't want to do anything, don't really enjoy anything, not sleeping well despite the sedative.
Until yesterday I didn't know what to make of it. I'm depressed!
I didn't recognize it for what it was because I've never experienced depression without the other shit!
Again, imagine my surprise!
So I ask WHY?!
Why wouldn't the psychaitrist give me an anti depressant BEFORE giving me a mood stabilizer?
Why not put me in a good mood and stabilize that?!
Dr. Martinez, you have some 'splaining to do!
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Welcome to my Nightmare (Don't think you're gonna Like It)
The dream is always the same.
I never see the risk of picking him up, he seems okay.
I notice that he's wearing gloves though the night is fair, but it fails to raise the red flag that it should.
I'm making conversation like I always do, get someone talking, it increases tips.
Then the turn, his change in demeanor, the gun to my head! I've got it now, but it's way too late!
Fear closes his ice cold hand around my balls.
I'm weighing options as I follow his directions. There are no fucking options!
My gun is in my briefcase, I should be wearing it, goddamn company policy!
Doesn't matter, inside a cab's a bad place for a standoff, worse place for a gunfight.
'Stay calm, let's see how it plays out before we panic' says the inner voice, the one who'd been sleeping on the job 3 minutes ago, easy for you to say fucker!
I know it'll go bad, because he's isolating us, he's scouted the location, and because I've only got $16 in the cab and nothing else to offer him but the cab itself.
He tells me to stop and kill the motor, the meter's running, the opposite of the clock in my head that's ticking to zero.
He's talking, I'm trying to listen, but my head is full of noise, like a tv tuned to a channel with no signal, my mind is racing, my wheels are spinning, no traction!
I hand over the money, you can't get a pizza for what I've got, he's furious!
He smashes my head with the gun, 2, 3, 4 times.
He puts the muzzle at the base of my skull and demands the rest, the noise in my head disappears the clock reaches zero and stops.
"That's all there is" I say calmly.
"Give me the rest!" I hear him cock the pistol.
"There is no more"
The Shot!
I'm screaming in the darkness!
Mrs. Gus is battling her own panic to calm me!
I cry as she holds me.
Sleep is chased out of the room for awhile, she'll work on her puzzle while I smoke and watch Time Life infomercials, Peter Fonda must be in rough shape to be hustling cd's on late night tv.
I had the dream every night for almost 2 years, and 2 to 5 times a week since then.
The medication helps, but it doesn't stop it, I din't scream much anymore, but jerk awake in a panic, soon the sedative over powers my fear and confusion and pulls me back down.
Welcome to my nightmare.
-The Greeter
I never see the risk of picking him up, he seems okay.
I notice that he's wearing gloves though the night is fair, but it fails to raise the red flag that it should.
I'm making conversation like I always do, get someone talking, it increases tips.
Then the turn, his change in demeanor, the gun to my head! I've got it now, but it's way too late!
Fear closes his ice cold hand around my balls.
I'm weighing options as I follow his directions. There are no fucking options!
My gun is in my briefcase, I should be wearing it, goddamn company policy!
Doesn't matter, inside a cab's a bad place for a standoff, worse place for a gunfight.
'Stay calm, let's see how it plays out before we panic' says the inner voice, the one who'd been sleeping on the job 3 minutes ago, easy for you to say fucker!
I know it'll go bad, because he's isolating us, he's scouted the location, and because I've only got $16 in the cab and nothing else to offer him but the cab itself.
He tells me to stop and kill the motor, the meter's running, the opposite of the clock in my head that's ticking to zero.
He's talking, I'm trying to listen, but my head is full of noise, like a tv tuned to a channel with no signal, my mind is racing, my wheels are spinning, no traction!
I hand over the money, you can't get a pizza for what I've got, he's furious!
He smashes my head with the gun, 2, 3, 4 times.
He puts the muzzle at the base of my skull and demands the rest, the noise in my head disappears the clock reaches zero and stops.
"That's all there is" I say calmly.
"Give me the rest!" I hear him cock the pistol.
"There is no more"
The Shot!
I'm screaming in the darkness!
Mrs. Gus is battling her own panic to calm me!
I cry as she holds me.
Sleep is chased out of the room for awhile, she'll work on her puzzle while I smoke and watch Time Life infomercials, Peter Fonda must be in rough shape to be hustling cd's on late night tv.
I had the dream every night for almost 2 years, and 2 to 5 times a week since then.
The medication helps, but it doesn't stop it, I din't scream much anymore, but jerk awake in a panic, soon the sedative over powers my fear and confusion and pulls me back down.
Welcome to my nightmare.
-The Greeter
Saturday, March 1, 2008
The Good Old Days
For me the old days was the end of the 97 to spring '01.
In 97 I was clearing $1200 a week easy in a rented cab, by January of 99 I was running my own 8 or 9 car fleet under the umbrella of the company I ran with. Me & my guys were driving the best cars because I did research at the police auctions and avoided police cars when I could.
I rotated them more often than the company did, hell the company bought some of my cars.
The rest got cheap paint jobs in flashy colors to cover the battle scars and whatever cheap matched mag rims the used tire shop I used had laying around. Painted purple, and electric blue, and jalepeno green metallic, with custom rims and low price tags, they sold quicklybecause they were clean and cheap, to people who couldn't afford better.
I made money off these cars all the way around.
Pay $2500, run the car for 12 to 18 months, they paid for themselves in 9 weeks, you do the math.
Then $300 in paint, $300 in cheap wheels and used tires, park it on the corner with an $1800 price tag then let 'em dicker down to $1500! Everybody's happy.
But when I think about 'back in the day', what I think about is the hunt, pulling that $600 Vegas trip out of the Circle K, or the $1100 trip to Long Beach, or the couple that paid me $35 an hour to sit in an OTB bar with them and watch them bet the horses.
There's some genuinely silly mother fuckers out there, and I met A BUNCH of 'em!
More than anything I remeber taking over the Country Boys restauraunt at 2am, the joint looked like a taxi impound lot from 2 to 4 am, sometimes there were 40 cabs in the lot.
Inside it was like a party, yelling, laughing, all of us trading war stories and jokes, every english speaking company in town was represented. We were brothers and sisters, comdrades in arms, cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air (this was before the smoking ban), it was fun!
I'd walk in wearing blue jeans, a white dress shirt, my cowboy hat, & my 2" .357 Magnum clipped backwards on my left side.
People would see me, cabbies I didn't know would yell out, it didn't matter if every table was full (they often were), guy and gals, whose names I never knew, would make room for me! Flo (really her name) would bring my breakfast without asking my order because she already knew! I reckon Flo probably earned $200-250 in tips for those 2 hours!
In my entire life, to this day, I've never felt more accepted, more welcome!
It didn't end in that diner, we all watched out for each other, didn't matter whose name was on the tophat, if a cabbie got jammed up some kinda way he could make a call, in 15 minutes he'd be up to his ass in cabbie backup.
One night a driver got stiifed on a fare, 20 minutes later, there were cabs up and down this asshole's block 4 or 5 of them in his yard, 8 or 9 of us on his porch beating on his door with Maglites! MotherFucker paid his fare!!!
The dispatchers called each other too, when a cab went missing the alarm would sound, every company had all thier drivers looking.
I'll never forget the night Big Jim went down, we found his cab crashed into a lightpole, he was slumped over the wheel, shot in the head and back. They never got his killer. Likely they didn't try real hard.
You couldn't count the taxis in his funeral procession, better than a hundred I know.
We were family.
Sptember 11th changed everything, drove a lot of us into straight jobs, me included.
When I came back it was different, we didn't trust each other, didn't talk to each other.
There were more cabs than ever on the street, competition was fierce.
When I got shot up, 3 cabbies came to see me, back in the day they'd be rotating in, 5-6 at a time, all day long, until the nurses chased everyone out when visiting hours ended.
I got to reminiscing tonight after I got the word that my mentor in the cab business died Friday night. He died at the cab stand around the corner from the Hyatt, heart attack, looks like.
He was truly old school, he said he was the last cabbie in Phoenix to work a Checker Marathon.
Shit he was probably the first to.
He dove a cab in Phoenix for more than 40 years, last I heard he'd been shot 4 times, stabbed 5, fucker was tough as nails.
He trained me, taught me everythung I did right in a rented cab, in 40+ years he never owned a cab, he was proud of me though. He told me so.
Back in the day, he'd get up early and came into the Country Boys, to hang out with us, he was revered.
He was our Yoda!
We'll talk soon.
-The Greeter
In 97 I was clearing $1200 a week easy in a rented cab, by January of 99 I was running my own 8 or 9 car fleet under the umbrella of the company I ran with. Me & my guys were driving the best cars because I did research at the police auctions and avoided police cars when I could.
I rotated them more often than the company did, hell the company bought some of my cars.
The rest got cheap paint jobs in flashy colors to cover the battle scars and whatever cheap matched mag rims the used tire shop I used had laying around. Painted purple, and electric blue, and jalepeno green metallic, with custom rims and low price tags, they sold quicklybecause they were clean and cheap, to people who couldn't afford better.
I made money off these cars all the way around.
Pay $2500, run the car for 12 to 18 months, they paid for themselves in 9 weeks, you do the math.
Then $300 in paint, $300 in cheap wheels and used tires, park it on the corner with an $1800 price tag then let 'em dicker down to $1500! Everybody's happy.
But when I think about 'back in the day', what I think about is the hunt, pulling that $600 Vegas trip out of the Circle K, or the $1100 trip to Long Beach, or the couple that paid me $35 an hour to sit in an OTB bar with them and watch them bet the horses.
There's some genuinely silly mother fuckers out there, and I met A BUNCH of 'em!
More than anything I remeber taking over the Country Boys restauraunt at 2am, the joint looked like a taxi impound lot from 2 to 4 am, sometimes there were 40 cabs in the lot.
Inside it was like a party, yelling, laughing, all of us trading war stories and jokes, every english speaking company in town was represented. We were brothers and sisters, comdrades in arms, cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air (this was before the smoking ban), it was fun!
I'd walk in wearing blue jeans, a white dress shirt, my cowboy hat, & my 2" .357 Magnum clipped backwards on my left side.
People would see me, cabbies I didn't know would yell out, it didn't matter if every table was full (they often were), guy and gals, whose names I never knew, would make room for me! Flo (really her name) would bring my breakfast without asking my order because she already knew! I reckon Flo probably earned $200-250 in tips for those 2 hours!
In my entire life, to this day, I've never felt more accepted, more welcome!
It didn't end in that diner, we all watched out for each other, didn't matter whose name was on the tophat, if a cabbie got jammed up some kinda way he could make a call, in 15 minutes he'd be up to his ass in cabbie backup.
One night a driver got stiifed on a fare, 20 minutes later, there were cabs up and down this asshole's block 4 or 5 of them in his yard, 8 or 9 of us on his porch beating on his door with Maglites! MotherFucker paid his fare!!!
The dispatchers called each other too, when a cab went missing the alarm would sound, every company had all thier drivers looking.
I'll never forget the night Big Jim went down, we found his cab crashed into a lightpole, he was slumped over the wheel, shot in the head and back. They never got his killer. Likely they didn't try real hard.
You couldn't count the taxis in his funeral procession, better than a hundred I know.
We were family.
Sptember 11th changed everything, drove a lot of us into straight jobs, me included.
When I came back it was different, we didn't trust each other, didn't talk to each other.
There were more cabs than ever on the street, competition was fierce.
When I got shot up, 3 cabbies came to see me, back in the day they'd be rotating in, 5-6 at a time, all day long, until the nurses chased everyone out when visiting hours ended.
I got to reminiscing tonight after I got the word that my mentor in the cab business died Friday night. He died at the cab stand around the corner from the Hyatt, heart attack, looks like.
He was truly old school, he said he was the last cabbie in Phoenix to work a Checker Marathon.
Shit he was probably the first to.
He dove a cab in Phoenix for more than 40 years, last I heard he'd been shot 4 times, stabbed 5, fucker was tough as nails.
He trained me, taught me everythung I did right in a rented cab, in 40+ years he never owned a cab, he was proud of me though. He told me so.
Back in the day, he'd get up early and came into the Country Boys, to hang out with us, he was revered.
He was our Yoda!
We'll talk soon.
-The Greeter
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Please give if you can
This woman was recently diagnosed with MS, I don't know her, you probably don't either.
It doesn't matter.
I don't have any money to give, But I can post a link that you can go to and give if you can.
I don't know her, except that she posts on the BBS I frequent.
People on that board recently helped me, I want to help her, but this is all I can do.
She did not ask me to do this, I didn't ask permission, I'll remove this link if she asks me too, but only if she asks me too.
Again, please help if you can.
http://www.msillinois.org/site/TR?px=1517854&fr_id=1190&pg=personal
-The Greeter
It doesn't matter.
I don't have any money to give, But I can post a link that you can go to and give if you can.
I don't know her, except that she posts on the BBS I frequent.
People on that board recently helped me, I want to help her, but this is all I can do.
She did not ask me to do this, I didn't ask permission, I'll remove this link if she asks me too, but only if she asks me too.
Again, please help if you can.
http://www.msillinois.org/site/TR?px=1517854&fr_id=1190&pg=personal
-The Greeter
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