Screwing the Cabbie
Three vignettes about being ripped off.
By: The Sceptic | 20July2001
IntroductionI've always been a note-taker and list-maker, but since I've been driving taxi, it has become an obsession. It takes a little extra time, scribbling furiously once I've dropped off a fare, to make notes:
At the end of the shift, I tally up what I would have made without tips, charging for waiting, charging for extra passengers ($1 per for more than 2 bodies), and if scumbags hadn't tennis-shooed on me when it was time to pay. This I compare to what I took in, including tips. Sometimes the tips make up for the rest. On average, they don't. I've determined that I'd make 8% more profit if nobody ever tipped me, but I received all that the city code says cab drivers can collect. Maybe I'm just unlucky, but at least I haven't yet had someone set pit bulls on me. That was a fellow driver, a couple of days ago. He wasn't hurt -- just shook up -- and I've already given him a killer hamburger recipe. Sick Baby
It was my first noteworthy rip-off. If I'd had more than three weeks of experience as a cabdriver, I might have noticed some
clues. Or maybe not. Even now, I don't know for sure if William Frank Goodman intended to rip me off when I picked him up at
a convenience store at around 2am on a Monday morning, or whether he decided to screw me afterward. All I knew was that he
was stranded in town and needed to get to the next town right away. Sunday night/Monday mornings generally aren't hot
moneymaker shifts, so someone needing a ride that far would make for a nice bonus. Besides, the reason he was in such a hurry
was because his baby was sick.
I have since determined that being told a sad story -- sick baby, death in the family, visiting a friend at the hospital, etc. -- is almost a dead giveaway that the fare is going to attempt to screw me. He told me right away that he didn't have cash on him, but "you take a check, don't you?" because his checkbook was at home. At the drop-off, I'd only have to wait a minute for him to go in and get it. During the drive, we engaged in conversation about whatever, but mostly about how he was worried about his baby because he was throwing up blood, his girlfriend didn't have a license, he'd have to borrow her mother's car to take it to the hospital, yadda yadda. I felt sorry for the punk, I really did. When we got to the house -- not exactly in town, but far enough off the main roads to make the fare well worthwhile --he told me he'd be right back. He was in his house for three or four minutes, then came out again, sans checkbook. It seemed his girlfriend and her mom had taken the baby to the hospital already, and they had the checkbook with them. However, as a sign that he wasn't trying to screw me, he gave me his state ID card as security. I gave him the cab company's address and phone number. He said he'd bring the money to our office the next day. When I got off at 6am, I brought the ID card up to the day dispatcher and had her make a note that the ID card should be surrendered in exchange for $34.60 when he brought it in. I got some sleep, then went back to work at 6pm. William Frank Goodman hadn't come in, so I took the ID card and decided I'd give him a couple days to try to contact us. I assumed he'd want the card back. It turned out to be a pretty lousy week for making money and I spent some driving time thinking how much good that $34.60 would do to my bottom line when I finally collected it. I think it was Thursday -- a day off -- that I decided to do something more than wait. I had already noticed that the address on the ID didn't correspond to where I had dropped him off. Unfortunately, being under-experienced then, I hadn't written down the address where I'd dropped him, but I knew I could find it if necessary. I called directory assistance and got a phone number to go with the name, then tried to give him a call. There was a young female voice on the answering machine, so I left a friendly message about who I was and what I wanted. Nobody returned my call. I called several days in a row, with each message I left less sympathetic than the last. Finally, they unplugged the answering machine. A week later, I retraced the drive to his house in my personal car and took down the address. [That may seem like a lot of trouble to go to for $34.60 (plus a tip, presumably) but money was tight and -- more than that -- there was a principle involved. I had spent time and petrol getting the bastard where he needed to go. Didn't I have a right to be paid?] Nobody was home, but I dialed the number I had been calling on my cell, and heard it ring in the house. This confirmed that I was on the right track. I called the county sheriff's department, explained what had happened ("yes that's illegal, it's theft") and decided to go even farther out of my way -- on my day off -- to talk to a cop in person. When I finally got to the sheriff's department, the deputies wrote up a report on the basis of what I could remember. They were surprised that I had his ID card. I was surprised when one of them said, "I know this face. I've run into this character before." They asked me what I wanted to do. Not wanting to deal with going to court and all that bullshit, I said, "I'd just like to be paid. He might really be having hard times with a sick baby and I don't want to make more trouble for him if he'll pay me." (That was a mistake.) One deputy said he'd try to find the guy, and get back to me. A couple days later, I got a call from the cop. He told me that William Frank Goodman was in lockup for a couple of days, but that when he got out, he'd make sure and pay me. Ten days later, when I still hadn't heard from him, I called the phone number of his home and finally spoke with a real human -- the girlfriend's mother -- and told her what I was trying to accomplish. She explained that she had Goodman thrown in jail for beating up her daughter, that I probably wasn't going to get anything from the asshole, and that she'd appreciate it if I would have him charged with theft to be added to the other charges. I never got around to it, not so much because I'm so busy (which I am), but because I know that whatever I do, he's the kind of extreme lowlife that I am very unlikely to collect money out of him. That's OK. I know who he is and I doubt that he'll stray far. The lesson I learned was -- sick baby or not -- call the cops right away. But then I learned another lesson... Drunken Slut"Check with the tender." More often than not, when I'm sent to a pub for a pickup, that's all the dispatcher can tell me about the identity of the pickup. Sometimes, the barkeep doesn't know the customer by name who asked that cab be sent. More often, I think, the nameless customer didn't ask; the tender just decided it was time, and wasn't going to let them drive (or walk, or whatever).When I got her in my car, I didn't know the name of the woman at first. She was in her late 30s (possibly younger, but if so, she'd been ridden hard/put away wet), wore round glasses with blue lenses, clad in tie-die, very inebriated and hands-on friendly. After she finally slurred out her address well enough for me to take her home, she started stroking my hair. I was in a bad mood already and I especially didn't feel like having a full-scale wetbrain slitch pawing at me. "Come on", the whelp said about halfway there. "Give me a kiss." "Not in your lifetime", I replied. "Let me just take you home where you'll be safe." "Oh, I feel very safe with you", she said. Then she went on to describe how one of our drivers had given her a ride in exchange for a ride, so to speak. I doubted that it was true (not that it would be my business), and started to wonder if this was the set-up phase for the rip-off. Turns out I was right. I got her into the parking lot outside her apartment, then told her the fare: $5.70. "I don't have it", she said, then explained further that the company owed her some free rides anyway, for the times she let the other cabbie do her. "Even if that's true", I tried to explain, "that's between you and the other driver, not every driver in the company. You owe me $5.70 for this ride, tonight." "I don't have it", she said. "So why did you get in my cab if you couldn't pay for it?" I answered. She got out and started towards her door. I followed her and said, "I will call a cop if I have to, to collect the fare." She dug through her pockets, pulled out $2 and threw them in my general direction. Then she closed her door in my face. I noted the apartment number and walked back to my car, determined to do it right this time, in spite of the fact that I was going to miss a big chunk of the bar rush. I radioed the dispatcher to explain where I was and why I was going to be awhile. He called the cops for me. They sent two cars! [Since I've been driving at night, I've decided that the taxpayers are paying too much for the police department. I never see a car pulled over by a single cop car. A second, third, even a fourth car will eventually show up to assist, or gawk, or whatever they are doing, regardless of the gravity of the offense.] Two cars, lights flashing to beat all hell, came rushing into the parking lot. I stood outside my car, amused. Two big bulls climbed out, came over with their hands on their holsters, and I quickly explained to them that I was the cabbie, and had been shorted $3.70. Neither of them laughed. I described her, and pointed them to the apartment door. ("It was a woman?" one asked, incredulously.) I warned them that she was extremely inebriated and romantically inclined, in case it mattered. They knocked on the door with flashlights. They knocked on windows. After maybe eight minutes, they finally roused her enough to get her to answer the door. I stayed back at the car, watching, still amused, while they talked to her. After a while, they walked back and one said, "She claims she already paid you... said she gave you a ten and you didn't give her change." "Right", I said. "That's why I called a cop. Because I was overpaid." "You're right, she's very drunk", the other said. "Did you get her name?" I asked. They had and I wrote it down. "So, you can't get my money for me?" I asked. "If you want to, for $3.70, you can get her into court so you can explain it to a judge. I'm sure one would rule in your favor, but I don't know if it's worth your time." "I guess not", I said. "If not, you can just chalk it up as a lesson." "A lesson about what? That I shouldn't pick up drunk people? What precisely is the moral of this story?" There was no reply. So I said, "Well, if she doesn't care that she fucked someone over who knows exactly where she lives, that's OK with me." That probably wasn't the smartest thing to say to a cop under the circumstances, but they didn't reply to it. Besides I'm a patient guy. I'll give that one some time. It's on the list. The lesson, of course, was that calling the cops won't do any good if you aren't willing to invest a lot of time going to court over it. If there isn't much money involved (and how many runs would be worth doing that?), then you lose either way. A few days ago, I learned yet another lesson... When it's Best to Use a Pay PhonePolice department dispatch.
Hello. I'm a cabdriver and I'd like to speak with an officer about a theft of services. You've got someone who refuses to pay?
Well, sorta. If you've got a minute, I'll explain the situation to you. Go ahead.
I picked up an inebriated woman last night at around nightfall at one residence and dropped her off at another. When I got her there, she was supposed to get the money from her apartment. As it turned out, the husband she expected to be home had locked her out. She didn't have keys, didn't even have shoes. So this happened last night?
That's not the whole story. It was a busy night and I had runs holding, and I decided it wasn't worthwhile to waste any more time for less than ten dollars. So I went back to work. Then around 1am, I was dispatched to the address where I dropped her off. The run had been passed from another cab company. Turns out to be the same woman. I think maybe she's got money now, else why would she call a cab -- and if so, I can recover what she already owed me. I ask to see some cash. She doesn't have any, but she convinces me that her uncle -- where we're going -- does, and if I can just get her there, she'll make sure I get everything that's owed me. As it turns out, nobody's there either, but she wants out anyway. However, I get her phone number and her name to go with the address I already have. I was supposed to pick up money at her house at 8am this morning, but it turns out, her husband threw her out last night because she's an alcoholic. Now she owes me nearly $20 and I'm so pissed, I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to press charges. What do I do next? I'm sorry. We can't help you.
I keep more drunks off the roads than any five of your donut-scarfing officers. What do you mean you can't help me? You and this woman agreed to meet at a later time so you could get paid, right?
Yeah. So? Once you did that, it became a civil agreement. You'll have to sue her in civil court. Frankly, it would probably cost you more than $20 to do so.
I know where she's staying. I talked to her husband and he said she's an alcoholic and she does this all the time and that it might do her some good to if she finally got into some trouble over it. You won't send out an officer? I'm sorry sir, but it's really not our concern.
What cab company did you say you worked for, sir?
I didn't. Could I get your name?
What the hell do you think? [Click] |
In other words, you're completely useless. Look, I'm just trying to make a goddamn living. During the past few days, I've had
to cover for a bad check some shit-head wrote to me for $47 and I know I'll never recover it. I've had an incoherent bitch
simply get out of my cab and walk off because she so so drunk, she didn't have a clue what she was doing. I've already figured
out that calling the cops right away doesn't do any good either, so just answer one question for me: If -- the next time
someone screws me out of what is owed me -- I decide to just break a couple fingers to even the score, WOULD IT BE YOUR
FUCKING CONCERN THEN?
Related: Charlie Brown Summer
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