Wednesday, August 31, 2005


Tonight really sucked. The only thing that was easy was that, when I ended up at Laguardia, I didn't wait longer than 25 minutes to get a fare back to the city (sometimes you can sit there for over an hour, which is just painful). This picture is from the front of the line at the US Airways Shuttle terminal. Eventually I was sent up to the main US Air terminal and took three Germans to the Clarion hotel on Park Ave. South and 30th. They tipped exactly ten percent of the meter, because that's what German people do.

$2.95 a gallon

This was the second thing I saw when I walked into the garage today. The first thing was John the crazy Romanian dispatcher standing outside grabbing his balls at me. Frankly, I was more upset about the gas price.

I hate New Jersey

New Jersey drivers do not know how to drive properly in New York City. They never use their turn signal, they drive like they're sightseeing, they have an incredible sense of entitlement, and they're almost always on the phone. I've figured out that the worst cars on the road are white Mercedes SUVs with New Jersey plates. Each of these characteristics stand alone as a sign that the person will drive like an asshole, but put them together and you get the shittiest drivers ever. These are the ones that will dangerously cut you off, forcing you to slam on the brakes or swerve into oncoming traffic, and then, to add insult to injury, they will give you the finger because you honked. I'm not saying that the driver of the car in the photo did anything wrong (because that might be considered libel), but I'm not saying he didn't either.

Monday, August 29, 2005

Ms. Pac Man

A yellow disc speeds around a neon-lit grid while eating white dots and getting chased by ghosts. A taxi garage staple.


This is where cabs go to die or convalesce. A taxi has a lifespan of about three years.

Nothing to be done.

Waiting for the day drivers to bring the cabs back. It's like a little social club, complete with soda, TV, A.C., couches, and Taxitronic.

But Sundays are slow.


This is the dispatcher's window. We go here when we arrive at the garage to turn in our licenses, sort of like signing in for the day. Then we wait.