Taxi Tales

TAXI TALES by Mark Arinsberg

August 19

I received a text early this morning from Ray, our guy in Medford. He had an airport run he wanted me to take care of at 9:30. He said the young lady was to be picked up at The Stratford Inn which is only a few blocks from my apartment on Hargadine. He also made a point of telling me that she was very cute with a bubbly personality. I thanked him for the referral and told him that I would of course take good care of her. I headed over to The Stratford Inn around 9:15 as I like to arrive a little early and not come pulling up exactly when they say they need the service. Customers feel more comfortable and trusting when their ride arrives earlier than ordered so there is no rush and they can take their time getting themselves acclimated to the car and driver. Ray was right on the money. She was absolutely adorable. 22 years old and cute as a Disney character. She had come to Ashland as a theater major who recently graduated and wanted to see what all the hubbub was about regarding The Oregon Shakespeare Festival. This world class annual event spanning nine months of the year attracts thousands of visitors from all over the world. She caught a few shows and saw the high level of competency OSF puts forth. Although she was not ready to request an interview and was only doing some discovery, she did ask if she could meet someone on staff and say hello. OSF flat out refused to meet with her and said that they simply don’t do that. She had come half way across the country to get a glimpse of a top notch theater company in action. What she unexpectedly ended up getting was a peek into the obscure OSF culture and a cold shoulder. It turned her off to OSF specifically for future opportunities with them specifically but not to pursuing her dream career in theater production. We talked a bit about her parents. She said her father and I were the same age. How could I be that old already? I certainly don’t feel 53 whatever that means. She told me that her father was a very successful orthopedic surgeon who had a seemingly endless client in the community of retired Jews living in Boca. She said there are two very distinct neighborhoods in the area of Florida where she lives. Boca where the Jewish people tend to congregate and retire to and the super wealthy hood that she and her family live in. She said that her father is a very successful man who unfortunately is wound pretty tight and is only open to very short vacations or breaks from his profession. Her mother recently convinced him to do a 5 day trip to Vancouver which he enjoyed. I think my passenger is doing the opposite of what she sees in her father. This may be why she chose this man as her father so she can see what she does not want. We had a nice ride to the airport, We hugged as I often do with my customers and parted ways. Speaking of opposite, “The Opposite” is one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes of all time. And although the lessons are exaggerated for comedic purposes the dynamic principles that are addressed work effectively in all facets of life. It was pure genius to deliver a human potential storyline that clearly demonstrates that if one does the opposite of what they are doing in life that that dissatisfies them does not give them the results they want, doing the opposite will certainly give a different result. It is part of the natural laws that govern our experience na allow us to change and grow. Einstein’s theory of insanity is quite clear; Doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result is the definition of insanity. We tend to perpetuate this cycle like mice on a wheel. In this episode George is questioning his instincts up to this point in his life and how they never really work out. He exclaims that nothing he does turns out the way he wants. Jerry says that if every instinct George has is wrong, then the opposite would be right. George begins to test this theory by ordering the opposite of a his usual tuna on toast, coleslaw and a cup of coffee. As the waitress walks away he realizes that he is ordering the same thing he always orders which he claims never works out for him and sees an opportunity to test out the opposite theory with total immediacy. He calls back the waitress and says he’s changed his mind and is going to order the complete opposite. “Chicken salad on rye un-toasted with a side of potato salad and a cup of tea!” Jerry points out that salmon would be the opposite of tuna as the salmon swim against the current and the tuna swim with it. George responds with an exasperated, “Good for the tuna.” Elaine tells George that a an attractive blonde woman sitting at the counter (who is clearly out of George’s league) was looking over at him. George remarks with indifference, “So what. What am I supposed to do?”. Elaine tells him that he should go over and talk to her. George tells Elaine that bald men with no jobs and no money who live at home with their parents don’t approach strange women. Jerry jumps in with an opportunity for George to try the opposite by saying, “Instead of tuna salad and being intimidated by women, chicken salad and going right up to them.” George laughingly says that he should do the opposite. Jerry then says, “If every instinct you have is wrong, then the opposite would be right.” George says, “Yes. I will do the opposite.” George musters up the courage and walks over to the woman. He says, “Excuse me, I noticed that you were looking in my direction.” She responds by telling him that he ordered the same exact lunch as her. He comes back with, “My name is George. I’m unemployed and live with my parents.” She responds with a smooth turn towards George and a sexy delivery of, “I’m Victoria. Hi!”. This was the beginning of George’s character shift from a perceived loser with no prospects and no reason to live to getting a front office job with the new York Yankees and moving out of his parent’s house in Queens. Although this is an unlikely scenario, the fact of the matter is that if one changes what they do and how they think, they will achieve different results. It’s guaranteed. In my bathroom I have hanging a very cool, framed illustration of Larry David signed both by the artist and Larry himself which I purchased on Ebay several years ago as a fundraiser item for some charity which I cannot recall. The illustration depicts an excellent likeness of a somewhat annoyed Larry. At the same time, I purchased an illustration of Jon Stewart also sign by both the artist and Jon which lives in an envelope unframed in a tub in my closet. I’m pretty much maxed out on wall space in my apartment. The walls are covered mostly with art work created by my friends here in Ashland except a photograph and painting done by me dear fiends who recently got married after meeting on the PCT five years ago. Another treasured piece I have is the final goodbye cover of Rolling Stone Magazine with Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer dressed up like characters from the Wizard of Oz. This prized possession hangs proudly in the bedroom I share with my children where we live like squirrels. Guess who was dressed as which character? Pretty easy to Google that. My mom won this fantastic signed print at an auction shortly after I moved to Ashland. It is signed by Jerry Seinfeld himself and came with a certificate of authenticity as did the illustrations of Larry David and Jon Stewart. They could be fakes of course, but I love the images and anyone who knows me knows that I’m a die-hard fan of the Seinfeld Show and Larry David’s award winning show Curb Your Enthusiasm which aired for eight very successful years on HBO. I miss that show. Larry is my comedy idol. They don't come much smarter. I received a call from a guy at the Happy Bowl Vietnamese restaurant (formerly Blockbuster Video) on the south side of town to come pick him up and take them to Medford airport. He did not mention the name of the restaurant only the address. I asked if it was a business or residence and he put someone who worked at the restaurant on the phone to tell me where I was going. It turned out that he was friends of the owners and was in Ashland visiting. His pick up time was 10:30 which gave me a short break in between the previous airport run. I pulled up in the parking lot off of Siskiyou Boulevard shared by a less than mediocre restaurant called Golden Dragon that serves both Chinese and American food, a nondescript mattress store and Great American Pizza. I parked the car and popped the trunk. I got out of the car and walked to the restaurant where I found him coming through the front door of the restaurant with his luggage rolling along behind him. We greeted each other with a hand shake and headed for the car. I put his bag in the trunk and he walked around the car and took the passenger seat. I’m not sure what the ratio is of those who choose the front seat over the back and why they make that choice, but there must be something to that decision from a sociological standpoint. I’ll have to look into that. I asked him where he was from and what he did. He said he was a card dealer at Harrah’s in Vegas and enjoyed his job on the strip and living in the desert. I asked him if he had a preference in music he would like to listen to and he said Country. I was genuinely surprised by his choice and up until that point in my short lived career as a taxi driver I had not yet had one request for country music. I did a quick search on Pandora and chose a Country Pop station which I figured would be a catch all. As soon as the first song came on, he began to sing. And not softly either. He was totally into it. For the record, I do not like country music and am not knowingly associated with very many people who do. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. A few days before, Joe who has a nice set of drums in his home that we occasionally play when I’m hanging out at his house, said that famed jazz drummer Buddy Rich was in the hospital for a procedure and a nurse asked him if he was allergic to anything. He answered with, “Country music.” Oddly enough, Buddy Rich would come up in conversation again the next day on the sidewalk in front of my apartment while chatting with a bass playing Englishman friend of mine who claimed that as he has gotten older, now enjoys old school country music. It’s just not my thing. All that twang. Music is like food to me. I will eat almost anything, but liver is not one of those things. I don’t like liver or country music. Other than that I’m pretty easy. The young Asian fellow and I chatted a bit more before we arrived at the airport. I helped him get his luggage from the trunk, shook his hand and wished him well. He and the adorable passenger I brought earlier, both tipped me well which I appreciate. Love taking people to the airport. A simple run that offers a lot of opportunity for conversation. or not. After I got back home, I had some time to relax and grab a bite. Joe now being awake and acting as my dispatcher texted me my next fare which was a pickup in front of the Starbucks downtown on Main Street then drop off across town at The Holiday Inn Express. I was able to park right in front of the almost always busy coffee store and see my customers waving and coming towards me. The younger man of the two was absolutely huge in size. Maybe six foot eight and four hundred pounds. Casual dress, clean cut with glasses. His companion was his father who was helping him move from Seattle where he worked for Microsoft as a mid level IT guy to Berkeley where he would be entering grad school at the Berkeley Lutheran Seminary. I commented on what a significant life shift that was and asked him why. He agreed and at first had difficulty answering the why question. His father beside him was a long time Lutheran pastor who seemed pleased that his son would follow the path he chose and bring new light to an antiquated congregation where the youth had difficulty connecting. Both very nice gentlemen with good intentions. I dropped them off in front of their Budget rental truck which was parked across the street from the Holiday in Express. I thanked the large man for sharing his story, shook their hands and watched this mountain of human being attempt to free himself from the back seat. As he struggled, I told him that he was here to represent as a messenger based purely on his size alone. He agreed that it would be impossible for people to ignore or avoid his immense presence. He finally made his way out of the car, we waved to each other and I spun the car around and headed back across town for a little break which turned out to be a nice long rest till around 6pm. Joe hit with me with a text to go pick up some people at Plaza Inn and Suites off of Water Street and deposit them at The Peerless Hotel and Restaurant on 4th Street between A Street and B Street. Did I mention that I had a few guys named Mark in the taxi that day? Well it was definitely a Mark day. This Mark had a lovely wife with an excellent sense of humor and the ability to deliver the comedy full tilt. She had mentioned that they had eaten some special brownies and drank some wine an hour before I arrived to get them. As I type this I can hear the lyrics “You were very high” from the Steely Dan song Black Cow coming from the Shakespeare Festival bricks sound system. Ti-ming. It’s all about that. This 40 something couple were already having a fun night and I was glad to be a part of it. The stunning woman said she had a fantastic relationship with her 18 year old daughter who she claimed was so hot looking that she wouldn’t show me a picture of her as it might melt my face. We talked about how important the job of raising a child is and how most people have no clue how to effectively do the job that should be job one before anything else. Somehow we get to speaking like we’re from India. She nails it and I come back with my version which delights her and shows that I want to play too. She said that she and her daughter would go off on 15 minute riffs in different accents for fun. Her husband was loving the entertainment his wife and I were providing and sat in the back laughing at our antics. She says in her well executed accent that there should be a taxi company in Ashland called Bombay Taxi where an Indian man would use a scooter to transport customers. She said that when the scooter would be parked and someone would come up to the driver and ask how he planned to put more than one person on the scooter the driver would say, “Grow some balls. I just had a family of eight on here!” They were a lot of fun in a pretty short ride. I dropped them off at The Peerless and collected them a few hours later. As I pulled into the driveway of their hotel, they said that they were way not yet ready to call it a night yet and had me take them to the very high-end restaurant Amuse for some wine. That was the last I saw of them. I appreciated their willingness to not only have fun, but talk about the lack of critical thinking in the world and how that has played out painfully for all of us in some way. Our children our our children’s children will suffer our weak moral fiber, lack of an appropriate education and inability to see beyond violence and thoughtless behavior. The remainder of the evening was pretty slow and I received only a few more fares. I like being busy and making money, but I also like having some time to myself to read, write, eat and sleep and hang out with family and friends. I’m quickly fining out that the job can be both flexible and demanding. I can never gauge just how busy it will be, but I’m always pretty prepared for whatever the day brings. Fortunately, I live downtown which is close to everything and makes it simple to come home and jet back out on a moments notice which is often times the case. It’s almost too funny how many times I’ve stuck my key in the door only to hear my phone ping with a message to go back out and grab a fare. This is what I do now and expect no less than being available most of the day and night at a moments notice. I’ve been asked what days I have off. My answer is none at this time. This will change in the future when I have totally established my value and can negotiate a reasonable schedule. For now, me and the mobile cash machine roll on day and night serving the community at large and keeping drunk drivers off the street. It’s what I do and I love it so. My next fare is a regular customer who works at Creekside Pizza Bistro as a bar back. He’s a very smart cat who knows what he wants and how to live his life on his terms. We talked about how in a reasonable world men and women would not live together, but instead get together. How personal space is important and leveraging the ability to live apart and come together when it is mutually beneficial potentially takes a lot of hassle out of a relationship. He also mentioned something I had never heard before. He told me that a woman’s pheromones come out from the top of their head and a man’s come through his chest. This is by design so when a woman and man cuddle, the woman buries her head in the man’s chest thus mixing the chemicals together. I had never heard this before and asked him how he found out. He said he reads a lot of books about a lot of things. The guy possessed a James Dean type of personality. Only says what he feels is important to say. Has two young children who he adores. I pick him up and take him to work a few nights a week. He was the one who told me that the little street that veers left off of Lithia and goes down to Water is called “The beaver slide”. You may have heard it here first. Finally, my last call of the evening was a pick up at The Beau Club downtown. Joe said this was a guy who lived at a large house on Henry Street just above Siskiyou Boulevard and that I needed to know where that house was as Joe had a rapport with the dozen or so young, rambunctious residents there who I would need to transport occasionally from the downtown bars to this home. The very nice young man who claimed to be the tamest of house crew gushed about Joe as others often do and said that Joe was a buddy of his housemates and they appreciated him for making sure they got home safely every weekend. That’s Joe for you. Always on top of his game. Always taking care of the Ashland peeps. Everyone loves Joe. Me too. That’s all for now.

August 20

I‘d only been asleep around thirty minutes when Joe called me to pick up some people that were waiting out on Oak Street near The Armory for a ride to their respective homes. It was 4:57am and my shift for manning the phones and dispatching myself was starting in three minutes. Now that I’ve conditioned myself to be able to pop out of bed at a moments notice it was no problem to throw some shorts and shoes on and be on my way to Oak Street. It had cooled off nicely that morning and the smoke that has enveloped our town for the past three weeks had dissipated in the cool early morning breeze. As I pulled up to the location, three people were walking towards me waving their hands in the air. One of them was one of the bartenders at the iPub. They had been out all night having fun with friends. They got in the car and asked me to make two separate drops which I said of course to. The first drop was a thirty something gentleman sitting in the back who may have had a bit much to drink. Although his speech was a bit impaired he was in good spirits and enjoying conversation about the nights goings on with the young lady sitting next to him. We pulled up in front of his place within a few minutes. He hugged and kissed his female friend, thanked the bartender sitting in the passenger seat for paying for the ride and thanked me as well for getting him home safely. I then took the bartender and the young woman to the bartender’s apartment which was located up Mountain Street just below East Nevada Street. They got out of the car thanked me and wished me a good day. I parked for a minute to log the fare and watched them in a nice long embrace through the rear view mirror. As a taxi driver the rear view mirror takes on a more prominent role than it does under normal driving conditions. I headed home and jumped back in bed where I instantly fell asleep. The phone didn’t ring again till after 9:00am. Those nice blocks of rest really make the difference when it comes to my being alert and available any time day or night. Being on call and resting when I can is the antithesis of my former life where I would wake up somewhere between 10am and noon and go to bed around 2am. I’m very much enjoying and appreciating the silence and serenity of the early morning rise to greet the day versus staying up till 2am snacking and watching movies on Netflix. Come to think of it, since starting this new job I’ve almost completely eliminated digital media from my life. I just don’t have the time and when I do have a bit of time, I opt for writing. The last time I got up before dawn on a regular basis was during part of my two decade on and off stint in the flower business. Yes, I was a flower guy in LA. I would wake up Monday, Wednesday and Friday at around 3:00am and drive thirty miles south from the Valley on the deserted 405 Freeway to the flower market in downtown LA to pick up merchandise for my uncle Stanley’s flower shop. Stan’s Flowers was located in the city of Westchester just east of Playa del Rey on the corner of La Tijera Boulevard and Manchester Avenue about a half a mile from LAX. The flower market was located appropriately on Flower Street in the heart of downtown LA about fifteen minutes east from the shop off the 10 Freeway. The two massive buildings that made up the flower market were flooded with fluorescent light and alive with intoxicating smells of fresh cut flowers fresh from the fields and the bustling activity of wholesalers preparing their merchandise for sale with sharpened knives and flower filled white buckets as far as the eye could see. Flower shop owners hurriedly pushed their hand carts from the Japanese market to the American market back and forth across the street to grab their take and get back to their shops to process the delicate merchandise for immediate usage. Those days when I would meet my uncle at the market or go by myself were very long and the ride home at 5:00 in the afternoon on the now crowded 405 freeway to the valley seemed endless. I would not change a thing about those commutes or my experience in the flower business. Almost every flower shop owner/buyer in Southern California would show up at this incredible carnival like atmosphere three days a week to buy product for their shops. This was common practice until direct delivery became the norm. Trucks and vans of all makes and models would be parked in a huge subterranean parking lot waiting to be filled with flowers and various floral supplies needed to create flower arrangements of all sorts. Heavy metal hand trucks painted red and piled high with newspaper wrapped roses, carnations, chrysanthemums, iris and almost every kind of flower you can think of were perched high upon boxes of leather fern, lemon leaves and various mosses used to green the bases of would be arrangements. Filled carts by the dozens would continually go in and out of the large, dimly lit freight elevator on their way to awaiting vehicles. A few hours of shopping at a brisk pace was always followed by a typical breakfast of well done crispy pork and scrambled eggs. Chinese style. When I was with my uncle, wherever we were, I never ever had to pay for a meal. It was a very nice way he would show his appreciation for me even when we weren’t getting along so well. The Flower Market coffee shop was the quintessential hub of conversation amongst the many shop owners who now had completed the painstaking task of selecting their perishable merchandise and now were ready to sit down with long time colleagues, eat heartily and talk about this and that. A majority of these mostly white Jewish men had been in the business their whole lives. Flower shops were generally passed down from generation to generation although Stan’s children, my cousins did not want to be in the business and only worked in the shop during busy holidays or when someone called in sick. It was fun when family members joined the staff to help customers and make deliveries. Mother’s Day and Valentine’s Day were when I would really get to see my relatives pitch in and keep the operation running smoothly. I was the youngest of the group of flower shop owners who were generally in their sixties and seventies and had been in the business as long as they could remember. I think it was the span between my late teens to mid twenties that I went to market with my uncle on a regular basis. Later in my twenties I would go by myself one or two days a week as my uncle had schooled me well and trusted me enough to take one of the vans home, drive it to the market in the wee hours, do all the buying and bring the merchandise back to the shop to be processed. I could get everything loaded in the van and be back to the shop before eight o'clock. I always felt a special buzz being accepted in the the group of old school shop owners and enjoyed being little more than a fly on the wall as I listened to their stories of employee relations, difficult customers and deliveries gone wrong. Most of the conversation was centered around the flower business and what was going on in the industry. Things were changing and they found themselves complaining about how grocery stores were now carrying flowers and undercutting prices to be competitive with their flower shops. My uncle was fully aware of this and it did begin affect his business as well. He was very smart though and would buy in bulk and run specials. His biggest hit was carnations for thirty nine cents each. We sold a ton every week. That was his loss leader. It worked well. My uncle was looked upon as the godfather of his peers as he’d been in the flower business as long or longer than anyone else sitting at his table of hard working shop owners. His pants pocket filled with a wad of cash and a crumpled list of what he needed to by for the shop. He would engage in conversations about changes in the industry and how the old ways of doing business were changing and not necessarily for the better. Years later flower shops began to boycott some of the wholesalers at the flower market as they began to offer their flowers to housewives who would make the trek downtown to buy bulk flowers for the same price they would sell to the shop owners. This became a huge point of contention and may have been the start of flower deliveries coming by trucks directly to the shops. We happily entered the coffee shop after racing around the market collecting bundles of flowers and supplies. When my uncle walked through the glass and metal doors, life inside the coffee shop would grind to a halt and most of the shop owners sitting at tables or milling around would appropriately greet him with the deep respect he deserved. In my eyes, he was the undisputed rock star of the flower market and everyone knew it. Those years working with him were indeed a very special time in my life and I will always be grateful to my uncle Stanley for taking me under his wing, including me in his professional life which he loved so passionately for over 50 years and entrusting me with running things once I acquired all the knowledge and skills I needed to do it successfully. I loved being in the flower business and working with my uncle who taught me all aspects of the business from sales and management to merchandising and floral design. Because I was family and he didn't want to show any favoritism amongst his employees we agreed that I would call him Stan at work. It was strange at first but it soon became very natural to address him that way. On Wednesdays he would occasionally take me to Hollywood Park with him to watch the horse races. He loved to watch the ponies and knew quite a bit about the sport and the players as it were. His thing was that he never wanted to know who you were betting on and wanted to have his own experience selecting who he thought was the best horse and ride combination and not share it with you. Through repetition and secretly watching how he chose winners, I got lucky a few times and walked away with some extra cash in my pocket. I never really lost money as he would give me cash when we got to the park to bet with. He loved the races so much that he ended up owning a few prize horses of his own and experienced some winning success. Sometimes we would blow off the coffee shop and go have breakfast at Langer’s Delicatessen on Alvarado Street with his dear friend and colleague of many years Benny. Such a nice man. Always with a smile under his big, cheesy mustache. Stan relished in the freshness of their freshly baked rye bread and made a point of going there to eat breakfast versus the market coffee shop when we weren’t too pressed for time. I remember fondly the one time he and I went to the shoe in Westchester a few blocks from the shop to pick up some new black Rockports for himself when he totally surprised me by buying me my first pair of incredibly comfortable black Rockports. Probably the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever owned. Comfortable shoes were important when working in the shop as one is on their feet all day, unlike all the sitting I now do behind the wheel. As a team my uncle and I would meet with blushing brides in his office to discuss choices for wedding flowers. Together we showed them books full of design possibilities, made recommendations for table arrangements and personal flowers and collected deposits. When wedding day came he and I would deliver and set up the runners with ribbons and bows along the aisle at local churches and hotels. Together we would also deliver van loads of large and small flower arrangements, wreaths and flowering plants to funerals homes and mortuaries. When I was 17, I saw my first deceased body lying peacefully in a casket arms folded in eternal slumber. I was so startled by this that I almost dropped the casket spray I was nervously holding right on the grinning Mexican man in the casket. My uncle and I would sit in his office daily and talk about how to maximize efficiency in the store and how to deal with employees and customers. We talked a lot about flowers, family and life. He had a way about him that the women adored. He loved red heads. My mom is a red head. Stan oozed charisma and he knew it. He loved to smoke cigars and took varied length naps in the front seat of his 12 cylinder Jaguar in the parking lot behind the store. He was one of a kind. We didn’t always get along. He would piss me off sometimes and we might not talk for a week at a time. All in all he was my uncle and I loved him for who he was as did everyone else who came in contact with him. My very first driving experience was at the age of fourteen when my uncle asked me to transport buckets of colorful ranunculus from his shop on Lincoln in the hotel to the street corner where he would soon open Stan’s Flowers in what was now a closed gas station on the corner of La Tijera and Manchester. My older cousin Alan, his son, accompanied me for safety purposes. I drank my first cup of coffee with my cousin Alan! I dedicated over two decades of my life starting in my early teens to a very satisfying business based on the complexity of human emotions and how the natural beauty of flowers are used to compliment and acknowledge those emotions ranging from marriage and birthdays to apologies from husbands in the dog house and finally death. When I was twenty four I opened my first flower shop in Reseda, California in a strip mall on the corner of Vanowen and Reseda Boulevard. A seven hundred square foot kiosk just big enough for one person to operate. It was called The Flower Pot. After some success in my first venture, I opened a much larger store in Van Nuys that I named Valerie’s Flowers after my now ex wife. That lasted only about a year due to my lousy business sense at the time and some pesky construction at the adjoining gas station that created difficulty for customers to get to me. I ended up going bankrupt and closing the store never to open another one. I got some valuable lessons from that experience. I learned a lot about a lot of things and am so grateful for the experience. Thank you Uncle Stanley. You are missed and appreciated in the depths of my heart. Now if you only would have listened to me about the drive-thru flower shop idea that would have made you shit tons of money. Oh well. When I turned thirty and decided to become a professional graphic designer, I attended Pierce Community College to get the credits I was lacking for my high school diploma which was necessary to attend Platt College a design school in Eagle Rock, California. It was a year full of creativity and acquiring the fundamental skills to be able to go out in the world and do what I said I would do which was written under a headshot of me in the 1979 San Fernando High School yearbook. When I moved to Ashland in 2002, I picked up some part time work as a floral designer working for a nice young guy who’s family owned a few flower shops in the Rogue Valley including a shop conveniently located in downtown Ashland. I had to take a floral design test to determine my skill level and was revered as the fastest and most productive floral designer they had ever seen. I did this for a few years and have not been part of the business since other than a lifetime of appreciation for the experience. Being in the flower business was just one of the many interesting jobs I would have over the course of my now fifty three years of life. Starting at age fourteen I worked as a busboy at one of the original Sizzler Restaurants located in Mission Hills a mile from my parents house. Later I would pump gas at the Arco on the corner of Sepulveda and Devonshire, worked as a stock boy at Jerry’s Liquor store which was located across the street from the Arco station, sold shoes for almost a decade for Kinney Shoes, installed carpet and hard wood floors with my dad’s friend Roger and was a time keeper on a construction job at the Anheiser Busch plant in Van Nuys where my father was an electrician who got in trouble a lot for drawing cartoons of guys on the job doing and saying things they did not appreciate. My father is an excellent illustrator and cartoonist. I only did that crappy time keeper job for a week, as it was boring to me and I dreaded getting up in the morning to go. I left after a week to my father’s disappointment. My next pickup was at The Rodeway Inn on highway 66 next to The Wild Goose where I collected one of the two no-trail-name PCT hikers who I’d dropped off at the Ashland Library the day before. He asked me to take him to The Blue Giraffe Spa on Water Street so he could get a much needed massage. This was the first PCT hiker I’d ever taken to get a massage and I was impressed that this guy would treat himself to something so luxurious after several grueling months on the trail. Jimmy, the owner of the spa was in his truck on the way out of the parking lot when he saw me in the taxi and stopped to say hello and chat about my new job. A fun, funny, generous man who I’ve really enjoy spending time with on several occasions including playing the role of emperor on his 4th of July float which one first place in the parade competition this year. There is a group of four friends of mine including Jimmy who occasionally go out to dinner together while their wives get together and play mahjong. We call these The HeMan Dinners which for a while would happen once a month. The other three gentleman are about ten years older than me. We share a nice meal somewhere in town and have great conversation about what’s happening in our lives. I’m the young whippersnapper who brings my brand of humor to the table which they seem to get a kick out of. I got a call shortly after I made the drop at The Blue Giraffe to pick up a customer at The Lithia Springs Resort at the bottom of the hill on Highway 99 and Valley View and take them to Medford Airport. Pick up time was 10:30. I pulled into the lot and parked near the resort office as requested. I had noticed a dark blue van pull in just after I’d parked. A tall, thin good looking, thirty something guy with long blonde hair got out of the van and walked around the back of my car towards the office. A minute later he returned with an tall, attractive, girl with dirty blonde hair and what appeared to be a very heavy backpack strapped to her. They unknowingly stood in front of my car and embraced for what seemed like several minutes. After their sweet goodbye, she headed for my car where the trunk was already opened awaiting her gear. She was in her early to mid thirties. She smiled broadly when she greeted me and for some reason there was an instant air of familiarity around seeing her fresh, freckled face. She got in the car and we introduced ourselves. There was an instant soul like connection made as we headed out of the lot to the I5 freeway heading north to the airport. I asked her where she was from and what she was doing in Ashland. She said that she lived in Hawaii and did body work of some kind and she was in Ashland for the first time hiking around the area with a group of people. I told her how much I adored our sweet little town as I tell most people who ask about my experience in Ashland. I described Ashland as likened to Mayberry on marijuana. This lovely late twenty something with a beautiful smile who hailed from Alaska did not get the reference. I don’t think it was because she was young as it was more that he did not posses a lot of TV watching experience. Good for her. As we drove along I began to ask about her family. She immediately told me about her relationship with her mother and how breast cancer played a role in alienating her as a teen when she needed her mother the most. She said that it was difficult for both of them, but her mother seemed to be in her glory while her daughter suffered on the sidelines in despair. When her mother had beaten the cancer, she went into a depression until the cancer returned. She once again became a warrior and started living again. This lovely child who was pouring her heart out to me seemed to not have answers as to why her documentary filmmaking mother was happiest when she was ill. I came to the conclusion that the cancer had given her purpose, put her in the spot light and became a reason to embrace life. When the cancer disappeared, so did her warrior spirit. She shockingly agreed with me saying that she never thought of it that way and felt even closer to her knowing that this was probable. Since her mother’s last victory over the disease, she said they had gotten very close and that she now appreciated the gravity of her mother’s situation through a letter she wrote and why her mother was unavailable to her. I suggested that perhaps she and her mother might collaborate on a film project that tells this very story. She got excited about the potential opportunity and began to look at me differently. As we pulled up into the terminal, I could feel her sense of relief in the possibility that she now understood more than she previously had about her maternal relationship prior to getting in the taxi. She began looking deep into my eyes and scanning my face in a way that melted my heart as she prepared to pay me and exit the passenger door. It was one of those rare moments where I fantasized about kissing her and she me. I interrupted the manufactured story in my head and got out of the car to help her get her unusually large and very heavy backpack out of the trunk. I stepped up on the curb where she stood. I embraced her and she me in a long sweet hug. She a bit taller than I did not notice the height difference. Nor did I. She parted by saying, “Until we meet again.” She was now seriously considering moving to Ashland from Hawaii knowing that Ashland was a place where love reigned and relationships were of a special nature. It would certainly be cool to see her again some day if the opportunity presented itself. The smoke and heat have been a bit overwhelming these past few weeks especially for our senior citizens. I’m wondering what will happen to our elders who are sensitive to this ongoing problem and if the future will see that part of the community dwindle by choosing other places to ride out their experience. It is very possible that in ten years, things will look different around here. Nothing can stay the same. Everything is always changing. Speaking of, I got a call later that afternoon to pick up an older couple who were waiting with canes in hand waiting for me in front of the Ashland Springs Hotel on Main Street. They were not guests there. They were hot and tired and wanted a ride three blocks to The Stratford Inn where they were staying. They commented the whole five minute ride about how challenging the smoke and heat were for them and did not see how our robust senior citizen community could stand it. I told them that I gave a ride to an eighty four year old woman days before who said that she could no longer take the smoke and was headed to San Diego then London for a break until the situation corrected itself. My next call was a pickup at the Timbers Motel on the south side of town to one of our most popular restaurants Pasta Piatti on Main Street downtown. They said they were in for a quick visit and were there to grab some dinner and see a show and they would be leaving the next day for Napa to continue their all blonde girls adventure. I asked them what play they were going to see. When they told me that they were going to see The Count Of Monte Cristo, I sighed. They caught my reaction and asked why I reacted that way. I told them that I had heard nothing but terrible things about the play quickly realizing how stupid that was to say as they had probably paid good money to be entertained by the world class acting company. It was too late. I mentioned what I had heard and could not take it back. Lesson learned. Talk about plays after they’ve been seen and not before unless the feedback was good. I picked them up later that evening and they said they enjoyed the play and had a very good dinner. Live and learn. To not repeat a mistake is to execute wisdom and move on. I have learned my lesson. Later that evening I picked up one of Joe’s regulars in the plaza downtown. He recognized me immediately and was happy to be taking a ride together in the taxi. I had seen him before but didn’t recall exactly who he was. It turns out that he is the son of a woman who is married to a well known man in town who owns and distributes a popular local monthly paper that comes free of charge to every household and business in Ashland. I had worked with this man many times over the past ten years or so as I would both advertise occasionally in his paper and design monthly ads for some of my customers who would advertise with him regularly. The young man told me that he had heard that I was driving a taxi and that my stories were going to be featured in the following months addition of the paper. He also shared with me that he had introduced his mother to the widely popular game World of Warcraft a few years earlier and that she to this day still plays regularly and is totally into all aspects of the game. He shared that he himself had stopped playing it long ago and was blown away that his mother was still so hardcore into it. We had a nice conversation that continued after I had parked the taxi at an apartment complex in Talent. On my way back into Ashland Joe texted me and asked me to pick up another one of his regulars in the plaza who was a cook at The Granite Tap House one of the newer restaurants downtown. He said it would be a quick ride to the 7/11 across town. This kid looked like a character straight out of the seventies. Tall and thin with a fro of hair on his head that seemed to be about two feet in diameter. A very nice young man indeed. My last call was a pickup at the OakTree Bar and Grill on the south side of town. The blonde, twenty something young man was going to Medford and wanted to be dropped off near the Greyhound bus station. He had just finished a long shift and said he was exhausted. He also mentioned to me that this was his first time taking a taxi. I asked him what kind of music he wanted to listen to, accommodated him and let him relax with no words all the way to Medford. I asked him what he thought of his first cab ride and he said that he enjoyed it. I headed for home, showered upon arrival and crawled into bed for some much needed sleep. That’s all for now.

August 22

Well it’s Friday and that means the weekend is here and things are gonna start hopping! Or are they? Let’s find out. Since we’re still in high season for The Oregon Shakespeare Festival, Friday and Saturday nights are usually filled with fares ranging from folks needing hotel pickups going for dinner and a show to getting people home after a night of celebrating and drinking in the local bars. Since the very first day of my taxi driving adventure which began on a Friday, trolling the downtown plaza and the few bars on Main Street late at night until after 2am has been my least favorite part of the job, I’m just being honest here. As much as I’m committed to this job and the public service opportunity it presents, I’m not all that fond of hanging around people who’ve had too much to drink. Not that these people are not good hearted and well intentioned, It’s just not all that pleasurable for me to see people staggering around on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes and commiserating with each other through slurred speech and wobbly legs. I would say the majority of these partiers are college students from Southern Oregon University in their mid to late twenties just doing what people do at that age. I know it’s an important part of the job to provide safe passage home for these young people and I’m there 100% for whoever has enough of their wits about them to make the decision to use a taxi service and not gamble with their lives and the lives of others. Besides the one time I had to call 911 to have the police remove someone from out in the back seat of the taxi and wouldn’t get out because he was too drunk, there’s been no difficulty or trouble caused by anyone in or out of the car. Thank goodness. I’ve heard some pretty terrible stories about things going way wrong with drunk people in taxis and it’s probably just a matter of time before I witness and or are part a situation where someone gets hurt or arrested. Hopefully it’s not going to be on my watch, but I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to create an environment where those risks are minimized and the taxi remains a safe haven for anyone who gets inside. I do have pepper spray in the driver door pocket just in case my safety is compromised. I discovered it the first day I began curiously checking out all the nooks and crannies of my new mechanical cash cow. In that same storage pocket I found a tube of sunscreen, a spool of dental floss buried under some napkins from the Chipotle restaurant that Joe frequents in Medford and an ink pen or two. There were also a variety of items in the armrest compartment ranging from a pack of Marlboros, two lighters, some dental floss picks, sparkle lip gloss, a permanent marker, more dental floss, en e-cigarette and some coins. I’m certain that most of these items were left behind by customers. I had collected a group of homeless twenty somethings in the plaza one evening last week who wanted to be dropped off at a trailer park tucked behind The Human Bean drive-thru coffee stand located down the hill going north out of town on highway 99 towards Valley View. There were too many people for me to transport in one car so I took who I could and left the remaining three for Joe who would arrive shortly after I left. While I waited patiently for these young people who were drunk and smelled pretty ripe to get their gear in the trunk and get in the car, one of them was feverishly asking around for a cigarette. This was the perfect opportunity to get rid of the pack of marlboros that sat idle waiting for someone to want them. I removed the pack from the console and handed them out the window to the young man who was now puffing on what was left of a butt being passed around. I held the pack of cigarettes out the window in his direction. He quickly took them from my hand, asked I was sure it was okay and began to hand them out to his crew. He was grateful and thanked me as did the rest of them for adding my contribution to their late night drink and smoke fest. The car smelled pretty rank after they all got out at the trailer park, so I parked back at the plaza, got my cleaning spray from the trunk and wiped away their presence from the car. I always feel a sense of newness after I wipe down the inside of the car creating a sense of freshness and a thoughtful presentation for the next passenger to enjoy. This was a pretty easy day for the most part which means I got some much needed rest and relaxation. I like having blocks of free time throughout the day where I can cruise over and visit with my two children. These days I can find my son in the exact same place and position on the couch, shirtless with headphones on playing online video games with his virtual friends. Generally, my daughter can also be found on her bed or on the floor watching something on her iPhone while either cleaning her room, eating, reading or doing something she enjoys. I’ve recently surrendered to the fact that digital media is here to stay and this incredibly addictive drug of choice has most of the world hooked. It used to make me crazy to see them plugged in all the time and I would allow those feelings to fester and affect how I interacted with them which was not good for any of us. Now I kiss and hug them and look forward to those times when I can get them out of the house and have some one-on-one time with them in the taxi. My first call came late in the morning via text from Joe. It was a pickup at the Manor Motel on Lithia Way. I’d driven by this place many times over the past twelve years and appreciated the vintage neon sign and classic motel style that appeared to be from a scene in a creepy David Lynch film. I pulled into the parking lot to find two women chatting next to a very large rolling suitcase and a few shopping bags in front of the motel lobby entrance. I stopped the car and popped the trunk. I sat and waited in my always pleasant climate controlled environment for their conversation to end. I got out, introduced myself and went for the large black suitcase not thinking it could be as heavy as it was. The woman who I was transporting to the parking lot of Hagen’s grocery store where the Greyhound bus stop was located, told me that the bag was heavy and that she was not sure why. It literally felt like a ton of bricks. I heaved the bag into the trunk and opened the back door to let her in. She was a rather plain looking woman in her mid fifties who was visiting Ashland for the first time and being a taken aback by how pricey it was to stay here. Her visit was a quick overnighter that included dinner and an OSF performance of which I cannot recall which one. The ride to the bus stop was quick. I parked in the Hagen’s parking lot and popped the trunk. Once again I heaved the black monolith from the trunk, pulled out the handle and rolled it around the car to the sidewalk where she now stood. We said our goodbyes and I got back in the car ready for the next fare. I got a text from Joe saying that there were two ladies at the Ashland Food Coop who needed a ride to a vacation rental on Garfield Street a few blocks from the high school. It was a quick ride and the two short, stocky women told me that they were having a wonderful time in Ashland on their break away from work and would be in town for a few more days. After we arrived, I retrieved their bags of groceries from the trunk and carried them to the front porch. I wished them well and headed to my next fare who was waiting for me out in front of the emergency room at Ashland Community Hospital. A few moments later I pulled up in front of the ER entrance spotting my fare standing on the curb in anticipation of my arrival. I pulled in the parking lot just ahead of her and turned the car around making the passenger side doors more easily accessible. She got in the back and asked me to take her to the Ashland Food Coop where she worked as a checker. Funny how I was just there picking up those two ladies going back to their vacation rental just ten minutes earlier. She got in the back seat. I said hello and asked her if she was okay. She began to tell me of the multiple medical conditions she must face on a daily basis and how occasionally she had to go to the ER to be checked out. Honestly, I don’t recall what her issues were, but they were all challenging in their way and made her life very difficult at times. I asked her what she was doing to combat all the symptoms associated with her conditions and she said options were limited, but did the best she could through a lot of online research. She said she was strong willed and was doing what she could to keep a positive outlook on life. I mentioned that perhaps she was chosen to receive this unrecognizable gift I felt she had leadership qualities making her one who could help others who suffered similarly. She agreed and told me that she had a blog that did precisely that and it made her feel better about everything knowing that she could offer support to others who faced similar challenges. Within a few minutes I pulled up in front of the Coop, again. I thanked her for calling us to help her out, discounted the fare and wished her a good day and a happy life. This is the second time I’ve had a fare to pick up at the ER in the last ten days, but I’m sure it wasn’t going to be the last. The rest of the day was pretty slow so I took advantage of my free time by offering to pick up my adorable teenage daughter at 2:00 and take her bed shopping in Medford. She happily agreed. Now that my roommate is moving out at the end of the month, I wanted to make the apartment more comfortable for my two children by getting rid of the bunk beds we’ve share for the past few years and replacing them with new queen size beds in each room. I had seen an ad on CraigsList earlier that while perusing bunkbeds for sale where a family with financial difficulties was looking for someone to give them some bunkbeds for their young daughter. I called the number on the ad and told the guy who answered that he was welcome to come pick them up after the first of the month when my roommate was moved out and they would no longer be needed. He thanked me and agreed to come get them. I asked him to call me closer to that time to let me know that he still wanted them and would be coming into Ashland to retrieve them. It’s been a blast to have my children ride in the taxi with me and I think they can appreciate the specialness of the opportunity we have to go places so differently than most. On the way my daughter told me about some odd dreams she had been having. They were situations and events that would never happen in her waking life and I explained that this was in interesting phenomena I had taken notice of in my own dreams a few years ago. She agreed that dream life was separate for a reason and that it was interesting to examine how different the two worlds of consciousness are. I went and grabbed my daughter at the house on Park Street and off we went to Pickers Paradise on highway 99 in Medford to see if we could find something suitable for both my son and daughter to sleep on at a reasonable price I could afford. As we sped down highway 99 entering the city of Talent just a few miles north of Ashland. I remembered that some friends of mine were working on an art car to take to this years Burningman event. Just as I’d hoped these two very talented and kind gentlemen were working on a giant space capsule looking vehicle that they would drive to the Reno desert and cruise under ten miles an hour around the arid playa picking up passengers covered in fine white dust. Like a space taxi! I got their attention and asked them to pose in front of the incredible piece of art that they were in the process of creating. One of them a world class sculptor and the other a general contractor/artist who had the skills and imagination to build anything one could conceive. Together they made a super team who would offer a spectacular addition to the annual desert frolic where thousands of people would be able to enjoy the fruits of their labor. My daughter stood leaning against the passenger door engrossed in her iPhone barely noticing what was right in front of her. Kids today. A moment later another friend pulled up in his truck with camper with the words Dome Guys creatively hand painted on both sides of the camper. I too had this well over six foot wall of a German man pose for me in front of his vehicle while I got a few shots of him proudly posed. I said my goodbyes and my daughter and I were off once again to get some beds. Luckily the store was having a huge unannounced furniture sale with men waving banners and guiding people into the parking lot. As we pulled into the busy parking lot, I instantly knew we were at the right place. The sales clerk asked my daughter to lay on the display mattresses to determine which one felt the most comfortable for her. She reluctantly did as she was asked. She picked one out and told the clerk which one she preferred. I chose two beds with a nice clean design that were on sale. With my daughters approval, I gave the clerk a deposit and put them on layaway with a promise to pay it in full the following week. I requested that they give us delivery at no extra charge which they were happy to do. As we headed back to the car I asked my daughter if she would was hungry and would like to grab a bite at the whole in the wall trailer serving Mexican food next door. She said she was hungry and wanted a bean and cheese burrito. I had a tamale. The food was okay. My daughter enjoyed the simplicity of her burrito and ate every bite. Her enjoying and devouring the burrito was all that mattered to me. We headed back into Ashland and I dropped her off at home with a full belly and a new bed to soon arrive at our cute apartment that looks down on the Shakespeare Festival and across the street from Lithia Park. An incredible location. A few hours later, I returned to pick up my son then go grab his workout buddy who lives off of Tolman Creek Road a half a mile away and took them to their X-Fit class on Hersey. They too enjoy their fun rides in the taxi where they can listen to loud music on the way, It’d been a very quiet day with very few calls coming in for the taxi. I took advantage of my free time by cleaning the car and running some errands. I appreciate those down times even though I’m not bringing in any cash. Making money is important, but being able to enjoy having and spending it while not working is equally important. At around 6:00pm I met up with Joe and another friend for a leisurely meal of delicious sushi at Kobe with a table overlooking the slow flowing creek and lush overgrown foliage. It was a pretty night with only a hint of smoke in the air from all the wildfires still raging in the area. We shared a few specialty cut rolls and talked about this and that. A few people we knew were also there enjoying a night out so we strolled over to their table on the way out for light conversation that ended with hugs all around. After dinner, I drove home with a full belly to grab some much needed and easily acquired sleep. And sleep well I did. My next call came in around 10:00pm via text from Joe. I was to go to Mountain Street, pick up one of the bartenders who worked at the iPub and bring him to work. I pulled into a darkened parking lot and waited a few minutes before calling him to let him know his taxi was here and ready when he was. A few minutes later he came and hopped in the front passenger seat. We made small talk as I took the back way to get him there more quickly even though he had plenty of time before his shift started. I dropped him off and wished him a good evening. He has recently become one of my regulars as Joe has begun to enjoy his new freedom to give me most of the calls and take time for himself. I’m glad I can be that guy he can trust which in turn makes his life easier. Shortly after I made the drop at iPub, I got another text from Joe saying that there was a pickup at the Caldera Brewery and Restaurant on the south side of town who needed to get dropped off on Fordyce Street off of E Main Street. This guy was another regular who I’d picked up the week before. A seemingly nice guy who cursed a lot and seemed to always be having difficulty with employers and alike. He was holding down two jobs and was once again frustrated that he could not get a regular schedule at his primary job at Bi-Mart. I recommended that he consider a different job where he could get what he wanted. He thought this was a reasonable solution and said he would look into it. I told him that Shop N Kart was always hiring and that I had heard good things about working there. Shop N Kart happens to be right next store to Bi-Mart. He thanked me for my suggestion, paid the fare generously and exited the vehicle. Thais was my last call of the day and it was time to go home and get as much sleep as I could before the next call came in. That’s all for now.

August 23

It’s now a little after midnight on Sunday and the abstract concept of yesterday and today melt together into the abyss of a sleep deprived taxi driver’s dream of cruising the now quiet streets and alley ways of Ashland, Oregon. With a few much needed naps and quick showers to refresh my senses I continue to push on as if I’m invincible. And I am, so I think. See if you can grasp this circular maze of connective tissue between people I have close relationships with. It’s that Kevin Bacon thing about degrees of separation. My next pickup was the bartender at The Elks Club who was formerly the bartender at Paddy Brannan’s Irish Pub which was recently purchased by another friend and design client of mine who is the owner and head chef at Smithfileds Restaurant about 300 feet on the opposite side of the street adjacent to Paddy’s which was previously owned by another close friend of mine who I was in a punk band with for about eighteen months. Now employed as the head bartender at the Elks Lodge No. 944 located downtown on E Main Street, I come upon my fare leaning against a wall in perfect silhouette smoking the last of his American Spirit cigarette in the back alley behind the lodge after his shift has ended. He tosses his butt to the ground and smothers it into the black top with his size twelve shoes. This man whom I’ve known for a few years now is once again happy with a wry smile to see me arrive with his effortless ride home. I come pick him up from work a few times a week and take him to his house a few miles away off of Highway 66. Our conversations are pretty much a variation on the same theme each time. We both find comfort in keeping it simple. He’s getting married soon and tells me about all the complications that have been occurring with the venue they’ve chosen. He always says how happy he is about my driving a taxi and that it’s such a perfect fit for me. I don’t hit the button on the meter as there is an agreed upon fee that he previously set up with Joe going back a little ways. I spot the illuminated plastic box which serves as a landmark telling me that i’m one house away from his stop. I pull up in front and turn on the interior lights. He grabs the few bags he’s brought back from the bar, pays the agreed upon fare and wishes me a good night. I say the same in return and make my usual U-turn at the same spot and head down the dimly lit street back towards downtown. It’s closing on 1:30am and I can feel that business is about to pick up so I increase my speed in anticipation of the next call which comes in right as I pull into the plaza where a few of the other taxi companies are already lined up against the yellow painted curb hoping to pick up fares. I decided to head over to the iPub and park out front until people began heading home for the evening. Last call is at 2:00 and by 2:15 there are plenty of people who need a ride home. I had gotten out of my car to stretch my legs a bit and walked a few feet away not paying attention to the action behind me. A text came in from Joe saying a female friend of mine was under the bridge by Creekside Pizza Bistro on Water Street and wanted a ride home to Talent. I walked back to the car to find a young man with blonde hair laying down in the back seat. I usually make a point of locking the car whenever I leave it no matter how long I’m away from it. This time I had forgotten. I opened the back door and saw that he was awake and asked him to get out so I could go pick up my friend. He got out immediately and apologized. I told him that it was cool, but I needed to go. He asked if I would drop him off beforehand and I agreed. He said he lived on Jackson Road which was close enough. I pulled in front of his house and he gave me a Google credit card of which I had never seen before. He said he had to transfer some money to that account and asked if I could wait while he fumbled with his phone to make the transaction happen. I swiped the card and it was declined. He asked me to try again and it now said that the amount I put in would be covered. He continued to apologize for the inconvenience and I assured him that it was no big deal and to have a good night. Later that evening the phone displayed another message saying that the transaction could not be completed. I chalked it up to a learning opportunity and brushed it off. No big deal. At least he got home safely. I headed back to Creekside where I sat parked waiting under the bridge for the customer to show. Joe texted me the phone number. I called it and an unsuspecting familiar voice answered. Honestly this young woman is a spectacular beauty with all the bells and whistles to go with her looks. It was a pleasant surprise to hear her and she was happy that I was the one who would transport her and her boyfriend home to Talent. They appeared seconds later. I got out of the car to give her a hug. She warmly returned the gesture. I shook her boyfriends strong hand and said hello. I had seen a young short haired blonde woman walking around town earlier who caught my eye. I never got a look at her face, but noticed everything else about her especially the very tall shoes she was wearing. She was with a guy who appeared to be her boyfriend. As it turns out she would be my next fare and a friend I cherished. This young woman has the voice of an angel. She happens to be the lead singer for a successful local band with a delightful personality and and excellent outlook on life. I’ve known her for years now and we’ve had a few fun photo sessions together. Several months ago I donated my time to photograph her band inside one of the local hotels. Most of the band members are friends of mine and it was fun to hang out with them and capture their personalities. In return for my gift, my sweet and very talented friend gave me a signed CD that she had just released as a solo project. She told me once that she wanted to be the next Marilyn Monroe. I can see that. As we headed down Highway 99 in route to their place, she asked if she could take a drink from a flask she’d had hidden in her purse. I asked her not to as this is one of the biggest mistakes a driver can make when transporting customers. No open containers. period. Now that I’m a professional taxi driver it’s my responsibility to ensure a safe environment and avoid unnecessary entanglements with local authorities. Putting it simply, I could lose my T-card, pay a hefty fine and lose my job. She understood and quickly put it away. I appreciated that she asked me. We talked about her recording project and some difficulties she was having with the producer who turned out to be a bit shady. It turns out that he had stepped on some major recording label toes and was going to have to pay the price which included distribution issues that affected her potential for making money from the project. Her boyfriend talked about how they were going to have to change course in order to compensate for the challenges they faced and how it sucked for her to have to deal with someone else’s bad judgement. She confidently came off as un-phased and had a positive attitude about the whole thing moving forward. After some dark winding roads absent of light, my high beams guided the way through a bumpy entrance to a well hidden house on the outskirts of town. They asked me not to go too close to the house as their dogs came racing out to greet them. They paid the fare with a handsome tip and I hugged them goodbye and told them how nice it was to see them. I carefully backed out on the dusty road and headed back to Ashland to pick up more fares from the bar. On the way to Talent to drop them off, I received an odd call from some guy who rides with us regularly via the iPub. He specifically requested that when I come pick him up that I talk like Count Dracula and he would give me some extra tip money. I laughed and said I vould do my best and he should vatch out for my blood sucking taxi. My friend and her boyfriend laughed as this all took place on speaker phone. It was now around 2:15am as I pulled up in front of the iPub where the sidewalk was crowded with people talking, smoking cigarettes and looking for a ride home. My guy with the funny request was out there too. I rolled my window down and began the Dracula speak. He was smoking a cigarette which was down to the butt and asked that I wait for him to finish. After a minute or two, four young people piled into the car and asked me to take them to an apartment complex behind Omar’s on the other side of town. I told my guy that I was sorry and would come back for him. I wasn’t going to kick them out. He should have jumped in when I arrived knowing that so many other people milling around would want a ride. He reluctantly agreed and now asked for a discounted rate when I returned. In the wee hours of the morning the deer population come out under the cover of darkness and lingering smoke to feed on the grass that lines the median of Siskiyou Boulevard. Many of them leisurely wander the streets in search of food without care for the little bit of traffic at that hour. These animals have become so comfortable here that they are considered residents and are counted by the City of Ashland on a regular basis. Those numbers are maintained as a matter of record. Part of the charm of living in this beautiful community is the relationship we have with nature. The wildlife here seems to be at ease with the humans. Unfortunately one will often see a variety of road kill that who unable to avoid our personal killing machines. Usually skunks, squirrels and raccoons. Only once have I seen a dead deer in the road. A young female sprawled out on Siskiyou Boulevard. In a few nights from now, I would be on my last run driving up Vista Street a few streets from my apartment and come within ten feet of a medium sized black bear foraging through the bushes in the front yard of someone’s home. Although one is not supposed to look at a bear in the eyes as it is a sign of aggression, I couldn’t help myself as I stopped the car put down the window and called out to it. The animal quickly fled into the bushes. I called 911 to report the sighting and soon saw a few police cars cruising the area. My neighbor was just coming home and I shared my experience with him. He commented that this bear sighting was a wonderful part of living here and he was glad that I had the rare opportunity. Okay, back to the four twenty something drunk people who piled into the car from the iPub. They were pretty drunk indeed and asked that I stop at 7/11 so they could grab some items before they went home to continue their festivities. I said that it was no problem. I pulled into the parking lot and three of the four got out leaving a very attractive amazonian girl in the front seat who paid no attention to me. She and I were working our phones and made no conversation. She ended up going into the store as well. They all came out speaking loudly and having fun. They all got back in the car and we exited the parking lot only to be stuck at the traffic light that was seemingly never going to change. They urged me to run it. I flat refused. After another half a minute, They made the same request so I made a quick right turn, went about 300 feet and pulled a sharp and very fast U-turn putting us back on track. The other light was now about to change so I had to put the petal to the metal to make it through. I felt a hand of appreciation on my shoulder as they were all impressed with my driving skills and willingness to take the necessary action to get them home quickly. We pulled into the parking lot of the apartments and they all thanked me again and said it was an awesome ride home. It was now close to 3:00am. I went back downtown to see if anyone else was hanging around on the street who might need a ride. It was very quiet now. Only a few people were about. An occasional police car would go by checking for stragglers similarly to what I was doing at that hour. As I was driving northbound on Main Street, I caught a man waving his arms in my rear view mirror. I pulled over as he began to run towards the car. He asked if I could take him to Tolman Creek and I said that I could. He gratefully got in the back seat. This was one of Joe’s regulars and he was very appreciative that I noticed him and stopped. I got him home quickly, collected the fare and we said our goodbyes. On the way back towards downtown, I got another text from Joe saying that there were two airport runs going out of The Flagship Hotel and he wanted me to take the 3:30am pickup. I agreed and ran home to quickly take a shower and refresh for the drive to Medford. I find that taking a few showers throughout the day keeps me fresh and ready to go. I made my way home, stripped and showered in about five minutes. I got dressed again and headed across town to the Flagship Hotel where a young Chinese woman would be waiting with luggage by her side. As I pulled in, I got a call from one of the young women I had dropped off shortly before. She asked if I could come back and take a few of her friends home. I said that I had an airport run and was not going to be available. She did not believe me and stated that she thought I was trying to avoid coming back. I assured her that this was not the case and began to speak to my airport customer with her on the phone to prove that I was not lying. She realized the situation and thanked me anyways. The odd thing was that we were having a run on picking up Chinese people the past few days from the same location all going to the airport at different times. I;m sure there is a reasonable explanation, but I was not interested enough to find out what that was. This woman spoke very little English yet clearly asked how long it would take to get to the airport. I told her under twenty minutes. I put her luggage in the trunk and opened the rear door for her. Once we were both seated, I asked if she would like some music. She said yes. I put on a classical station on Pandora and we exited the hotel parking lot and headed north out of town. We arrived at the airport in around seventeen minutes. I asked her if she was pleased with her ride and she said she was. I got her luggage from the trunk, raised the handles and said thank you. After paying the agreed upon flat rate fare, she gave me a dollar as a tip. There are no small tips. There are only tips and there are no tips. This was a very busy morning thus far and I was looking forward too crawling into bed for some serious shut-eye. That is all for now.

August 25

5:00am I received a call from a guy who said he was at the Talent Club located on Talent Avenue in Talent, Oregon approximately ten minutes north of Ashland off of Highway 99. He said he would be standing out front. When I arrived he was standing out on the sidewalk awaiting my arrival. I flipped the car around and stopped. He got in the back and said he was thankful that I was available and came so quickly. He said he wanted to go to beach Street in Ashland. I said, “No problem” and we sped away. He mentioned that it was his first break from work in weeks and wanted to really throw down for a few days. Not in the way one would think with excessive of alcohol intake and general deb-ochery. He told me that he was an artist and spent much of the time he had creating drawings with charcoal and chalk. I resonated with this as my background is illustration. A gift bestowed upon my father, his brother my Uncle Stanley and myself. My mom reminds me that I started drawing when I was two years old. What I recall most clearly is the reminder that when I was tow, I decided to take my artistic abilities and apply them to my bedroom wall with the burnt umber color contained in my diaper. She said I spread it all over the wall with wild abandonment. It couldn't have gone tow far up as I was probably only two feet tall at the time. I would later discover my love of painted to then be remiss about being color blind and having people tell me that my skies were purple and my grass was brown. In my frustration, I would take a screwdriver to my work and destroy it beyond recognition. Needless to say, I stopped painting shortly after I started. I would not pick up another paintbrush until I was thirty when faced with the challenge of a painting project I has to perform live in front of my parents while in design school. It was a small piece about six by six of Marilyn Monroe. I had leaned from a Philippino guy in my class who had mad painting skills to really explore color and not to be afraid of it. The painting of Marilyn came out well to my surprise. Of all the pieces of my work that I’ve save, that particular piece is nowhere to be found. Maybe I gave it away. I don’t remember. I have not picked up a paintbrush since. This was the same school where I learned how to become a graphic designer. I was to complete two classes. A traditional art and graphic design class which included learning to use old school press on type and rubyliths for layout as well as hand drawn type and illustration with rapidograph pens and a computer design class that gave me my first Adobe Photoshop and Adobe Illustrator skills. A very valuable year if instruction. I took to the computer as an illustration too quickly and really dug in. I was affectionately known in class as Illustrator Man. This was 1993 and the design industry was on the cusp of moving primarily to computers. I never had to use those old layout methods after I left school. Not once. Every decade of my life has had a significance that I can point to and reflect upon. Aside from turning ten which may have been when I discovered my penis, every decade following has held a great deal of importance in how the next decade would play out. Almost mathematically driven as an obvious path to my next journey. After going home and getting a couple hours of sleep, I got a text from Joe asking me to go back to Talent to an address on Hilltop Drive. It now was around 8:00. I got my stuff together and headed out. I grabbed the GPS from the center console and attached it to the magnetic holder on the lower lefthand side of the windshield. I plugged in the address and took off. I had been in that neighborhood before, but this address took me off the beaten path onto a gravely dirt road. I could not make out some of the numbers on the houses, but soon saw a bald man and a bot who would turn out to be his teenage son standing out on the road waving me in. I slowly drove up to them and pulled into a paved driveway. The boy got in the back seat. The man who seemed to be in a bad mood handed me a twenty dollar bill and said he had payed Joe this amount a few days before. I accepted his payment and headed back to Ashland. I was to take his son to Ashland High School where he would be enrolling for the next semester and had to take a math placement test. A nice enough young man who told me that he had recently moved in with his father after getting in some trouble while living with his mother. I think this may have been the first days of father and son getting used to the idea of living together. His father looked like someone who might be hiding from something or someone and had perhaps come from a place where his life was begrudgingly turned upside down against his will. I’m guessing all of this information of course as I have no idea. Just a hunch based on their recent arrival to the area and the father’s odd disposition. he looked like he could be on one of those biker reality TV shows. As we headed back down the dirt road, I asked the young man what kind of music he wanted to hear and he said he wanted some classic rock. I put Pandora on the Jimmy Hendrix station and gave him a fun ride to school. I dropped him off in front of the high school, wished the young man well and headed to the coin-op car wash to remove any evidence of the dirt road excursion. This cleaning of the car is something I do about every other day. Depending on my energy level, I will either do it myself or take it to the Texaco on the south side of town where I can effortlessly sit in the car while it’s pushed along through a barrage of hundreds of waving and spinning brushes that clear away most if not all of the dust and dirt I’ve collected. It feels good to consistently provide a clean car to all those who enter the vehicle. I know that this is a major part of the service and that it is appreciated and noted by customers. At twenty, I got married to the mother of my adopted children. At thirty I chose a career and went back to school. At forty I moved to Ashland to wake up. At fifty I told my children I would never yell at them again and began reading everything I needed to catch up on what was important both fiction and non-fiction. If my previous decades of experience dictate transition and what happens next, my sixties should be a hoot.Jesus is not a name that was mentioned in my household growing up. It seemed to present great discomfort. The flat out son of god thing just rubs Jews the wrong way. I think the whole thing is silly, but programming is programming. We had a Christian family who lived next door to us who said they loved us and also told us that we were going to hell. I don’t recall any other Jewish families in our neighborhood in Mission Hills, California other than my Aunt Bea and Uncle Harry and my cousins Ann and Monica who lived across the street, but I think that was the extent of it. I went to San Fernando High school where I was the minority either both a Jew and a white boy. I think I was the only Jew in the high school. I was picked on exactly once, well twice. This white kid by the name of Eddie L. threw me up against at the locker in gym class. This was unprovoked and blindsided me. Within seconds a very large black kid who I’d recognized, picked Eddie up by the collar and told him never to touch me again. That nice young man ended up playing football for USC. I was voted Class Clown of my1979 graduating class. I again, don’t recall much as my hard rive is either corrupt or conveniently erased and reformatted for the purposes of being able to move forward with relative ease. I’m not suggesting that there was much trauma or insurmountable pain that I am inclined to forget for the purposes of self preservation based. I equate it more to a lack of interest, therefore allowing me to continue to build on my experience without distraction of experiencing too much nostalgia. In elementary school I had who I thought was a friend in someone who later called me hurtful names around being Jewish. I cried all the way home. He was Mexican American.The Mexican boys who lived two doors down from us picked on me plenty and were not nice most of the time. These were isolated incidents and pale in comparison to people who are pressed every day of their lives in one way or another. It’s a shame on us all. Me included. We go to church on Sunday and kill on Monday. I’m not sure what to do about it all. I do what I can or simply don’t do what is expected of me. Not in defiance, but in principle. Getting back to Jesus, I was on the phone with my father and was telling him how much I enjoyed driving the taxi and all the benefits it held for me. I mentioned ton him that I had placed a posting on Facebook a few years earlier stating that I was offering an hour of my consultation time for $75 as this seems to be what people have sought out for me since moving to Ashland on November 1st, 2004. Just before moving to Ashland and living in San Francisco I went through an accelerated awareness experience which I’m convinced sent me into the service of being available and able to deliver information through the download I am privy to. It has been a pleasure to be the mouthpiece of reason through no thinking of my own. A simple willingness to allow it to come without question of knowledge thereof. I think this is why I’m such a fan of Edgar Casey. A man who knew nothing. Dropped out of school at nine, picked up a camera, raised by a god fearing family and turned out to have the direct connect that would save literally thousands of lives. How many of you know who he was? That is a shame. More fantastic human experiences that live in the shadows of state sanctioned testing for students who know nothing about themselves or the world they live in. I told my father that after placing the Facebook ad with hopes of cashing in on providing individual consultation services my phone went silent. He quickly asked me why I would bring up Jesus with a hint of being uncomfortable with the subject matter. I told him that it was not based on anything other than the fact that his story is one of the highest good and intention. I could care less about all the rest. A good fable gone bad. The religious aspects associated with him are a manifestation of man’s unquenchable thirst for power. As I understand it, Jesus was not about creating a hierarchy of power or buildings where people would congregate. He simply wanted people to treat each other like the brothers and sisters we obviously are. I said that I set high standards for myself and although I sometimes fall short of who I could be, I continue to put forth a good effort. I told him that that evening I pulled down the ad before I went to bed and that the next day I received three calls from people who wanted to talk to me. Although I don’t recall any of that information, I do remember that one of them was one of the most intense sessions I’ve ever experienced. I let my father know that this new job as a taxi driver was delivered to me based on a verbal request I had made where I would be willing toggle up my creative career for a job where I could be in service and still be able to pay my bills. I had heard the divine shouting in the silence of my phone clearly communicating to me that this method of connecting service and profession was in no way going to be supported. Especially if monetary profit was to be a consideration as compensation. I got it. My mantra of late has been “What would Jesus do?”. Funny coming from a Jew. Well, it is said that he was Jewish. So much so that some referred to him as Rabbi. It’s all just stories to me, but I like the idea of a guy who “made good”. That’s the way my father said that Jesus was described to him once when taking to a Rabbi. I like the simplicity in describing how simple it can be, I asked myself the magic question and quickly realized that selflessness is the only way for me to be available and still do what I want professionally. That was about two years ago now. My father began to understand that I had asked for an opportunity and it was boldly presented to me on Craigslist. of course at the time I didn’t yet realize what I was getting into, but the experiences I had leading up to it could not be any more poetically delivered. My morning up to that point was pretty quiet so I got a chance to wash the car, do some grocery shopping and generally take it easy. The first month on this job was literally taxi bootcamp for me. Constant fares at all hours of the day and night. Going, going and more going. It was an excellent way of getting some hardcore training up front which would prove make it easier for me down the road. Pun sort of intended after the fact. I got a call from a young woman who said she needed a ride from Crocker Street on the south side of town to Medford and asked if I could show up at her place around 1:00. I told her that would be no problem and that I would see her then. This was an hour or so before hand. I arrived at the address and backed my car into the driveway. I did not let her know that I was there right away as I was around ten minutes early. Just before 1:00 I called her to let her know I was there and waiting. She said she would be right out. She emerged around ten minutes later. She hurriedly got into the front passenger seat and introduced herself. I noticed immediately that she was talking and moving her arms very rapidly. She said she needed to go to Medford to take care of some business. It soon became evident to me that she was clearly not well on many levels. I had noticed some scars on her episode arms from come kind of self mutilation. She was really a pretty girl with all the makings of sweetness somehow wrapped up in fear and insurmountable anxiety. She told me about how it was growing up with fighting parents who relayed on her to keep the peace even as a small child. She told me that she had received multiple DUIs and was constantly being thrown in jail. It was obvious that this young woman needed rehabilitation and not incarceration. Society is quick to lock people up versus providing critically needed treatment and compassion for those suffering the slings and arrows of their mothers and fathers. There was a point where I saw her slow down and begin to take on some normalcy about her. I asked if I could take her hand and hold it while driving. Without hesitation she took my hand. She asked if I was in need of something from her in making this request. I told her that I wanted to offer her support through simple touch. We held hands for a few before we mutually released. We were getting close to where she wanted to go. I felt the need to reach out to her and offered my business card. She was very appreciative and said she would call me. Sometimes I forget to use my filters and dive straight off the cliff of human kindness without thinking it through. As I released the card into her hand, I realized that I may have made an error in being so available. It was too late. I had handed her the card. We had a brief in I got a text from Joe that evening to go to Martino’s restaurant downtown and pick up a customer who would be waining for me out front. As I pulled up, I noticed a young attractive blonde female holding a to-go box in her left hand. She entered the car and told me that she would like to be dropped off on the other side of town off of Toleman Creek. I asked her of she worked at Martino’s and she said that she did. She told me that this was her first real job and that she was a senior at Ashland High School. She cheerfully shared with me how much she really loved the experience she was having as a student. This seems to be a pretty common thread as I’ve picked up several local high school students of varying stages of their attendance. I mentioned to her that my daughter was just entering Ashland high school and how she was excited to be moving on from Middle School. This too is a common thread amongst those students who transition from a step beyond elementary school to their final destination in the imposed educational system. Most middle school students seem to have a difficult time as that aspect of their developmental cycle holds many challenges that pose as growing pains which I think are not addressed in our current way of educating people. I had mentioned to her that my daughter was going to opt out of a preliminary event where she would do an overnight with fellow students and senior advisors as a way of transitioning into her new school. This girl told me that she too opted out of this event for similar reasons, but was considering becoming a senior advisor and participating from a mentoring standpoint. She was not sure yet and did not seem to be all that interested in actually doing it. We pulled into the driveway and said our goodbyes. Shortly after pulling away I got a call from an employee at a wine bar downtown called Liquid Assets. They said they had a party of three going to Medford. I told them I would be there in ten minutes. Upon pulling up and parking in the yellow, I saw my customers make their way to the car. Two women and one man. The all piled in and made their introductions. This was one of those times where I would remain relatively silent as I had nothing to offer these people who were immediately in a heated conversation about how to take care of their mother and father who were aging and required a variety of assistance based on their age and medical needs. I was interesting to listen to them supporting each other and how they all seemed to come from very different perspectives on how to best serve their parents while no totally diminishing their own lives in the process. They were certainly a little buzzed from their alcohol intake, but that simply made the dialogue more spirited. The ride took about twenty minutes as I was asked to take them to a part of medford I had never been to before. They man who sat in the from told me that it was an obscure neighborhood that most people were not aware of. I pulled up in front of the address and the two ladies in the back thanked me and exited the vehicle leaving the gentleman in the front to take care of the fare. he tipped me well and I was soon back on the highway heading to Ashland.