I am officially a taxi-cab driver. Last night was the first of many more 12 hour, over night shifts, starting at 6pm and ending at (you guessed it math whiz) 6am!
Tuesday nights are surprisingly eventful in Bellingham. If you happen to fall under the over 40, alcoholic, and generally sad about life category, then Tuesday is your night to party! I met the drummer of a San Francisco rock band from the 80's that I think is called "Fwuzzly Twizzchers" (Im not fluent in Drunkenese yet so I could be wrong). Apparently they are in the rock and roll hall of fame. I looked it up and I'm pretty sure I broke the internet in doing so.
I also gave a particularly short ride to a particularly paranoid drunk man who looked to be about 250years old. He asked to be dropped off on Samish way (a mere 2-3 miles from where he was picked up). After about a block however he became convinced that I was "playing f***ing games!" with him, and tried to grab the wheel. (rookie lesson #1: Drunks go in the back!) Without even stopping I was able to unbuckle his seat belt and push him out the door. For those of you concerned, he rolled out of it quite gracefully.
There is something uniquely intimate about jobs like taxi driver, hair dresser, or priest where people feel uninhibited when talking to you as they launch headlong into personal confessions, or the telling of their sons biography in its entirety (lives in anchorage with his pregnant underage wife, lost his fingers in the cannery, killed a bear when he was only 3, etc...). I imagine the alcohol helps the flow of information in at least two of those professions, but its still feels odd when "Tammy" (who by the way was a hairdresser ironically enough) tells me that she thinks I would look better with a beard, and blonde highlights.
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