In San Francisco, you need the right cab driver to get you to the right sex club…
In this week’s column for the S.F. Examiner, I write about getting misguided passengers where they want to go:
I’m cruising down Folsom Street on a quiet Thursday night at about midnight. An arm goes up in front of Powerhouse. I pull over. A man with a strong accent gets in the back of my taxi.
“Can you take me here?” He shows me his phone with the Google details for the Power Exchange on the screen.
As I head up 7th Street, I ask nonchalantly, “Not the crowd you’re looking for back there, huh?”
“Too many problems!” he exclaims. “I’m looking for women.”
“Well, you’re going to the right place now.”
Racing through the littered streets of the Tenderloin, I can’t help but wonder how this guy ended up at a gay cruising bar instead of the hetero sex club he was looking for. Poor communication with a cab driver? A mix up in a Google search?
Whatever. These things happen. A few months back, I had a similar situation, albeit in reverse, while driving past the Power Exchange …
A guy flags me down and immediately tells me he’s a tourist and has ended up at the wrong place.
“The doorman told me I should check out Blow Buddies,” he says. “Do you know where that is?”
Of course. I’m quite familiar with the place, I tell him. But instead of assuming that, as a night cabbie, I know where all the sex clubs are in San Francisco — gay and straight — he thinks I’m a regular and grills me on the details.
“It’s all gay, right? Is it OK to just watch? Do I have to take off all my clothes? Are there condoms available? Showers?”
“All I know is that, once you’re inside, they’ll explain everything.”
Read the rest of the column here.