Tag Archives: civic center

A Very Strange Reaction

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“Hey, cabbie! Can you turn up the music?”

“Oh, sure,” I grumble and twist the volume knob to the right. At least the hip-hop is drowning out the chuckle fest between the guy and girl. I don’t even want to imagine what they’re doing back there. I just keep my eyes on the road and the side view mirrors, grateful it’s a short ride.

“Hey, cabbie! Take Grove!”

“That was the plan,” I say under my breath.

The guy has been shouting directions in my ear all the way from the Travelodge on Valencia and Market, as if there were more than one way to get to Civic Center.

“Hey, cabbie! Stop here!”

I slam on the brakes in front of the library.

“Keep the change, cabbie!” The guy hands me $6 on $5.90.

“Oh, thanks.”

“I always like to support you real cabbies. I don’t fuck with Uber, man.”

“That’s cool.”

It takes a few minutes for them to extricate themselves and all their possessions from the cab. Once they’re clear, I speed away and take McAllister to Polk. I’m still grumbling to myself when the dispatch radio crackles to life.

“Drivers, the opera is breaking. They need cabs on the Grove Street side.”

“Sweet!” I make a beeline to Van Ness and catch the light. Before I can pull into the driveway, where a line of people are waiting for rides, two elderly men in matching black tuxes flag me down on the corner.

As they open the backdoor and the dome light comes on, I look over my shoulder and gasp. The seat is speckled with white powder.

“Ahhhh…” I stammer and try to think of a way to deal with the situation. Do I just say something?

Read the rest here.

[photo by Christian Lewis]

Waiting for the Man

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I recently discovered that if you park your cab on Van Ness and Oak at 2 a.m., with no headlights and the top light off, while the passenger in the backseat is looking to score drugs, almost everyone who walks past will try to solicit a ride.

First, it was two guys with suitcases, who seemed to emerge from thin air. Standing next to their luggage on the curb, smoking and laughing, they continuously glance inside my taxi. Much to the chagrin of my fare, a guy I picked up in the TL who told me his name was Cricket.

“What are these assholes doing?” Cricket wonders aloud. “They’re going to spook my guy! Get rid of them!”

“Me?” I ask. “How?”

“Tell them to fuck off!”

So far, I’ve just been avoiding eye contact, figuring they’ll get the message eventually. A few seconds later, one of the guys steps into the street and flags a passing cab.

“See, they just needed a taxi,” I say. Then add, wistfully, “Perhaps to the airport …”

A few minutes later, an old man approaches my taxi.

“Cabbie!” he yells across the street. “Cabbie! I need a ride!”

“Now what?” Cricket moans. “Goddamn it!”

I roll down my window and tell the old man, “I’m not available. Sorry.”

“C’mon! I got money!” He pulls out a wad of cash.

“But I already have a fare,” I explain. “Another cab will come by shortly.”

“Ah, these motherfuckers won’t ever pick me up!”

I try to offer some reassurance but he brushes my comment away with a wave of his hand and wanders down the street.

Who knew this seemingly desolate spot in The City would be such a hot spot for rides?

Read the rest here.

[photo by Christian Lewis]

Where and Where Not to Buy Weed on the Street in San Francisco

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The only time I’ve ever been mugged was in the Civic Center BART station 20 years ago when I tried to buy weed from a crack dealer. After the guy stopped pummeling me and I gave him the $20 he knew I had, a man who looked like my “Shakespeare in Rome” professor asked me, “Did that guy just rob you?”

I’m heading inbound on Market, trying to prevent a Yellow cab in the right lane from getting the jump on me, when a guy flags me at the Seventh Street Muni island stop. He opens my front door, and I quickly grab my bag and stow it under my seat. He asks how much to Ocean Beach. I tell him around $20.

“Let’s do it,” he says.

I turn right on Sixth and start driving west.

His name is Hugh. He’s from Sydney, in San Francisco working on some project for a tech firm. Spent the past two weeks sequestered in an incubator in the Mission. This is the first time he’s been free to venture out and explore The City.

“So what have you been up to?” I ask.

“Well, I just lost $300 trying to buy weed.”

“Why’d you think you could buy pot around here?” I ask, more nonplussed than he seems to be. They only sell crack and heroin in mid-Market. Some pot dealers hang out by Jones Street, but they usually close up shop early.

Hugh shrugs. “I just wanted to celebrate turning in the first part of my project this morning.”

This week’s column is about buying drugs on the street in San Francisco… It’s not always easy…

Read it here.