AUDIO: Another story from Late Night Larry, recorded late one morning at the National barbecue. With chatter in the background from Juneaux, Daniel the Chef, Old Man John and myself…
“I’m coming down O’Farrell Street and I get flagged by this couple. And from the early conversation, I realize they were husband and wife. The guy says to me, ‘You know, you just look like the kind of cab driver we’ve been looking for…'”
Juneaux is the most fastidious taxi driver I know.
His cab is always spotless, inside and out. He focuses on superior customer service and, in the process, has an uncanny ability to twist fortune in his favor.
I call it “The Luck of Juneaux.”
A few weeks ago, I wake up to a salvo of texts that began at midnight.
“I’m so fucked,” Juneaux writes. “I accidentally overslept and now I only have six hours to make my nut. I’m going to end up hanging a gate.”
After several texts describing the hopelessness of the situation, his tone changes drastically.
“Dude! You’ll never believe what just happened …”
Around 3 a.m., he picks up a guy who’s lost his Lexus somewhere in SoMa and has Juneaux drive him around while he clicks his key remote. An hour later, the meter is at $34.75, and the guy realizes it’s a lost cause.
“So, he asks me, ‘Can you drive me home?’ Sure. Where’s home? ‘Half Moon Bay.’”
His good fortune doesn’t stop there. Back in The City, he gets a timed SFO through Flywheel.
His final text reads: “After gate, gas and tip, I’m $146 in the black. Not bad for starting my shift six hours late.”
While Juneaux is dubious of its veracity, I have complete faith in The Luck. So much so, I’m convinced it’s even transferable …
[photo by Trevor Johnson]
This week’s column for the S.F. Examiner:
While I’m idling in gridlocked traffic on Third Street, trying to get my fare to the St. Francis, I read the advertisement on the wooden barricades shielding the construction at Moscone Center. The statement feels more like a threat than the typical “pardon our dust as we make improvements” disclaimer.
And yet, you can almost watch The City change before your very eyes — like the weather, when the fog rolls in on a sunny day and wraps itself around the top of the Pyramid like King Kong, or you turn a corner and the wind blows so cold you can’t even remember how it feels to be warm…
That’s what an advertisement like the one at Moscone Center seems to be saying. Or at least that’s how it feels in a cab yard, after a long shift, when we’re standing around a dormant barbeque grill trying to make sense of what’s become of the taxi industry.
“I still believe things will turn around,” Colin says.
“Something’s gotta give,” Juneaux points out.
“Ah, fuck this… We’re all doomed,” Jesse decrees as he tosses his cigarette and returns to the office.
“It does feel rather hopeless,” I admit.
“Speaking of hope,” says Late Night Larry. “Have I told you guys the one about the male hooker and the missing $100 bill?”
Read Larry’s story here.
I Drive S.F. 