Not working for ten days really threw me off my taxi game.
Once I’m finally behind the wheel of Veterans 233 again on Wednesday, it’s a struggle to get my groove back. Everything feels awkward. The seat’s out of whack. The mirrors are positioned wrong. There’s a painful crick in my shoulder. And a fog encircles my thinking.
Can I even still drive a taxi? I wonder. Or was that fever dream last week, which involved negotiating a complicated matrix of Jenga blocks and TV boxes, a harbinger of things to come?
On the streets, I’m riddled with doubt. Each set of cross streets is a pop quiz.
Fortunately, instinct takes over and I manage to navigate rush hour traffic without incident.
Still, something feels off. I’ve lost my edge. Which is a problem when driving a taxi in San Francisco. This job is not for the meek. Without a thickarmor, you’ll get eaten alive …
Read the rest here.
[photo by Douglas O’Connor]