How about two? No charge for the extra one.

First – Saturday afternoon, after I got my cab, I headed for my usual stakeout spot, the Village Inn at I-17 and Northern. It is located at the confluence of four “zones” and away from where most of the cabbies hang out at Metro Center, so while I am in a hot zone, I have faster access to not only three nearby zones but about eight other zones up and down the freeway. My first call, after sitting no more than five minutes, was to pickup a passenger at the Residence Inn, just north of where I was on the frontage road. With 27th Avenue right next door, I used that to backtrack up the southbound frontage road and picked up the fare. It turned out to be two young ladies who were in town from Chicago visiting one of the girls’ family. Nice family, too – she had her own house, and that’s where they were headed. The house is at Warner and Higley in Gilbert – which, as it turns out, is a $78 meter. Not bad for a first run. On the way out there, the girls were chatting back and forth about the things that young Chicago girls chat back and forth about, and then one of them broke out a digital camera. They started critiquing the pictures they had taken of each other the previous evening. I thought maybe they were comparing shopping pictures, but it turned out they had taken pictures of each other wearing their new tans – and smiles. They thrust the camera into my face at one point, asking for my opinion, but I told them I was married, didn’t need to see them naked, and sure didn’t need that kind of distraction for the next twelve hours of my shift…

A few runs later, and I was dispatched to a house in Tempe. When I pulled up, the fare was working his way towards the curb with his walker. I jumped out and opened the door for him, took his walker and stowed it in the trunk, and jumped back into the driver’s seat. “Where to, sir?”

He gave me an address about five blocks away, and mentioned he was going to his son’s house for the evening. I asked him, politely, why his son hadn’t come to get him, and I was told in no uncertain terms that he was quite capable of getting around on his own, thank you very much.

Recognizing the attitude, I asked him which branch he had served in. He looked at me, and asked, “Marine?” I said yes sir, 80-84.

His eyes drifted out to about a thousand yards, and said “Third Marines, Second World War.”

“Iwo Jima?” I asked.

“Eventually,” he said.

When we pulled up at the address, I turned off the meter, retrieved his walker, and waited as he climbed out.

“How much do I owe you, son?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Any time a member of the Greatest Generation rides with me, the fare was already paid long before I was born.”

“Thank you, son. God bless you.”

“Thank YOU, sir.”

Chat ya later…

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