The Greeks

I didn't work last night, and'll be taking the next few days off to pack and move my stuff. In the meantime, here's another old story lifted from an email to a friend (some edits made, XXXX isn't the other company's actual name). And yes, I'm very aware of how appalling the language on this website is. It bothers me, and I swear that I don't talk or think in such vulgarities when I'm not driving a cab or relaying the experience to others. Anyway, onto the Greeks:

So it's about 1 AM on Saturday night, and I get a call for two cabs to pick up at Madison's, this bar that's basically at SE 11 and Hawthorne. I pull up and there's no one there, but at a building that shares a parking lot with it there's a bunch of yelling and screaming and people clustered around. I call the phone number that came with the order (part of driving a cab is that I have a cell now, it's like a virus in my pocket), and I talk to some guy who assures me that people will be coming out soon. I wait and wait, while these two overweight middle aged, olive skinned men throw wild punches at each other, and one is eventually moved by force to a XXXX Taxi (small company reputedly run by the Russian mob) that was there. Meanwhile more XXXX Taxis pull up, and another guy from my company behind me.

We wait some more, and all that's happening is a bunch of people yelling in Greek accents at the guy who'd been moved by force into the XXXX cab, and all I can think is that this is costing me money and who the fuck are these dumbshits that all they can do is stand around and yell the same things repeatedly at each other, none of which seem either particularly hostile or conciliatory, but more to be variations on "Hey, I love you Georgie!" and "No, Paulie, I love you!" and "You guys leave!" etc. It appeared to just be a bunch of drunk-ass people at a wedding, and I call the guy who works there again and tell him that I'm taking off, that the Russians can drive them all over town. He's really apologetic and gives me and the other driver from my company $10 each, which is supremely chill and understanding and something that no one ever does.

Anyway, just as I'm getting ready to pull out, this drunk ass woman throws her 13 year old daughter and 10 year old son in the cab and tells me to wait while she grabs her husband. I tell her I will, but that I'm going to start the meter. She proceeds to go back into the building, and I'm left with her extremely drunk children talking at great length trying to remember where there hotel is. I just ask them if their parents know where it is, and the girl says "no, I don't think so... was it the Vintage Plaza Suites? Union Vintage Plaza?"

I'm starting to get really, really pissed off, and finally the woman comes back with her shitfaced 15 yr. old son and insanely drunk fat husband. I finally get them in the car, and nobody knows where they're going, or seems particularly interested in finding out for me so that I can take them there, but rather in talking about whether the 15 yr. old's going to fuck his cousin or not (she's hot, he should, is the Dad's verdict). The mother occasionally hits the two boys really hard for no apparent reason.

Finally, it's determined that we're going to Georgie's house, only no one knows where Georgie lives. Georgie's in one of the XXXX Taxis (where a very similar scene seems to be taking place), so I get out to ask him. The problem is that Georgie is so fucking blind drunk that he doesn't understand the question "where do you live?" and does nothing but blink, rock back and forth, and ocasionally yell "I love all of you motherfuckers!" I ask if there's an address of some kind, and one of the women gives me one in Southwest that I've never heard of before, and the Russian driver mumbles something almost completely incomprehensibe (and what I can understand involves taking a right at an intersection between 2 streets that don't meet).

I go back to my cab, planning on telling the Greeks to pay me what's on the meter, get the fuck out, and never call us again, when the XXXX Taxi with Georgie in it drives by just as I get in. "Follow that cab!" screams the husband, and suddenly I'm all about it, as I'd never thought I'd ever get to be in a position where someone screamed at me to follow a car. So I tear ass out of the parking lot and follow the Russian (who turns out to actually be a very good and safe driver, which makes the whole chase pretty mundane and not very exciting). The mother and I get into this long discussion about whether I'm going to let her smoke in the cab, and it turns out that the answer is "yes" when she promises to both give me a big tip and pay the $50 fine if the superintendent catches us (as he likes to patrol that area). I figure that since we're going to Southwest, it'll be a decent amount on the meter, and thus a very nice tip, and maybe this whole ordeal will end up being almost worth it.

Anyway, we end up driving all the way out to Tualatin, with this insane multi-part conversation going on between father and older son (re: older son fucking cousin), father and mother (re: why are they going to Georgie's, and didn't the family love him?), and daughter and me (13 year old drunk as all fuck Greek girl from New York trying to flirt with 26 year old cabbie concerned with following a Russian and calculating how fast he can get back to Portland). All of these conversations are made even more fascinating by the fact that while all passengers are competent in English, they aren't exactly fluent, either (lack of articles, using adjectives for adverbs, etc.) It's not clear at all whether this is due to immigration, drunkeness or sheer stupidity, though all indications point to a combination of all three with a heavy weighting toward the latter.

When we finally get to Georgie's house, it's everything that a gauchely nouveau riche Greek (I should note that I keep emphasizing that these people are Greek as a means of tagging them culturally, not because I see an inherent relationship between one's being Greek and one's being dumb as a stone, but rather to point out that when Greeks are idiots, they are idiots in this sort of way), moron living in Tualatin would possibly want. We pass through two gates to get in, obnoxious landscaping that consists mostly of weeping willows whose branches hang out into the windsheld of cars driving down the lengthy driveway, gargantuan house with eight car garage and grand staircase leading up to fifteen foot high solid wood double doors, etc., etc.

$46 on the meter, I'm stoked. $4 tip, and another five minute wait to get out. After they've gotten out, and her parents are laboring up the steps and Georgie's still in the first cab hugging the Russian cabbie (and at one point even trying to French kiss him), the 13 year old girl turns around, pulls down the front of her incredibly expensive dress, and flahses me her tits.

I don't even bother booking in out in the western suburbs, I just tear ass back into Portland to get the bar rush - normal fucking drunk people my age, from my city. This job will turn me into a misanthrope yet.