that thing

"YOU'RE LUCKY YOU WEREN'T DRIVING 6, 7 YEARS AGO. THEY WERE killing cabbies back then."

I heard this troubling piece of information from a super-sized laid off programmer who barely sqeezed into my back seat on a warm Thursday afternoon. It was my first week on the job and I still wasn't sure how all this was gonna work. (As if I still do.)

"Oh, yeah," Big Man told me, "must've been 8 or 9 of 'em. Killed 'em for the cash. All the cabbies were carrying guns back then."

What, me, worry? That was 6, 7 years ago, right?

A week later the Austin Chronicle welcomed me into the wonderful world of cab driving by publishing a cover story on the local taxi trade. According to the article, thanks to the high weekly fees and long hours cabbies typically work, local drivers are "sharecropping on wheels." One veteran driver called the job particularly dangerous — a notion I hadn't given much thought to.

I am the eternal glass-is-half-full guy, sometimes to a fault.

Which may have been a factor when I pulled over for a young black guy who waved the Bobcab down well past 3 in the morning a couple months ago. Marcus looked into the open passenger window and asked if I minded if he sat up front.

"Come on in."

As he climbed in, he immediately started thanking me for picking him up. His gushing gratitude was disarming, if not slightly alarming.

"I must've had a dozen cabs drive right by me, man," Marcus told me. "Every one of 'em empty too."

I shook my head at the injustice of it all.

"How is that even possible?" I wondered. "They told me when I got this job that we weren't allowed to refuse anyone a ride."

Marcus scoffed.

"Yeah, well..."

"I can't believe they'd keep blowing you off like that," I said, feeling his pain. "Even the black cabbies?"

"Especially the black cabbies," he laughed, even though there was nothing funny about it.

Turned out Marcus — early 20s, perfectly friendly, if not a little beaten down — was a barback at one of the booming booze rooms on 6th Street and lived in one of the many east side apartment complexes off Riverside Drive. A hardworking kid still getting crapped on merely for the color of his skin. In 21st century America. Shameful.

I explained to Marcus that I often fly past people needing a ride, even though my cab is empty. "But it's not because I don't want to pick these people up. It's because I'm on my way to pick up someone who's called for me. Maybe that's what was happening with you."

"At 3:30 in the morning?" Marcus scoffed. "They're all on their way to get someone?"

He shook his head and laughed.

"Yeah. Maybe."

.
..
...

A few weeks later I was confronted again with racism — this time my own. Did it exist within me? And if so, what do I do about it? I've always thought of myself as color blind, accepting of everyone. My view is that every race and religion is comprised of mostly good people, along with a small percentage who screw it up for everyone else. And my positive experience with Marcus reinforced my desire to treat every potential passenger equally.

I refused to refuse anyone a ride.

But when a trio of black dudes flagged me down an hour past last call and asked me to take them to east Austin, I have to admit — my senses went on high alert. According to everyone I've talked to, the east side has traditionally been Austin's version of the other side of the tracks. Where the crime rate is highest and danger lurks when the lights go down. I've been told 12th and Chicon is the last place you want to find yourself with a flat tire at 3 a.m.

So when these guys got in — 2 in the back, 1 up front with me — I can't say I was my usual cool, calm customer. Is it racist to say that I was a little more on edge heading off into the night with these guys than I would have been driving a trio of sorority girls back to west campus at 3 in the morning? Would I have been less tense if they'd been 3 tattooed hipsters from Liberty Bar? Probably. And I'm not proud to admit that.

But that ride to the east side may have changed my perception on this subject forever.

Because whatever tension I was internalizing soon melted thanks to a CD mix I'd just made that day. The 3 black dudes just happened to get in my car right as Lauryn Hill's "Doo Wop (That Thing)" began. And just like THAT...my new passengers perked up. A slight rumbling began. Shoulders started swaying. Heads began bobbing.

"Lookin' back on the boogie
When cats used to harmonize like..."

And that's when the 3 of them jumped in, a glorious spurt of spontaneous harmony:

"Ooooo-ooooo-oooo..."

The next several minutes were devoid of tension, race, age. It was 4 humans grooving in unison to a sweet tune. A moment of pure musical appreciation.

"Guys, you know you better watch out
Some girls, some girls are only about
That thing, that thing, that thiiiiii-iiiiing..."

By the time I dropped them off, we'd also vibed to a little Marvin Gaye ("What's Goin' On") and I was feeling guilty for ever feeling worried about these guys. But they weren't convinced that my West Side White Guy On the East Side Late At Night skepticism was gone.

"Mind if I run in the house and get my money?" the DJ-type dude in the front asked when we pulled up to his place. "I'll even leave these guys in the car until I get back, just in case you're worried that I'm gonna..."

"Nah, man, I'm not worried," I interrupted. "I trust you guys."

"Yeah, well...just in case," he said taking off for the house, leaving his buddies in the back seat. Before my mind could start conjuring up a worst case scenario, he was back. Handing me a $20 bill for my troubles.

"Thanks, man," he said shaking my hand. "I appreciate you trusting us like that."

I thanked him for the generous tip, gave them each one of my cards and drove off into the night. Assuming I'd never see them again.

.
..
...

A couple weeks later I got an afternoon call from one of the guys who'd been in the back seat. He needed a ride from campus over to his cousin's place on the east side.

In the light of day, I found out this kid who'd been groovin' in my backseat during the witching hour a few weeks earlier is a defensive lineman on the Texas football team.

This time our ride to the east side featured the music of conversation. And instead of Lauryn Hill, I rocked out to the story of a big kid from Round Rock with dreams of playing in the NFL.

...