Disclaimer : I have no actual knowledge of any taxicab system in my city - legal or otherwise. I have a rich imagination and a crowded head. That is all.
God bless the Irish - and He has, many times over. Chinese Cabs and pub crawls seem to go hand in hand. This is another thing that my beloved Irish community has taught me - the mysterious world of Chinese Cabs (CC) in SF. It is amazing to me, and just indicative of how life is like...oh, I dunno..."Horton Hears a Who ". You remember that puffball that Horton had and it was...nothing. Just a puffball. But, microscopically, there was, like, and entire universe thriving and shouting on it. Close by me now, I see over 16 pounds of jelly beans (long story) and mounds of (clean) laundry and slouching bodies and the flickering shadows of some TV show which I felt like I had to publicly denounce to the offspring before settling in to watch with them. Elsewhere in the world, simultaneously, people are doing any number of odd things. Like riding in Chinese Cab.
In my dotage (or in an ongoing and relentless acid flashback) I think a lot about (don't laugh) living on an actual planet. Like, I'll be driving around and think "Hey - all of this shit is happening on a planet in the universe and who are we to think there's nothing else and how do you just....put all of this on a "planet" ? I know - totally high, right ? Must be a case of early-onset something. The other day, my sister Aunt watched something on the History Channel about alternate universes and she had to take to her bed at the very thought...
So, I first learned of the existence of CC at a neighborhood Irish bar. I remember the night : we had just lost a key football game to our rivals (biggest/oldest high school rivalry west of the Mississippi), I was sick with a wicked cold, and had slinked (slunk ?) into my jammies and onto the couch. My dear pal Lynnie O'Casey calls me, says she wants an evening away from hubby and the kids - meet me for a drink ! No way, says I - pajamas is the deal breaker, from which there is no return. Or so I thought. .Lynnie whimpered - and promised me the miracle of hot whiskey. Off I braved. What are friends for ?
The pub is hopping. Good thing I got dressed. Lynnie's handsome rogue of a brother Billy (a string of slightly-tipsy broken-hearted lassies follows behind our Billy) was present on this out-of-jammies night. I then met 2 (two) men who are now two (2) of my favourite Irish boys in the world. Long story unfortunately short - they put on a comedy show (aka a simple conversation) that I would have paid to see : the Irish are truly and unequivocally the funniest people to walk the planet.. I was awe-struck as they played off of one another with comedic brilliance this writer has never seen.
Most assuredly, I did sip me hot whiskey (a new treat !). I sweated like I never did, and instantly felt (drunk) better. We stood outside the bar, my core body temperature hovering somewhere just over 600 degrees by this point. plus, Lynnie smokes, so we went out to lean against the bar and watch public transportation clank on by. Classy dames. I then notice a row of cars double-parked outside of the bar.
Lexuses (Lexi ?), high-end Hondas. BMW's. Each car has an Asian guy with rolled-up shirtsleeves, leaning, smoking. Lynnie says : "It's just the Chinese Cabs." I stare at her. Then, my two funny lads come outside. I ask them about this situation, and they say (say this in your head in the thickest, most lilting Irish brogue you can muster) "Shore, and ye've nivver haired'a the Choinese Cabs, then ? Gurl, are ye feckin' livin' in loife ?!"
I guess I' m not living in life, me buckos. Live and learn, they call it .CC is reportedly an illegal taxi system in town. It used to be "$5 anywhere". Now, it can be "$10 and up anywhere". They love the Irish bars in town, it seems - and all of the inebriated Irishmen bound out of the bars and hop in, calling each and every Chinese driver "Patrick". The CC's stay off of the main streets. If the cops stop you, you are just friends. The cab drivers ask very few, if any, questions, and are a phone call away. (On this particular night, there was multi-cultural tension in the air, as a CC driver had recently been shot and killed.) Yikes.
So, we set off on an actual pub crawl recently to celebrate a couple of Lynnie's sisters' birthdays (she has 11 siblings). We all park near another Irish pub on the avenue for a road beer and to regroup. (ed. note - it has to be beer on an evening like this - beer being more of a "distance drink". Cocktails (or "high-balls" as me old Dad used to say) would make for a much shorter crawl.) There are 5 of us present, and we ask the bartender to call us a cab so we can begin The Crawl in a timely manner. She, of course, calls a Chinese Cab - and I am beyond excited that I get to ride in one ! I feel like Margaret Mead ! I am as giddy as a little school girl. Never mind that the entire CC network knows all of the O'Casey family by name. We are so in.
"Patrick" shows up in a Mercedes, and we all pile in. There is a big guy in front, and me and Lynnie and 2 sisters are inexplicably crammed in the back - giggling and fussing and hanging over the front seat.
We then stop to collect another 2 O'Casey sisters. We ask the driver his name, and he replies "Licky". I ask and ask, as I am aware of a possible speech pattern that doesn't aptly distinguish between the "R" and "L" sounds. At the end of my giggling interrogation, I decide that his name really IS Licky. Licky. I don't inquire as to a surname at this point.
We pile 2 more into the Cab (but how?) and guess what ? Licky cannot drive to save his ever-loving soul. He is positively ridonkulous. Plus, his insistence on back roads and side streets is irritating to all (7) of us. As is his constant screaming in Chinese on his cell phone (likely more calls for cabs). At one point, we have the emergency vehicle from hell right on our asses - and Licky is noticeably unruffled. We then all begin screaming at him at the same time : "LICKY !! For Christ's sake - pull this motherfucker over !! Pull over ! To the right ! In America, it's to THE RIGHT !" (ed. note - we weren't being culturally insensitive here - the man actually started to pull to the left. As if.)
The Lickster is clueless and looks at us all with an indescribable expression. Shit, dude. You're the one running an illegal taxi service and going out of your way to ferry drunken Irishmen - you made your fecking bed, now drive in it ! And, while you're at it, pull this bitch over !
Licky gets us to our destination Downtown in one piece - where the Crawl then starts in earnest. It's crowded as fuck - and I think "Gah - I ain't 25 anymore - get these people offa me !" Who is present, but a man who works at my kids' high school. Talk about when world collide... I introduce myself and inform him that what happens on the Pub Crawl, stays on the Pub Crawl. I am hoping this stays true.
Actually, I only make it to one more bar before I am ready to cease crawling. Lightweight. This new bar has a better jukebox (and a 10 foot Yeti) and we get there early enough to commandeer the rear of the establishment. I am loath to buy a "round" - as there is now a well-worn cocktail napkin being passed around with about 16 scrawled drink orders on it. Feh. I have had my fill, I suppose, and I call Chief and suggest that he come and get me - I ain't doing a Chinese Cab by myself. Licky notwithstanding. My long-suffering Chief shows up at the Yeti bar, and calls me from outside. It has apparently, unbeknownst to the loud party in the rear, become so crowded that no one else is being admitted. We then all begin to scream hysterically, waving our cell phones and drinks until they relent and admit Chief. He gains entry, and it is only his height that helps me to identify him. Oh happy day.
The evening may be over, but my education continues. Unabated.
Just another night in the town in a Chinese Cab.
Are ye feckin' livin' in loife ?
"Each car has an Asian guy with rolled-up shirtsleeves, leaning, smoking.....and all of the inebriated Irishmen bound out of the bars and hop in, calling each and every Chinese driver "Patrick". Haha! Great stuff, Col. Sanders.
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