Sunday, November 07, 2010

You Gotta Feel the Juice!

You Gotta Feel the Juice.

I generally ride a bike around the city to get where I want to go, but there is the odd occasion when I'm with a friend who is sadly bike less or when we need to go a size-able distance in the rain or up hills and in that instance I'll make use of a cab. Without fail there is always something interesting that comes out of the cab driver's mouth. And while it's not hard to get a cab driver to open up to you, over the years, I feel that I've acquired cabbie conversation techniques that help to bring about the very best-- and by "the very best," I of course mean the very worst that a cab driver might want to say. The first rule I follow is to always agree with whatever they say no matter how wrong it sounds to you. "What's that you say? The Serbs are an abomination and a stain on humanity and need to be purged from the Earth?" Well, that's a disgusting and violently racist thing to say, but.... Yes, totally, right on, cab man." or "White women only date black men because black men keep them addicted to cocaine?" Sounds like a tiny generalization but hey, it's your cab, so who'd know that better than you? Absolutely, they're turning the white women into coke whores. Somebody should stop them." That sort of thing. Those are actual examples by the way. Is there something about being behind the wheel of a car all day that breeds intolerance and hate? I know I don't like being stuck in traffic, but it's not going to lead to me forming a bitter conspiracy theory about how all French people are parasites and must be stabbed with sharp sticks. The second rule I follow to draw out cabbie genius is to use the phrase. "Tell me how you know that?" This simple phrase is almost always good for an entertaining cabbie anecdote.

Aside from the hate that many (not most, not all) but many cab drivers harbor there is the strange idea that it's okay to spew your opinion on the passengers. Probably because chances are that you're never going to see them again. There are certainly exceptions to the ranting cabbies. Most of the exceptions are either extremely well read and articulate or they're stoned out and listening to Reggae. I have to say. At the end of the night I can't handle the ranting drivers. A nice predicable, chilled-out, Reggae beat and a secondary high is exactly what I'm hoping for.

My absolute favorite cabbies aren't the ones that feel compelled to give a sermon against an ethnic group, my favorite are the ones that have some theory about life that they are completely adamant about and hold sacred.

This one time. It happened a while back. I think we were on our way to some dance club because a friend of a friend was DJing and it was raining. So, I hail a cab and plan to head down to stop to get my friend Seth. Before we pick him up I'm chatting with the cab driver and trying to draw him out but nothing, he's just not talking. I can't get him to rant and I'm pulling out all the stops. I even mention the crazy bike riders who think they own the road. That's usually good for some cab driver bile. But he's not taking any of my bait. I'm a little bummed.

We stop and Seth gets in. I say to Seth "Hey, man how are your get rich quick schemes paying out?"

And he says "I gave that up, now I'm working on my accept poverty slowly plan."

This barely funny exchange prompts a big response from our Yellow Cab driver. "Poverty is the DAMN DEVIL!" Seth is taken by surprise, I'd forgotten that there is even another person in the car because the driver's been so silent. But I'm happy that he's finally ready to dispense his cab driver wisdom.

"You're probably, right, my friend." Can you tell us why you think so?

Yeah, I can, oh boy I can... I'll tell you man. Poverty is the devil because you gotta feel the juice!

(look around confused) "Sorry, come again I don't understand?

"Okay, so I tell you. You got to feel the juice!" He says this again and then he nods as if now it's all been made perfectly clear.

Seth wants this secret street wisdom as much as I do. "Can you tell us what you mean about the juice?"

He nods. "Okay, I'll give you the whole thing." Then our once quite cab driver gets up on his beaded faux sheep skin pulpit and begins his sermon.

"Poverty is the devil's devil. You have to have enough money. You don't need all the money but you need some, enough, maybe just a good amount. You don't have money then you're not gonna feel the juice. You need enough money for a nice car so you can find a lady who will like you and be your girl. You have enough to fill up the gas tank to pick up your lady and take to a nice dinner so later she is going to fuck you. You just want one lady not all these ladies on different days." At this point I'm not sure where the monogamy angle connects to the poverty angle and the juice angle, but at least he's on a roll and he preaches on.

"You got a regular lady you see and that way when you fuck her you don't got to wear the raincoat on your banger. I think I know what he's saying but I ask for a bit of clarification. "Sorry, banger?"

"You know, your banger, your pole, your cock."

"Okay, penis, so by raincoat you mean like a condom?"

Yeah, you can't be doing that. Fucking with a condom is like sucking on a candy with the wrapper still on. You gotta feel that juice. That's the best part you gotta feel that Banger boom. You gotta. That's what it's all for. Everything you do is for the juice. People give it all for the juice.

I have this regular fare, this girl she first comes into my cab and the first time I ever pick her up she says to drive to this hotel here. Look you see this hotel. He points out the window to some mega expensive hotel, the Ritz-Carlton or the 4 Seasons, I don't really remember. This girl she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in real life. She is looking as beautiful as even a movie star or Victoria's Secret runway girl, but better. So then she says to take her to that hotel and to wait for 90 minutes until she comes back and I can run the meter. So I worry she isn't coming back but I wait and it's a lot of money on the meter. She comes back and she has me drive her to her apartment and she asks me for my card so I can driver her at the same time next week, and then she gives me on top of the fair she gives me 50 dollars. Now I'm doing this all the time and taking her every week each time to this hotel and finally we talk and she tells me that she is a professional girl and because we are friendly she tells me that the man I take her to pays her 3000 for her 90 minutes of time. I can't believe this is how much money she gets. She tells me that she sees men who make more money in a month than I could fit in the trunk of my cab. These guys pay her sometimes 4000 dollars like it's nothing because they get to bang on her. But do you know why they will pay so much to her? Do you know?"

I have no idea, but I guess. "Because she's stunningly gorgeous and incredibly skilled at sex?"

"Well, I think so, but NO. Why my friend, why? They pay so much because they get to pop the cork on their champagne bottle and it ALL spills right out. They pay that money because they get to feel the juice. When you feel the juice, you know you are the king.

We get to the address of the club and we payed the fare, tipped well for the entertainment and shuffled off to the club like the two little juiceless pawns that we were. And I will always have a special place in my heart for that cab driver.


obtuse-a said...

That is just vile, and has ruined the word 'juice' for me forever.

I do like the term 'banger' though.

elaine said...

you gotta feeeel the juice.

I never did like tomato juice. true story.