good shift, but now that it was over, my paramount desire was to wash my hands; as always, at the end of a shift, they were filthy. One thing I dislike about cab driving is how dirty my hands are at shift's end, having been wrapped around that filthy steering wheel for eight, ten or even twelve hours at a time. Not that I have ever minded dirt, of course, if the dirt in question is earth. However, sweet soil besmirches not the steering wheels of those cabs, but the sweat and oil from countless hands which makes the steering wheel sticky and better able to attract all the carbon from exhaust and unmentionable grit and grime from the road that gets agitated into flight from all those turning wheels.
Without even turning on the dome light in the cab, I knew my hands were filthy. I could feel the filth. Confirmation came when I did turn on the light to take my final meter readings. I stared accusingly at the steering wheel, then ran a saliva-moistened finger along the royal blue plastic. A baby blue streak appeared under my finger. Before doing anything else, a trip to the washroom was in order.
I have always found hand-washing relaxing, not to mention pleasurable, feeling the blood-warm water flow over my flesh. However, the experience was always a cause for concern in the washroom at Co-op Cab.
A mirror covered the wall directly above the sink.
As much as I enjoyed hand washing, I tried not to linger, washing vigorously with my head down - mirrors have never frightened me, but it is rather unnerving to see one's clothes standing up by themselves.
Footfalls approached the washroom. I hastily shut off the water, shook my hands vigorously and wiped them on my Levi's. Just as I pulled the door open, someone pushed from the other side.
His stocky presence towered over me. Fresh scars, lurid and red, covered his face and hands. I tried to walk past, but taking me by surprise, he grabbed my arm and spun me around. The door swung shut and we stood staring at each other.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he said, his fingers tightening around my biceps.
Be diplomatic, I thought. And get out of that bathroom as quickly as possible. I was extremely aware of the mirror just a few feet away, though it lay not in this man's line of sight.
"I am sorry," I replied. "I do not know what it is you are talking about."
"Bullshit!" he replied. "Youdo know what it is I'm talking about. That call at Witte! How the fuck could you beat me on that call? You were behind me. I saw you. You were behind me!"
"But I turned ontoFrances while you stayed on University." I tried to keep my voice calm. "I got the light at Frances and Johnson. I merely got lucky."
"How the hell could you have magically appeared at Witte? And on the right side of the street!"
"As I just said, I hit the green light. It was nothing more than good fortune."
"Maybe I should write you up," he said.
"On what grounds?" Though it best served my interests to remain calm, I was beginning to get angry; this lout would not bully me. "There were no one-way streets to use as a short-cut. There were no fire lanes or driveways with signs saying 'no thru traffic.' I did not ram the cab through the back entrance and then come out the other side. It was a race, and I beat you, but simply because I hit the traffic lights at the precise time."
My explanations soothed not this fellow, but his rancor mattered not, for it was time to end this charade. I would simply break through his puny grasp, shove him aside and go finish my paperwork.
Then, for no apparent reason, he turned toward the mirror, and I knew what he saw. Next to his image was a mere vague outline of a human-shaped form and a black, leather jacket, somehow magically suspended in the air.
"What the fuck are you?" he gasped.
"A fellow cab driver," I snapped, then slapped his hand away and stormed out of the bathroom to the driver's room to complete my paperwork and go home, just as always. I took a spot before an adding machine in a far corner, making curt greetings to Kern and a rather hefty fellow named Truck. The two sat opposite each other, chattering energetically.