by Stephen Oatley

Created on: October 03, 2009

I am currently employed as a taxi driver in the wonderfully small city of Burlington, Vermont. For those unfamiliar with this area, Burlington is the largest city in the State of Vermont with a population of 38,807. We are a college town, and when school is in session, we seem to have well over 100,000 in our small city. The small bars, turn into crowded night clubs, pumping the over-produced pop music into the streets outside. Little kids, finally elated to be all grown up, run around the town wearing barely anything, screaming about nothing at tthe top of their lungs, just because they can. The Burlington Police Department's officers stand on virtually every street corner looking to nab someone for doing anything wrong, and hope they resist in the process. And lastly, the common sound of vehicles driving down the streets in the middle of town. The majority of these vehicles being taxis. In Burlington, at last check, there were seventy-three active taxi companies with a total of two hundred and sixty three licensed drivers. In this driver's opinion, that is far to many, but still that only accounts for the licensed drivers.

My shift begins around four pm, and lasts until three or three thirty in the morning. The first six hours are quite nice. I will relax at either the Greyhound Station, or the Amtrack knowing that I will at least get one fare from each location. I will read, or write, and even watch a movie on my laptop on occasion, but mostly welcome the time tho be alone in my thoughts. Then, normally around midnight the books, and computers go away and I begin to actively looking for fares. I will find them huddled in groups, trying to keep each other warm, as they wore virtually nothing to attract members of the opposite sex, while disregarding the basic essentials of a coat to keep them warm, when they left the bars to head home. Sometimes I would find people that are more content to be going home alone than with out a companion. And then, there is always the type like I had last night. This is that story:

A man wearing a suit stumbles up to my cab. He is a familiar face, as I have taken him home a few times before and know where he lives without him needing to tell me. He opens the front door to my cab, and I ask him to take a seat in the back, as I was in a smaller car, and had some of my items still on the seat. With a grumble he climbs into the back seat, closes the door and promptly falls asleep. I start up the hill weary of the sounds coming from the back seat, as I being a young guy am familiar with the sounds of someone about to be sick. He continues to sleep without incident, and within two minutes we are at his home. I wake him up, and let him know that it is time to go and that his fare is seven dollars. He hands me a twenty and I take it. I offer him his change and he declines, stating that I am a nice guy. He exits the vehicle, but before he could close the door I head a thumping sound and a thump as his head hits the pavement. He had fallen. I get out of my car and stand him up, and he thanks me, and offers me more money for helping him. I decline this time, and head back to my car after saying goodbye. As I am driving away I hear another thud, and slow. I look in the rear view, and see him waving, and the sound of his voice saying he is okay.

Burlington, and most cities alike have these people, and every time I see them, I am forced to ask what it is that drives them to drink as much and what is that bad. These people seem so sad and are forcing themselves to drink whatever it is that they are running from into obscurity. Where did the fun in drinking go?

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