Friday, February 19, 2010
Hack Still the Only White Cabdriver in Chicago
Posted by Dmitry Samarov on 02.19.10 at 10:33 AM
Two bruisers get in. They're headed to see the Hawks at the United Center and are a couple hours into their pregame preparations to judge by the volume of their conversation. "You're white," the more perceptive one informs me.
I let it hang in the air, a strategy that gives the less brazen a chance to backtrack; not my newfound brother, who proceeds in a crude Hindi accent to show the ethnicity of his usual chauffeurs. His pal is greatly amused and gives some sort of African accent a go. At the stadium, they pause before paying to make sure I know that there's a few bucks extra there to honor the pale shade of my skin.
Sometimes the subject is broached with more subtlety. "It's so great to have an American driver," she says. I ask what it is that thrills her so about this and she can't really put her finger on it. She assures me that she's no racist, then says that it's that I speak English that she likes. I tell her it's not my first language and she's floored. Now it's suddenly fascinating to find out where people are from. There's wows, oohs, and aahs . She wears that appreciative smile that says she's learned something. Would she bother if I was wearing a turban and a full beard? A dashiki and corn-rows? Draw your own conclusion . . .
My melanin-deprived brethren aren't the only offenders, do not fear. A black guy tells me that I'm not like most cabbies, "You know what I mean, man . . . "
No, I don't, I answer. Why miss an opportunity to play dumb? An Indian student tells me that most drivers are Indian or Pakistani and it shocks and confounds him to see me, "Why are you doing this?" he asks. There are endless variations but the gist is that I'm not what they expect and it messes with their minds.
A cabdriver's probably held in lower esteem than a dog catcher by most, and it's easier to condescend to one if he has a thick accent, wears foreign garb, or can in any other way be thought of as lesser than oneself. This isn't a sociological experiment to me, so it's just sad to know that some things never change. Driving a cab is a first step for immigrants in this country. The education most gained in their home countries is of no value here so they do what they have to to put a roof over their heads. In that way I'm no different. Though my family came over when I was just a kid, in many ways I still haven't got here and getting paid for what's important to me is but a pipe dream. This is not to advocate for some colorblind, class-free utopia; having been born in one of those I have no wish to return. Only a simple hope that new arrivals could be treated with a little more respect in a country founded by castoffs and mutts.
As much as it warms my heart to be thanked for being white, mastering English, and being an American, perhaps it's time to take it to its next level. I'll be the one steering a taxi in a white sheet with eyeholes. That'll put everyone at ease and we can have a real conversation. Hail me and we can bond over all that we share, or you can curse me as part of all that's wrong with the world. The choice is yours . . .
Comments (6)
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I drove a cab briefly and got the same routine from several people. Didn't really help with the tips, however.
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Thanks for sharing this, Dmitry. I very much enjoyed reading this, even though I realize it probably encapsulates a lot of frustration with people's most common reactions to you as their driver.
I have only taken a cab maybe 5-10 times in the city, as I prefer my bike or public transit, but I did once have a white driver in those few rides. He was a chatty, older fellow who picked me up over by Ogilvie Transportation Center to take me to a lunch with friends that I was late for. It was this past New Years Eve day, I recall, as he mentioned how it is typically one of the two days a year when cabdrivers will get the most fares and have a shot at making their best take of tips for one shift. He seemed mildly disappointed that I couldn't participate in his desired conversation about baseball, as I only follow soccer and cycling, but he was an easygoing guy. I wouldn't say that him being white made my cab ride any more or less pleasurable than if the driver were another American of a different race or ethnicity, or an immigrant to this country. I guess some people just lead more sheltered lives, in one way or another. I may not be better than them, but I feel lucky to have been exposed to greater diversity throughout my life. I truly believe that it enriches the lives of all those who embrace it.
I will continue to look for more of your writing in the future.
The story relates just a small fraction of similar experiences. There's certainly frustration and disappointment at play, shock too at the fact that some feel free to let loose with the hate and that my presence either allows or permits it.
One disturbing thing is that some people expected an explanation for why I, a white male, would be driving a cab. I just told them that I needed to make some money.
I can relate too. I sell African apparel to whites, blacks, and browns. The comments I get are often the kind that require a long uncomfortable silence afterwards.
Dashiki
We 'White Chicago Cabdrivers' are rare beasts. I've experienced the same types of reactions from my passengers about my race that Dmitry Samarov describes. This topic couldn't be fully explored in only one or two blog postings; it could fill a small book. I'll just add my comment...
The scarcity of so-called 'white cabdrivers' causes a great surprise to those 'fortunate' enough to stumble upon one of us. I don't think I would characterize most of those who note this and verbally express their shock as racist per se, but this encounter does encourage the truly racist (and the racism which exists in most people to a varying degree whether they choose to acknowledge it or not) to speak up.
I think that the intimate confines of a taxicab lends itself well to becoming a rolling confessional, and that most people prefer that the services be held with a priest who can understand and respond in kind, not in the Latin or Greek of the limited English accented by wherever the driver was born or by however long they may have been practicing it. This again, I would not classify as racism, at least not the harmful variety. A natural form, perhaps.
There are reasons why people go out to bars instead of staying in. One could just get drunk at home. Seeking a sexual partner of your preferred gender and proclivity isn't always on the agenda, either. Sometimes people just want to talk to someone, even if it's 'only' the bartender. It's the same way with a cab; people often enjoy doing more than just getting from Point A to B as quickly as possible. Although, I have gotten the impression that bartenders get laid by patrons much more than cabbies. Maybe I'm too picky.
It's the unique conversations, once the chit-chat about the weather and sports is dispensed with, which can be so revealing and thought-provoking. My favorite follow-up to the "Wow, you are a white cabdriver" shock came from a pair of hicks-from-the-sticks who I picked up at Union Station, where they obviously just arrived from God-knows-where on Amtrak...
As they were soaking up the big-city scene before their widening eyes, one of them leaned forward, and in a hushed, almost-conspiratorial tone, asked, "Do you pick up Black people?" He asked this question the way a kid, once he finally got the nerve, would ask a cop or soldier if he'd ever shot someone or been shot.
I wasn't as uncomfortable or offended by their prejudice as I am with others flying the flag of the "White Brotherhood" and expecting me to salute, because I could see how this pair were just simply ignorant, but not afraid to broach the subject. I responded with a motion I almost never execute- I turned around as full as possible to make direct eye contact with them- and then replied: "Boys, if I didn't pick up Black people, I wouldn't make very much money."
Their temporary silence was, I hope, the hard drives in their brains updating their files labeled 'Racial Attitudes'.
As to 'Why We Do It', that is, 'why' do people with the same skin color as Dmitry and I drive a cab, usually asked with the implication that, even beyond skin color, we could and maybe 'should' be doing something 'better', or at least, 'else'? Sometimes this question has the air of pity, with the assumption that we can't do anything else or are presently forced into some kind of purgatory which is driving a cab.
I can't answer for Dmitry, or any other cabdriver, white or otherwise-pigmented. Personally, I started to drive a cab because I returned home from Wyoming and wanted to make some money right away. I almost became a high-rise window washer based on the logic that I grappled easily with my fear of heights (it's a fear of falling, by the way) amidst the rocks of Vedauwoo between Laramie and Cheyenne and that dangerous jobs pay better than others. I also loved roaming around by driving a car, and the taxi gig was just easier to actualize.
After a few weeks, I realized that I could be a successful cabdriver, a sort of freedom washed over me that perhaps only self-employed people can understand. You have no boss. You are the master of your fate almost entirely, but you are forced to appreciate good luck for what it is and accept bad luck the same way. To not have an alarm clock, to not have a watch, to not being worried about being fired, to not have to shave, to hit the streets at any given moment and step away for however long you wish, these all are factors. Surviving or thriving with only your wits, a tank of gas, and a properly-licensed vehicle can become an addicting proposition.
Beyond this, just look at the ARTWORK that driving a cab has inspired someone like Dmitry Samarov to create. I've often said that cabbies should get an honorary degree in Sociology just based on how many different people, talks, and scenes we come across. I have driven mostly at night, and when the city is quietest, when it is dead, I can feel like I own it all to myself. Collectively, cabdrivers know Chicagoans better than themselves. We are most in tune with reality, as we are immersed in it, observing it constantly from our windows and mirrors and receiving updated reports from the radio, our passengers, (and fellow drivers) from all corners of the metropolis and outer world we don't necessarily get to travel ourselves. It is Universal Facts and Human Opinions.
I could go on and on. I just want to finish this off by mentioning that being a white, or distinct cabdriver can produce an even rarer event: when you randomly get a fare who previously rode with you. Their amazement at this even-greater statistical improbability (and my uncanny ability to remember details of their first journey, however trivial, short or long ago) doesn't compare to those who are dumbfounded by skin color.
I would suspect that most of our tips, especially yours Dmitry, have nothing to do with our 'whiteness', but more with our 'human-ness', even most of those from the White Power crowd. But, if I'm wrong, I'm still happy to accept and spend as much of that green that makes the world go round and round.
