Karmagical

Lately I have been working straight days. Well, "day" is a relative term, as I still start at 3:30 a.m. — in darkness — and quit around 6:00 p.m. — in darkness. I still work just about every day, so, lately, on Saturdays I "sleep in" until 5:00 a.m. or so, and plan usually to work until 5:00 or 6:00 p.m.

It was a pretty sleepy Saturday morning — yesterday — as I headed out to Arlington Heights, my usual cruising grounds in the taxi. It was seven o'clock. I had just started; the cabin of the car was still cold. A zone number popped up on the dispatch computer screen indicating an open fare. It was still a good ten minutes away from me, so I left it alone, but it stayed up there. Indeed, a sleepy morning...no other taxis out yet, or they all worked overnight. So I claimed the fare.

It was just an address, with the message "church, PU main entrance." When I arrived it became clear that the church was also a part-time homeless shelter, which, I learned moments later, provides a hot evening meal, a warm place to sleep and a simple breakfast to those it shelters from the cold.

I had picked up the guy about six to eight weeks before from another church in the area. He looks to be about mid-forties to mid-fifties — the gruff, weathered skin of his face makes it difficult to judge — white, with longish, straggly hair and a light, scruffy beard, and somewhat portly, though it could just be layer upon layer of clothing to keep him warm. What had struck me then was that he wore on his feet a pair of open shoes — open like sandals, but in a shoe shape with a mouth that snugged around his ankles — over white socks. He wore the same shoes Saturday. He loaded a couple of plastic shopping bags into the trunk of my taxi, along with his backpack. He directed me to the Mt. Prospect train station, and along the way I asked him if the shelter fed him. He spoke appreciatively of the hot meal they provided the night before. I asked him about breakfast, and he said that sometimes they provide a hot meal, but it's usually bagels and pastries and coffee and juice. So I made up my mind.

When we arrived at the train station he reached into his pocket to pay the $6.00 fare. I turned to him and said, "Keep it."

Before I could say more, he looked at me with a startled expression. "Huh?"

"Keep it," I said. "Make sure you get something to eat today."

He was very grateful, repeating several times, "Thank you very much!" As he began securing his plastic bags to his bicycle, which he had left locked up at the train station, he said to me, "Thank you very much! Have a good day!"

It seemed an odd thing to say to me as, I thought, there's little that could happen to me that would make the coming day worse than the one coming to you, sir, as you tool around on your bicycle looking for places to stay warm — and alive. The thought came out of my mouth as, "You have a good day!"

And I went on about my business.

It was very quiet the rest of the morning, but then things started to pick up around eleven o'clock. By one o'clock in the afternoon it was pretty much non-stop, with very little time to nap, or play on Facebook at the newly-discovered (by me) WiFi hotspot from the Holiday Inn Express across Arlington Heights Road from one of our posts.

By four o'clock, I was contemplating calling it a day, as, for a Saturday day shift I hadn't done too badly. But I chastised myself for being lazy, and decided to stick it out for at least the twelve hours I planned to work.

A couple of fares later it was around six o'clock in the evening. Usually, when I set a quitting time, I'll start about an hour before that time, working my way west, toward my gas station of choice, near my home, with the dispatch computer still available to receive fares. I call it "trolling," as though I'm a fishing boat moving while dragging a line in the water for whatever I can catch. At 6:15, when I was about five minutes from the gas station (where I would have then booked out of the dispatch system), I received a fare to pick up not five minutes from my location, but to the south.

I picked up a guy who looked to be in his fifties, but with long hair and a kind of stoner look about him — and he reeked of reefer smoke. He had me take him to a 7-Eleven store about a mile and a half from his house where he picked up a couple bottles of wine, and then had me take him back home.

On the way back to his house I saw on the dispatch computer a fare open up in the zone where I live. I figured it was probably a local, and that would be just fine. I was ready to go home. As we approached the guy's home I notified via the dispatch computer that I was just about to clear a fare, and that I would like to take that open fare.

As soon as I dropped the stoner dude off and booked back in to the dispatch system, my computer sounded with the fare I had requested, and I accepted it. But it was not a local. It was to take 4 people from Hoffman Estates to Northbrook! Twenty-two miles!

It was a Polish family heading to some party — probably a wedding reception — and they were very nice. Not great tippers, but, what the hell! The fare came out to $62.20! The dad paid with a credit card, and told me to make the total out to $65, but I goofed on the math and the card was run for $66. I pointed out my mistake and offered to give him a dollar back out of my pocket, but he said, "No. Iss okay!" and signed the slip. My day went from a respectable gross of $168 to a quite admirable $234!

It didn't occur to me until I was all the way back home and getting gas that I had started the day by giving away a paltry six dollars to a guy I figured needed to keep it in his pocket way more than I needed to get it into mine. I had taken the last fare on a whim because it was close to home; I was otherwise just headed home.

In telling others about this, I jokingly mentioned Karma, but I don't really believe in that. Another quoted scripture to me in an attempt to explain it, but if you've read here long enough, you know I don't believe that. I could use the $6 charity/$66 fare - 666 correlation to undo her explanation — and perhaps frighten her, but I don't believe that either!

It's just a coincidence, and the rare occurrence of a Good Day for Tony!



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Tuesday At Sea

Monday morning I flew out to San Diego to carry out an assignment as producer/shooter of a video for one of our clients. They’re a membership organization which I shall leave nameless, and they operate a charitable foundation that gives to many different charities and needy organizations throughout the year. They give often to organizations that help children. One they wish to highlight this year is Friends of Rollo.

Named in memory of an avid sport fisherman and boat captain, Friends of Rollo focuses on providing fishing trips for inner city- and other economically challenged or underprivileged children. The charity works with the owners of sport fishing boats and charter companies, and gets tremendous discounts on day-and half-day trips they purchase for the groups, as well as on the rental of rods and reels and the purchase of bait.

While out to sea, the boat crews feed the groups on Friends of Rollo’s tab, and provide expert instruction on fishing techniques and tricks, as well as helping the kids reel in some pretty big fish!

We headed out at noon after I conducted some interviews, and we were barely underway when we stopped at the bait “store,” an extension off a pier that housed an untold number of bait pens. The boat’s crew leaped down to one of the pens and lowered a huge net to lift the sardines and anchovies (no pepproni or mushroom (nyuk, nyuk!)) and hold them captive, and then they grabbed smaller nets on poles and performed a “bucket brigade,” carrying netfuls of bait fish from the large net up to the bait tanks on the boat.

Out to sea at full throttle for about 20 minutes and we stopped for some fishing. After some brief instructions and the laying of some ground rules, these kids ranging in age from about 5 up to about 15 were each responsible for catching their own bait, baiting their own hooks and reeling in their own fish! the crew did help out a lot, especially when the fish weren’t biting so well, and it called for a little know-how.

The biggest frustration all day long was the presence of the sea lions. They chase the boats out to sea and loiter wherever the people are dropping or casting their lines, and then they go for the bait on the hooks. Worse, when someone catches a fish, the sea lions chase the catch and eat it before the fisherman can reel it in! The sea birds – sea gulls, cormorants, ospreys(?) and pelicans – hang out over the fishing lines, too, diving in after the bait when it’s cast out there. The boat captain hooked a fighter on the line and handed the rod to one of the kids, but then took it back when he realized that he had hooked a cormorant around its beak and through the roof of its mouth and one eye-socket. It was unnerving to watch as he used a pair of wire-cutters to sever the eye, which dangled from the socket, and then worked the hook out of the poor bird’s beak. He threw the bird back into the water where it then dived out of sight. I don’t imagine that bird will live much longer.

The last time I was out on a boat of that approximate size – a 75 footer – I did just fine, but, for some reason today, I could not get my sea legs and spent much of the time trying to shake the spinning from my head. I can still say I’ve never gotten seasick, but today I was close. A couple of the kids were looking over the side of the boat, but I don’t know if they fed the fish….

We changed locations a few times and, finally, the sea lions had thinned out enough that the crew were hooking good-sized yellow-tail, bonito and barracuda, and then handing the rod & reels to the kids to bring in. It was sometimes funny to watch as the crewman would bring the fish over the rail. Some kids – boys as well as girls – were absolutely freaked about seeing or touching the fish. But one girl, about age 9, was absolutely fearless. She was snatching her own bait, baiting her own hook, and when the boat captain hauled in a yellow-tail (about 20 inches long and maybe ten pounds) for her, and he told her to hold the fish and smile for the picture (my video camera), she was all about holding that fish! And then she carried it to her bag to keep it.

Around 4:30, after the fishing was done, we headed back for San Diego. One of the crewmen began prepping the fish for the kids to take home, and I videotaped him at work. It was amazing to watch as he deftly gutted each fish species in a distinctly different way, keenly aware of each fish’s anatomy. At one point, as he cleaned one of the yellow-tail (which, I guess is a type of tuna(?)), he sliced off a small chunk and held it up for me. “Here,” he said. “The freshest hamachi you’ll ever taste!”

It was fantastic! If I had never had sashimi (not “sushi,” which actually refers to how the rice is prepared), I would have begged off politely. But I knew better, and probably seemed too eager to chomp on that little morsel! Then I felt guilty…what if the kid who was taking that fish home saw me munching on his family’s dinner?

When we docked, every kid walked off that boat with a small bag containing at least one fish, and others with several pounds of fish to bring home to their families! Some of the kids seemed a little perplexed by the cleaned and dressed fish they had, wondering, I think, what happened to the head, and why it was all cut up!

And now, as I sit here and type, the room seems to be rocking to and fro, as now I can’t shake the motion of the sea, and I fear I’ll get seasick sitting still!

This post begs for photographs, but I was not tasked with shooting stills. It was well enough that I had to conduct and shoot interviews and all the other footage by myself while fighting off seasickness; I would never have had the time to take photos!

Friends of Rollo certainly seems like a worthwhile cause if you're into supporting charities that provide disadvantaged kids with interesting, horizon-expanding, possibly life-changing activities. Give them a look.