My column this week is about driving a taxi during Pride weekend.
On Saturday, The City is abuzz with gaiety. Market Street is like a jugular vein from Civic Center to the Castro. Traffic streams inbound and out. The sidewalks are crowded with partiers who stop at each bar and inquire, “Is this a gay bar?” To which the answer is always, “Yes!”
It is Pride weekend, after all.
People, people everywhere, but not a flag in sight.
In the doldrums, I try to stay optimistic. Around midnight, the phone networks become overloaded, forcing people to wander onto side streets and up 17th to get a connection so they can order their Ubers and Lyfts. Other people jump in taxis.
“Oh, thank you so much for taking me home! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”
It feels good to be appreciated, however misguided.
Read the rest here.