At the conclusion of Monday's St. Patrick's Day festivities, the weather was cold enough — and I was drunk enough — that I actually took a taxi from the Broad Ripple strip back to my apartment. Which, for those of you that don't know, is like three blocks away. Alas, the fare ended up being $6.19, which meant I had to get the quarter out of my pocket that I'd been saving for laundry and explain to the cab driver why I could only give him a six-cent tip.

What does this story have to do with anything? Absolutely nothing. But it seemed like a decent intro for posting my friend (and San Francisco-based cab driver) Kieran Farr's account of a very different kind of taxi encounter.

From his March 12 post, ironically titled "Driving highlights"

I have an unofficial policy to not pick up people who are clearly agitated or angry. This includes people yelling for a cab at a volume and emotional intensity far beyond the normal cry of “taxi!”

So, it was with a fair bit of skepticism that I picked up a lady crying out for a cab in the Mission. Had it not been a bright, sunny Sunday I would never have picked her up. But, the Mission district overflows with activity on sunny weekend days, so I felt comfortable enough stopping. If anything was fishy there were plenty of people around.

She jumped in my cab and immediately began to hyperventilate. She barely managed to get out a few words to tell me someone just tried to rob her. Wow. I went a block as she caught her breath and I calmly asked where she wanted to go. She was heading toward the projects on the south side of Potrero Hill.

I wasn’t sure how to react to this. Admittedly, a part of me couldn’t believe it was happening. It was a bright day, there were tons of people around. Why would someone choose to rob her right now? But, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and kept driving toward Potrero. I was already feeling stressed from a long day as the traffic began to congeal, especially around the Mission. I was listening to classical 102.1 KDFC which usually soothes my nerves. I tried to present as serene of a space for her and me as possible. I closed my front windows, turned on the AC and shut out the outside world.

She starts crying. Wow, I think. She looks stressed out. What happened?

A few blocks later she has calmed enough to start talking. I don’t push, but I respond with supportive comments as she tells me the story. She sells drugs on the street. Her daughter was at church this morning so she figured she’d try to make a few hundred. (A few hundred in one morning? Wow, I’m in the wrong line of work.)

She had sold to this guy a few times before. She went down an alley to do the transaction but he tried to jump her. She wouldn’t have it. She pushed him away and ran for it. She didn’t tell me if he hit her, ran after her or any other details. Suffice to say, she made it out okay.

She kept saying, I can’t believe it! He would’ve taken everything! I would’ve had nothin’! It wasn’t until after I dropped her off that I realized what she was implying: if he took her cash AND her stash, she would not only have been robbed of her cash, she would still owe money for the stash she was selling. She would have been in the hole.

When I dropped her at the entrance to the housing projects she expressed her deep thanks that I was willing to stop and pick her up. She gave me a big tip for the $8.50 fare but I gave a lot of it back and we called it $10. Part of me felt as though I didn’t really do anything, I just gave her a ride. I sure didn’t save her life, she had already managed that on her own. But, I guess I provided a safe and comfortable space for her in an urgent time of need.