Another bizarre Oklahoma City taxi story.

I spent Monday in Oklahoma City on business. Though the day concluded quite successfully, its strangeness was foreshadowed by an unusually odd cab ride (in a city that has been, in my experience, marked by odd cab rides).

First, a bit of scene setting: My taxi driver, Dave, wore a red and yellow jacket and cap that coordinated with his cab:



The cab was a minivan, its windows covered by “screaming eagle” and American flag stickers--this is but one example:



On the passenger side of the dashboard bobbled the heads of at least twenty bobble-head dogs:



Dave told me to watch my head as I stepped inside, but I promptly dashed it against the ceiling. Perhaps that explains the surreal ride that was to follow.

Dave told me his story as we hurtled along the highways connecting the airport to Oklahoma City at the alarming speed of 45 to 50 miles per hour. He drove only in the far left lane--that reserved for passing and faster drivers--and I consider us fortunate that he was not shot to death by one of the many people who glared grumpily while passing us on the right. At his side was a collapsible cooler with a Nascar number 8 on it—I did not ask if that driver is his role model. (My subsequent research shows this is Dale Earnhardt, Jr.'s number--I am not sure of the significance of that). Dave was polite enough to tell me that if I needed to make a call, I should just let him know and he would stop talking. I think he did not realize that I had my phone in hand so that I could try to use its camera to document this amazing ride.

According to Dave, he has been driving a cab for a long time, always in Oklahoma City. He once drove for a “famous cab company,” but tired of the lack of autonomy that prevented him from turning down fares that made him nervous: he feared for his life. So he quit that company and went into business for himself, finding relief in the ability to decide for himself where and whom he will drive. Dave said he can tell by how a person “looks” whether they pose a threat to him, and I asked what he meant by that. I felt he was holding back a bit as he explained only that a big warning sign for him is when a person jumps in and tells him “just drive,” directing him turn by turn, without giving him a specific address.

Our talk then turned to more recent events. Dave said he had “just woken up one day, unable to drive.” He realized this when passengers were telling him their destinations but he could not figure out where to take them; he felt really embarassed by this and other unspecified driving incidents that occurred at that time. Dave's wife told him he had a problem and insisted that he see a doctor, even making the appointment for him. Though the doctor prescribed the medicine Dave believes has “made him drive better than I have in years,” he credits “Jesus and my wife” (in that order) for his restored driving ability. Dave then inquired whether I am a Christian, and my hackles raised a bit. I said only that I am not really sure what that question means. He said, kindly, that I would definitely know what it meant if God had saved my life, as his had been saved, but wisely did not press me on the issue.

With the downtown Oklahoma City "skyline" in our sights, Dave changed the subject and demanded that I guess his age. Slightly erring on the kind side, I guessed he was 59. In fact, he proudly declared, he is 69 and will turn 70 in a few months. As a pulled up to my hotel, Dave asked if I had already reserved my hotel room, as he expected the city to be packed. According to him, a “convention of kids from Hurricane Katrina” was in town. (This representation later caused me to be laughed into oblivion at a business meeting).

Before stepping out of the van, I could not resist taking a closer shot of the dog bobbles: