Consult.

(originally written on 8/22/2005, grammar not checked)

After travelling so much, taking cab rides from and to the airport has become a regular activity. You spend half-an-hour a week, or more if there is traffic, in a cab. Sometimes you got a chatty cab driver and ended up conversing with him for the 15 minutes of so you were with him. As long as they don’t ask me to chat at five in the morning, I’m fine. It all depends on how you answer his first question, “How are you doing?” After chatting with so many cab drivers in this United States, you got to have some admiration for them. They, and their dreams, are as diverse as the people that compose this nation. They are very knowledgable too with current news.

On the way from O’hare to my downtown apartment, I happened to be in a cab driven by an Egyptian. You think he is your regular cab driver. He was pursuing his degree in MBA. He worked for Pfizer when he was in Egypt. Pfizer was in the midst of some drug problem when I was taking his cab. Sure enough, he knew about it. Will he be driving cab forever? I don’t think so.

On another ride from O’hare to downtown Chicago, I got into a cab driven by a Pakistani. “Assalammualaikum” was the first word coming out of his mouth when he learned that I came from Indonesia. I answered him accordingly. He has a family here in the States. Has he ever thought about going back to Pakistan? Yes. But just like any other immigrants, they think about going back, but never make it. He has two or three kids. He is Moslem, and wants his kids to be good Moslems too. Something that will definitely be very challenging here. About his job, no, he was not driving a cab all the time. He has a full-time job as a machinist. He was a machinist before and life was good, until 9/11 happened. He got laid off, and found it difficult to get a job with his Middle-East background. Fortunately, he was able to get a job eventually.

On a ride from Washington Reagan to Vienna, Virginia. A lady was my cab driver. I did not ask whether she was still married. She told me she drove cab so that she did not have to beg money from her husband (forgot whether she was using past tense or present). She told me how the cab system work. She did not own the car, but she leased it from the cab company for the weekend. She loves Virginia, and would prefer to drive within Virginia. No, no DC, she said. We also chatted about airline. She said that she wanted to fly jetBlue someday. It had been a while since her last flight. Oh, she did not like Southwest. She said that you feel like a cattle when flying Southwest. Oh well, I like Southwest. I am flying it right now. It’s all the luv.

On a ride from Vienna, Virginia to D.C. Union Station. My driver was a Palestinian. I think he said he was married to a Thai. He told me how he value education. He told me that he was paying the price (driving a cab) for not having good education. I told him, why not go back to school. He told me that his English was bad. Hey, you know what, you don’t try, you don’t know. I think I told him the story about the Egyptian cab driver. I told him my English sucked as well when I first came here.

On a ride from Indianapolis airport to downtown Hilton. My driver was a Somalian. He was the first Somalian I have ever met. And, I was the first Catholic Chinese that he ever met. About 40,000 to 50,000 Somalian get a green card each year through a special program. He was one of those, and now he is just trying to sponsor all his relatives, the last of which will be coming here later this year. A son of a late diplomat, he had been to some countries. His sister studied at the University of Loyola in Chicago. I asked him what he did back home. He told me that since his Dad was a diplomat, he had just been studying. He speaks French (and one other European language). He has a family, his wife is an Indian. Asked about going back to school, he said he needed money to sponsor his relatives to come to the States. With his last relative coming here this year, he may be able to start save some money for himself.

On a ride from downtown Chicago, which should end up at O’hare with a transit at the office to pick up my colleague. I asked him, “Can I have the air-conditioner please?” He told me it was broken. That’s it. I am done. We are done.