Flight Taxi

Written By Jonathan Krogh

Dear Trusting Travelers:

As you know, I’ve done a little traveling over the past few months, and although I was supposed to be very afraid about flying during the government shutdown, I blocked from my mind everything I’ve learned about commercial pilots from Lance and settled into a series of relaxing, non-eventful flights. Of far greater terror have been the trips to and from the airport. First, a shout-out to Dan Rusk, who has most graciously dropped me off and picked me up from airports. These rides have been without incident, except for the one that involved his transporting garden compost in the back of his Tesla—the lingering earthy odor that permeated my suitcase is dissipating, and being profiled as a serial killer by TSA for the next few flights did break up the humdrum drudgery of air travel. I’ve also gotten way better at holding up my pants without a belt while walking through the metal detector; the secret to having people avert their gaze is wearing Winnie the Pooh boxers, but I digress. 

The real terror of travel is the rideshare trip to and from the airport. I’ve been told on social media that I am supposed to favor one service over another because, according to my newsfeed, one of the companies fuels their algorithm data center by cremating baby bunnies, but I can’t remember which one so I default to the app I downloaded first. It may be a sign of age, but I keep reserving a ride for the moment I’m booking the service, which is often 1:00 a.m. after I’ve finished packing for the trip later that day. On the reservation page I keep missing the word "later" which allows you to book a trip for a later time or date, but I prefer to get to the airport a bit earlier, so I don’t think that button is for me. Instead, I book my ride to Midway and see the little car icon tooling towards my house with a message that they will be there in about 15 minutes, having just dropped off someone at a bar on Western Avenue a few blocks from my house. In a panic, I manically scroll through the app trying to figure out how to cancel the reservation so I won’t be charged for a ride I do not yet need. Sometimes I’m on the wrong app, and I’ve almost cancelled my flight reservation. Occasionally this works in my favor, because I finally stopped receiving monthly Chewy deliveries which I’ve been trying to cancel since my dog Aggi died a year ago.

Returning to Midway one evening, I pulled up the rideshare app to discover that surge pricing would make my trip home slightly more expensive than the flight I just taken. It was then that I remembered something called a taxi. Scanning the baggage claim area, I noticed there are still signs, there are still lines of taxis, there is still a starter booth at the airport...and it was going to cost less than half the price of a rideshare. In a fit of nostalgia, I stepped to the first cab in line and was whisked back to a time when cab drivers ruled the road.

It was magnificent!

I don’t live far from Midway, so once the driver learned my destination, he jumped from the cab to get a short-trip card from the starter, which permits the driver to skip the wait line if he returns to the airport quickly. The driver didn’t close his door; he didn’t put the vehicle in park; he just jumped out and had a profanity-filled exchange with the starter while the car drifted forward in an old-fashioned, self-driving mode. By the time his argument ended with the starter, the cab was even with the booth. Gazelle-like, he leaped back into the cab feet first, punching the accelerator, making the cab lurch fast enough to close the door. We were off!

I realized how much I had missed this. Rideshare drivers are worried about insurance and the fact that they will need their car to get the kids to school in the morning. Cab drivers share no such concern. Rolling down his window and throwing his fist into the air, he began to swear at other drivers, police cars, road signs, traffic lights and fire hydrants with a stream of obscenity that poured out with the fluidity of an aria, his accent thick enough that I was reminded most operas are not in English, maybe because they’re full of profanity. There in the back seat, white-knuckled, slightly nauseous and completely terrified, I was texting, “I love you and will miss you!” to people I barely know.

It was refreshing to have a driver completely committed to making everyone else on the road sudden prayer warriors, invoking God’s name for both curse and deliverance. It didn’t matter—he was my driver, and I was getting home fast. Sidewalks and alleys are not included on rideshare directional maps, but for cab drivers these are legitimate passing lanes, and when traffic is light, eye contact with the passenger in the back shows the driver’s attention to the rider, not the road.

Most people offer prayer for safety while flying. Now that I have rediscovered the cab, I am comforted by the words of Mathew 28.20: “Lo(w) I am with you always.”

I think we arrived at my house ten minutes before we had left the airport— there was no later button. I was on the curb with my suitcase next to me, heart pounding, rubber legged, glad to be alive. I paid in cash and with a generous tip. It was nice not to have my phone pinging me for a review. Cab drivers are ego secure; they don’t give a flying hamster what you think of them. You are a fare, not a customer. I even learned some new vocabulary words, and remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor 

Jonathan Krogh
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