Bob Norton's experience reminds me that I too drove a taxi in Atlanta for several years. I worked for a small, family-owned company that catered to the upper crust of Atlanta society. It was really the next thing to a limo service. I made half of my earnings on airport runs.

Because of this, or for whatever reason, many drivers disdained picking local fares, many of whom were Hispanic. I come from a pretty humble background and didn't really see how I could refuse any business, especially when it was slow. Other drivers would go home or sleep in their car until radio traffic picked up.

Not me. I put a Spanish dictionary on the dash and worked on vocabulary a word at a time. My grammar sucked, but I could understand and be understood in the limited context of a local fare. Say a street name and give me the number and I'll get you there. Everybody understands the number on the dash.

I made an interesting discovery. Even those who said "no" when asked directly if they spoke English began to develop an amazing vocabulary when I showed the effort I was putting into their language. And they tipped surprisingly well for people whom everyone assumed were broke.

The numbers were pretty good, too. I averaged about $35 an hour on a good day. During the times when there were no radio calls, three local fares an hour, even at the zone minimum of $8 point-to-point with any kind of tip, averaged out to $25 an hour or better. This when no other drivers were moving.

Muchas gracias, amigos. Hasta la vista. (And I did.)

"My primary musical instrument is the personal computer."