Why do you want to be scum of the earth? I give you thirty days before you get disgusted and quit, was my first conversation with another woman taxi driver. The small woman interrogating me was wearing a rat’s nest hairpiece that she thought made her look more attractive, and sported a torn shirt-sleeve over her left arm to prevent sunburn. She was definitely trying to discourage me. This was the start to my love-hate relationship that lasted over ten years on the streets of Southern California. I frequently changed cab companies, looking for the magic money trip at the end of my rainbow, with no two days ever the same. Taxi tales are not new to cabdrivers; they have all experienced them. Some of these tales are the absolute truth and some only explained by being alone in her cab too much.