Gangsta Granny's getting no love. No signal 10s, no flags, no regulars. In plain English: No customers and no money. Now the sleepy scene outside the Doubletree Hotel in North Baltimore seems to promise more of the same.
"Nothing's moving," she says with a weary sigh, edging onto University Parkway. It's just after 10 in the morning, but Lucy Davis, aka Gangsta Granny, has been on the job six hours already. So far it is shaping up as a so-so day, maybe worse.
For cabbies like her, that's life nowadays. The bad economy hurts. People have less money in their pockets, so they are more likely to take the bus, walk, bum rides or just stay home.
"A lot of people are losing their jobs, and that's going to us," Davis says from behind the wheel of a Toyota Prius emblazoned with "Checker Cab." "They aren't going to work anymore. Oh man."
That means Davis must work longer and harder. Sunday should be her one day of rest, but too often this 59-year-old widow is out bouncing along the ragged streets of Baltimore.
Unlike cabbies who own their cars and taxi permits, she rents from Veolia Transportation, which owns Yellow, Checker and Sun cabs and represents half of Baltimore City's fleet of 1,151 taxis. The company provides the car, maintenance and insurance. Davis pays $620 a week and buys her gas.
At least she gets 50 miles per gallon in the Prius. And gas is back under $2 a gallon. Even so, she counts on making $200 or $300 a day.
"If it's out there to make," she hastens to add, turning onto Falls Road en route to her next destination, the Radisson Hotel at Cross Keys.
Not that Davis is complaining. She enjoys her job and being her own boss. As a cabby, she gets to play boat captain and bartender, shuttling folks around while engaging them on matters silly and serious.
She listens to women griping about boyfriends. She told a nurse who was "unfortunately" headed to work that she was blessed to have a job helping others. She has gotten tips from an arborist who was in town for a convention.
Alas, the Radisson at Cross Keys is dead. No hotel guests need a ride, but Davis decides to wait.
She began driving a cab eight years ago after losing her job. Over the years she had worked at Continental Can and Schaefer Brewing until each shut down. In 2000, her brother suggested driving a cab. Nobody could downsize her then. Nor, it turns out, could anyone cow her.
