I knocked on the outer door of the house on Stanford. It was my second call of the night. No one answered, but I heard voices. I went inside to the enclosed porch and knocked on the inner door. The inhabitants opened up, and I asked 'Somebody call for a cab?' They said no, and a big drunk man got in my face. 'What are you doing walking in my house!?' I apologized and stepped away from him. He continued to badger me, and I apologized again. Just then, a girl from a back house came up to my cab, and off we went. As we headed to her destination, I got a call from the dispatcher, asking if I went in somebody's house. 'I knocked on the outer door, then the inner door, then apologized.' He laughed and said no more of it. Drunks on New Year's Eve. There would be many of them.

Every year since the eve of 2004, this day driver has been driving the cab on one night: New Year's Eve. 54 Yellow Cabs in Albuquerque cruised around the city taking people here, there and everywhere.

From seven to midnight, it felt like a normal day. Taking people to and fro, some drunk already. Folks going to downtown, uptown, restaurants, bars, house parties and casinos. More twenty-somethings than anything else, but even the temperature in the low teens couldn't keep people from ringing in the New Year in public.

As I took a middle-aged Hispanic drag queen dressed in full regalia to the private gay club in town, it was ironic that I thought of my wife. She and her girlfriends were having a drag queen party at my home as I worked. While they played dress up, I drove the around the real thing. I worked while most played.

At a quarter to midnight, I arrived at a house near the airport. The trio of grown kids wanted to get to the rock bar downtown before the New Year. I cruised the back way and got them there with five minutes to spare.

I sat parked in front of a microbrewery downtown when the clock struck twelve. I had made lease, gas and seventy bucks profit by then. I honked my horn a few times and went back to work.

Bad luck started 2011. I got a call at a raging house party, and it was impossible to find anyone specific. I walked in, survey all the young folks drinking and smoking, turned around and left. Being the Luddite that I am, I don't carry a cell phone. Of course, if you aren't waiting for your cab on New Year's, you just might miss it.

My luck turned when I picked up a flag at the cigar bar in Nob Hill. A guy and three girls need to get to the West Side. On the way, we passed through a massive DWI check point. The cops were out in force, and they validated anyone who chose to take a cab. The ride totaled fifty bucks and the guy gave me 80. Always tip your cab driver.

I cruised to the casino on the north end of town and ended up taking a couple to the Northeast Heights. After a couple rides up there, I started working the massive multi-bar complex in the midtown.

On the third ride from the bar, I picked up a trio of Irish folks. Two guys and a girl, and one of the guys said 'Didn't you pick me up last week?' He did look and sound familiar, but I could tell you what I was doing a week ago in the cab. By the end of the ride, we figured I did drive him in the early morning a week ago from a girl's house on the West Side to his car in Nob Hill. I'm not quite sure what the odds are on randomly picking someone up out of a crowd at a bar on New Year's a week after randomly picking him up in the boonies, but it seems rather unlikely.

After dropping a black lady off in Taylor Ranch, I made the mistake of taking a call way out in Ventana Ranch without confirming the address. By the time I discovered it was bogus, I had already driven out to the far northwest part of town. Coming back I tried to get a call near Unser and the freeway. Again, a bust as the guy took his Mom's car instead of waiting.

I was grumbling about losing time and money when a call came up around Unser and Bluewater. It was a house party, and a girl threw a drunk guy with platinum hair into the cab and told me to take off. We were headed across the river when his friends called and told him to come back. He agreed, so we turned around. When we got back, three more guys jumped in and one said we should ditch the drunk guy, who had stepped out of the cab to dry heave. I said the only reason we came back was because of that guy, so no ditching. It turned out these guys were all nurses, very loud and fairly drunk. They wanted to go to Carl's Jr and were appalled when they found out I didn't eat fast food. My platinum blonde buddy had to stop at the Denny's to dry heave again while his friends argued over which way it was to Carl's Jr. I knew all along how to get there, and I chuckled at the absurdity of the moment. Happy freaking New Year.

Of course, it was four in the morning and Carl's Jr. was closed. They dropped off our dry heaving friend and demanded to go to a different Carl's Jr. on Central. It was also closed, so they settled on the 7-11 nearby. By the end the ride, they had racked up an eighty-eight dollar fare and gave me a hundred dollar bill. Oh, those male nurses.

From there to here, here to there, funny things happen everywhere.

I cruised for another hour or so before calling it a night. Bizarre moments, but nothing I couldn't handle. I made more than three bills for the family, so I couldn't complain. I stumbled into my home a little before seven where my bed awaited and my wife's drag party had occurred. You'll have to ask her for those stories. I only tell my own.

A return to the day shift awaits for me, and I have closed the book on 2010. Although it ain't heaven, I'm back in the cab for twenty-eleven.

Chris Jungle did not eat, drink or use the bathroom all night.