Note from Jernigan: After this story was written, but before it went to press, a fire destroyed some of the rental units at the Dutch Mill. No one was seriously injured, but a bunch of folks are looking at one lousy Christmas, unless the community pitches in. The Red Cross is coordinating assistance.... Read more

The instant the man entered my taxi, I knew he was a cook. It wasn’t the distinctive, black-and-white checked pants, the muscled hands or robust physicality. No, the giveaway was the scent.... Read more

Halloween fell on a Wednesday this year. The bulk of the celebration — and I’m speaking here of the adult division — took place over the preceding weekend. On both Friday and Saturday night, downtown Burlington was awash in slutty nurses and purple-suited pimps. The relatively mild weather allowed the women to indulge their more risqué fantasies, it appeared.

I worked late on Halloween night itself. Though it wasn’t quite as busy as the weekend, folks just can’t seem to get enough of this most pagan of holidays, and downtown rocked once again.... Read more

The two girls chatting in the back of my cab were going to St. Michael’s College. Though UVM has more than double the enrollment, we local cabbies probably drive more St. Mike’s students, and this has been true for a while. The reason is the free UVM bus, instituted about two years ago, which makes a circuit between downtown and the UVM dorms throughout the evening hours. This dastardly, big fat student scooper has eliminated 90 percent of our UVM fares. Not that I’m bitter or anything.... Read more

"Could you take us to the Woolen Mill?” my seatmate politely inquired after he and his two friends in the back had settled into my taxi.

“Yup, I sure can,” I replied. “That’s pretty much what I do for a living.” Whatever else they say about me, I mentally congratulated myself, they can’t say I’m not droll.... Read more

A soft-spoken man with a French accent had reserved me for an airport pickup. His destination was Hinesburg, where he was picking up a used Toyota he’d bought on the Internet. I had almost turned down the call due to my policy on airport pickups: If the fare isn’t going out of town, I decline.... Read more

"Hey, man, could you pick me up at the sandwich shop? I need to get out to River Road.”

It was Chase on the line, a regular customer for about a year now. Throughout the spring and summer, he’d been painting houses with a contractor friend, but that work was drying up as fall approached. Wanting something steady to get him through the winter, he’d recently taken a job managing a chain of local delis.... Read more

The call came in from James, a longtime customer. “Jernigan, where are you, buddy?”

I knew it was James not only by his voice, which is smooth and gravelly at the same time, but because he always leads with “Where are you?” I then counter with “Well, where are you, James?” because, you see, I am the cabdriver and he is the customer, and that’s the way it works.

A stickler for protocol, I dutifully replied, “Well, where are you, James?”... Read more

The man riding shotgun didn’t hesitate when I asked him if he wouldn’t mind sharing the cab with the four vivacious women enthusiastically hailing me from the corner. “Are you kidding me?” he said. “By all means. Let’s do it.”... Read more

"Which one, Jernigan?” my customer asked. Like a model on “The Price Is Right,” he was holding up two variations on a pewter oil lamp. We were standing in the middle of Danforth Pewter on the Church Street Marketplace. The Danforth family, a plaque on the wall proclaimed, have been pewterers (yes, that’s the term) since the late 1700s. “What do you think, man?” he pressed.... Read more