That's more than a job, almost a vocation. I remember spending an evening in a taxi looking for an address in what I thought was Boston. The driver was a funny guy, he didn't know his way around too well, which might be explained by the Columbian import he kept ready-rolled (and ready-to-share) on the dashboard. When we didn't find the street, he decided to go back to Logan (where he'd picked me up) to ask the state troopers. State troopers didn't know. Neither did the police in three or four places we went, or people we stopped in the street. We went over to Cambridge to try, but people there, though they're supposed to know a lot, didn't know about this. I was beginning to get hardened to breezing into police stations with a banana-sized smile and a flashing sign over my head saying Stoned Agin, when a police officer said: "Peaceable Street ain't in Bawston, it's in Brighton!"

From there on, it seemed, everything was clear (though not to me...) End of ride at midnight. Good thing the driver had turned the meter off a long way back :-)