When people call taxi they don't hope to see interesting human to talk with, they need a car to move them from point A to point B. This driver expects his clients to be wondered about him or his life, when they don't expect it and often don't want to spend their time to be somebody's psychotherapist. It's sad he is so lonely, but taxi is not that place which should fix it - maybe dating sites.
This isn't a pity piece, he not expecting something from his passengers or expecting them to wonder about him. In fact, I'd say that's the whole point of the piece - how he knows he an outsider, a nobody in a world of somebodies, a dispassionate observer, one who recognises his own lack of humanity to his charges:
> A robot could do my fucking job
He's grateful for the job, grateful for the lifeline and merely telling the objective story of an outsider in a different world.
> Where I live, people are already dead. But at night, I pick up people with lives, and money in their pockets, places to go, things to do, people to see.
And yet, he reminds us throughout that people are fuck ups no matter their monetary wealth or 'social standing':
>One pick-up I had was outside a restaurant in Hayes Valley. I had my hazards on while I waited patiently, observing them passionately kiss each another. They kissed as if they were in love. It reminded me of the way I kissed, when I too was in love. Their goodbye took forever and when she finally got in my car, she pulled out her cell phone.
>"Hey honey, how's it going? Oh, it was boring, I wanted to leave the whole time. How are the kids? Good... Oh, remember that one coworker I told you about? I just found out he's been sleeping with all the associates... he's married too, I like his wife... he's a good guy..." I'm sure he is.
I think the piece is fascinating, not least because I've felt the sting of invisibility myself, but don't go mistaking it as a pining lament to be one of the chosen ones or that he's calling on his passengers to be his psychologist.