Taxi!!

Taxicabs in New York are somewhat of a New York City institution. In an effort to save some money, I try to stick to the subway as much as possible, but if I'm headed to/from the airport or if I'm out a little late, I spring the extra few bucks for a cab ride home. Once you get over the feeling that your life is being threatened by the reckless driving through the city streets and the occasional honking or yelling out the window ("F*#% your mother, you motherf*@%er!!), it takes some self-discipline not to take advantage of convenience of the New York City taxicabs. They are extremely easy to find at any time of day or night and they take you right to your door. You find drivers of all races, nationalities, cultures, and personalities. Some can be quite friendly, while others... well, are not.

The most intriguing thing I've found about these cab drivers in my observations thus far is the fact that, no matter what time of day or night, they are always talking on the phone. Always. Every time I've gotten into a cab I've had to interrupt his conversation to tell him where I'm going. At first, I thought they were talking to me because the conversation would start right back up after I gave the address, but then I realized that it wasn't English that was being spoken ("What was that? ...Oh."). What I don't understand is how they are all on the phone every time I get into a cab. Are they all talking to each other? Who else could they be talking to at 4 in the morning? I can understand that the profession must be a kind of a lonely one and I guess it's better that they talk to their loved ones or fellow cabbies rather than striking up a meaningless conversation with me. The one time I did encounter a driver that was not on the phone, that is exactly what happened.

I had just gotten back from my reunion weekend in California and hopped in a cab at JFK. I knew that he was a talker as soon as we started to pull away from the terminal. He started pretty casually, discussing the traffic and the new Jet Blue terminal, but by the time we had left the airport, he had already asked me my marital status and was giving me advice on men. "I let you on little secret," he says in his Carribean accent (which I later learn to be Haitian). "When you find a man to listen to you, you keep that man, because a man who listen show dat he cares." Profound. Great. Now I feel obligated to listen to this guy for the entire 45-minute ride back to my apartment. He did, in fact, have my fate in his hands, so I had to humor him at least until I got within walking distance. Just as I expected, the next 45 minutes were filled with this driver's life story... his children, his first marriage, his stroke... I learned it all, and, I must say, very little of it was comforting, especially the stroke part where I think I heard something about partial loss of vision. Needless to say, I made it home, but not without a little anxiety and a greater appreciation for those cabbies with cell phones. I just hope that the next time I get into a cab and the driver isn't talking on his phone that I'm getting into the Cash Cab.