Thursday, March 24, 2005
Taxicab Confessions
Yesterday I got into an argument with a cab driver over my home address. I really felt that I should prevail on this one, since I lived there, but I think he got the best of me, given that I ended up walking the last several blocks. Apparently when I say "Hudson" it sounds a lot like "Halsted," and when I say "Wait, aren’t you going the wrong direction?" it somehow resembles "Swerve across two lanes of traffic and start shouting incoherently." Of course, I have to admit that my entreaties regarding directions and the need to not mow down elderly people were rudely interrupting my driver’s rather animated (and multilingual!) phone conversation, but things were simply not going well compared to any driver’s ed film I have ever watched.
I have been harassed by cab drivers on more occasions than you can even possibly imagine. I have had several see fit to inquire into the intimate personal details of my life, asking questions that even Larry Flynt would find somewhat intrusive. Others have launched right into providing unsolicited and generally terrible advice, encouraging me to quit my job, break my lease, or exchange sexual favors for hardcore drugs. (Okay, so I made the last one up, but I’m expecting it any day now.) Then there are the entertainers, who try to brighten up my dull gray life by sharing the enthralling stories of their own or, on at least one occasion, by singing. These are the occasions on which I wish the back seat were equipped with an ejector seat or, at the very least, a lethal injection.
But invariably traffic is heavy, some theoretical "short cut" demands attempting, or (this actually happened) some greater maniac smashes into the cab, and my relationship with the driver only deepens. Who says it’s hard to meet people in the city? As long as you don’t mind insanity, you can always get a new friend to drive right up to your front door!
Yesterday I got into an argument with a cab driver over my home address. I really felt that I should prevail on this one, since I lived there, but I think he got the best of me, given that I ended up walking the last several blocks. Apparently when I say "Hudson" it sounds a lot like "Halsted," and when I say "Wait, aren’t you going the wrong direction?" it somehow resembles "Swerve across two lanes of traffic and start shouting incoherently." Of course, I have to admit that my entreaties regarding directions and the need to not mow down elderly people were rudely interrupting my driver’s rather animated (and multilingual!) phone conversation, but things were simply not going well compared to any driver’s ed film I have ever watched.
I have been harassed by cab drivers on more occasions than you can even possibly imagine. I have had several see fit to inquire into the intimate personal details of my life, asking questions that even Larry Flynt would find somewhat intrusive. Others have launched right into providing unsolicited and generally terrible advice, encouraging me to quit my job, break my lease, or exchange sexual favors for hardcore drugs. (Okay, so I made the last one up, but I’m expecting it any day now.) Then there are the entertainers, who try to brighten up my dull gray life by sharing the enthralling stories of their own or, on at least one occasion, by singing. These are the occasions on which I wish the back seat were equipped with an ejector seat or, at the very least, a lethal injection.
But invariably traffic is heavy, some theoretical "short cut" demands attempting, or (this actually happened) some greater maniac smashes into the cab, and my relationship with the driver only deepens. Who says it’s hard to meet people in the city? As long as you don’t mind insanity, you can always get a new friend to drive right up to your front door!
