“I imagine that waiting for a cab is a lot like hooking. I don’t know for sure- I’ve never actually waited for a cab…”

Pacing the street back and forth. Back and forth. Anxiously looking down the street at the oncoming vehicles. Will this one stop? Will that one stop? Another girl approaches my corner- “That bitch better not think she’s moving in on my spot. I’ll cut her. I swear I’ll cut her”

“Oh my God, that bitch is not standing in front of me! What the hell does she think she’s pulling?”

I let out an “uh hum” cough, thus conveying my general unhappiness with the present situation and warning of my imminent attack. The cough’s message is lost on my rival. Judging from her cheap shoes and polyester skirt, she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into. This corner will eat her alive.

Alright, I didn’t want to have to do this but here goes- “Ummm. Excuse me. Ummm Hi. I think I was here first.”

A toss of her blond hair seems to indicate that the bitch isn’t moving.

In the distance, I see an oncoming light. I grind my cigarette into the ground.

Okay, it’s showtime. High heel shoes be damned, I’ve got work to do. I break into a sprint and aim for the next block corner. I think I can cut off the car before it gets to blondie.

It’s a nice looking car- clean, looks like someone put some money into it- it’ll do just fine. The car pulls over, and I hop in. Safe for now…

As the car passes blondie, I toss her a wink. The kid’ll learn quickly. It’s a tough little town we live in…

———————————————————————————

“Forty-Second and First”

We speed up Third Avenue. At Thirty-First Street, my driver cuts off a family of four at the pedestrian crossing. When the father hits the back of the cab, my driver seems confused. I briefly entertain the notion of explaining to him the error of his ways. I get as far as “The man was upset because…” when my driver interrupts in something bordering on gibberish. I make a mental note to myself to bust out with gibberish next time I’m losing an argument.

It’s strange. I’ve been doing this for years now, and yet, I still feel responsible when my driver behaves badly. I always feel the need to mouth the “Hey, I just picked this guy up on the corner. I didn’t know he was going to run over your little puppy dog” to the grieving owner left with only a leash. Or equally popular the “I think that the door will snap right back on” to the Mercedes owner who chose the wrong time to get out of his car.

The New York City Taxi Service doesn’t really offer much in the way of atonement for a driver’s sins. One basically has two options. Call the 1-800-NYC-TAXI hotline which I’m sure will dump you right into voicemail or “withhold any tips”. So let me get this right. If my driver behaves poorly, I should refuse to give him extra money above and beyond his fee. Wow, that’s a pretty harsh punishment for a man who just ran over a family of four…

If you were in a restaurant and the waitress proceeded to stab to death mom, dad, and their eight children, would you perceive withholding a tip to be an appropriate punishment?

“Ahh to hell with the court system. I withheld her tip!”

Yeah, I’m not buying it either…