After working abroad for ten years, I missed the Metropolitan Museum, ubiquitous Asian nail salons and Lenny’s turkey sandwiches. But perhaps the most important: a quiet taxi ride. In Barcelona, taking a taxi was like being a therapist for ten minutes, as I heard all about drivers’ woes, affairs with Cuban women, how much they hated the PP (partido popular, the right-wing Spanish political party), and especially, upon hearing my accent, long tirades against our former President.
If the animated chatter wasn’t enough, taxi drivers in Barcelona often smoked with the windows rolled up, or had a drink while on duty. One driver complained about the new strict breathalyzer limit. “I can’t even have oil and vinegar on my salad,” he shouted, throwing his arms in the air, and off the wheel, while driving. Another got angry when I suggested a specific route and asked if I’d like him to pull over and let me drive. After a sheepish “No,” he offered me an olive branch: “Hey, my son is about your age. Maybe you could go out with him? Best way to learn English is an American girlfriend!”
I was happy to be back in the New York, where I’m lucky if the cabbie mumbles an acknowledgement when I get into the car. Sure, they zigzag across the Manhattan grid as if on crack and the leather seats spew funky smells, but NYC cabs are usually fast, efficient and quiet. Whispering in mysterious languages in their terminator-like ear attachments, they rarely want to talk to me – and the cool new (at least, new for me) TV screens in the back give me an excuse to zone out.
That is, until recently. Two weeks ago I was heading downtown when the white-haired Jamaican driver turned around and said: “Are you a movie star?” Flattered, I smiled and said I wasn’t. “You look like movie star,” he insisted. I blushed and said, “I wish.” Suddenly it was as if I had slipped him and extra 20 bucks to be my own personal Dr. Phil. “How can you say you are not a star? You have to believe you are a superstar. If you don’t believe in yourself, who will?” This went on for the rest of the ride and ended with me shouting, “OK, OK! I am a superstar!” As I got out of the car, he asked me if I was married or looking for a man. Disturbed, I passed him a five dollar tip through the window and politely declined.
A few days later I hopped into a cab in Battery Park to go to the Upper East Side. It was a long ride on the FDR and I planned to close my eyes and sleep. As soon as we set off, the dishevelled Eastern European driver started to drop F-bombs. I checked if the barrage was directed at me – but he didn’t seem to be talking to anyone in particular and was not wearing a Bluetooth or cell phone wire. Was he angry to have to drive so far uptown, or was he suffering from a flare-up of Tourette’s syndrome? The insults got louder until, much to my relief, we pulled up at 77th and York. As I gathered my cash to pay, he turned to me with a genuine smile and said, “It’s supposed to be nice out later. Let’s hope so. Have a really nice day.”
And just the other day I had a disgruntled chauffeur with a serious grudge against the NY lotto. “People don’t need that much money,” he insisted. “Why do you need 100 million dollars? What could you possibly spend it on? It will make you crazy. One, two, even three million, and maybe you are still Okay. More than that – you’re crazy. I know a guy drove a cab for years, then he won the lotto. You know what happened to him? He’s crazy. Spread it around, I say – give more people a chance. I hate the stinkin’ lottery.”
“Yes, it’s better not to play,” I agreed, desperate to end the conversation.
“Not to play? This is crazy talk. You have to play to win!”
Maybe I'm just moody and antisocial or have no patience. Possibly I'm a hypocrite because plenty of cab drivers have had to suffer my annoying cell phone calls to friends, relating last night’s drinkfest and subsequent hangover, the excruciating pain of my recent bikini wax or other mundane details of my life. Or I’ve changed since living abroad. Whatever the case, I never thought I’d yearn for a spin in Barcelona, where at least I could pretend that I couldn’t speak the language. And with the new laws preventing cabbies from chatting on their cell phones, I think there's gonna be a whole lot more talkin going on!
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I wonder if a law is in order to prevent passengers from using cell phones! You are right..I am sure cabbies hear more than they want to!
ReplyDeleteCan you drive and use the cell phone at the same time in NY?????
ReplyDeleteI start to understand a few things about you...
Just one more thing: do people in NY drive without driving license? That would explain the rest.
I've taken far more 'black car' services than yellow taxis since they are everywhere in Brooklyn. They are all laid back Spanish dudes just tryin' to make a living. I've yet to have a negative experience. They usually indulge in light conversation. Topics range from how business is going to how much trim they get from the drunk girls they pick up. Far superior to the stories above.
ReplyDeleteA response and clarification for comment number 2. While other readers may not understand your comment because of its personal nature, it alluded to the fact that I did not have a valid driver’s license when living (and driving) in your country (Spain). Had the test not been a convoluted mess of run-on sentences designed to make people fail, had the cost been less than 3,000 euros, had the driving school not been a mafia, and had the police ever given me an indication that they may actually pull me over one day, I might have considered attempting it. Mine was also a political stance—whereas people from other countries could validate their license with paperwork (even Brits, who drive on the opposite side of the road! [apologies Baron]), Americans had to shell out thousands of Euros and go to 3-6 months of driving lessons and classes with zitty punk ass teenagers only to quite often fail so that they could shell out even more money to retake the test. And now for the clarification: No, you cannot use a cell phone while driving in NY. The new law for cabbies includes hands free sets and blue tooth, and after three strikes their license is revoked.
ReplyDeleteAra, prou de tocarme els collons-mes comentaris sobre la redaccio o la tema i menys sobre mi, d’accord?
okkkkkk!
ReplyDeleteso, going back to the subject of this blog entry, I would like to add that, even my experience taking taxis in NY is extremely scarce, I was surprised by the fact the indian guy who was driving didn't say a SINGLE world along the trip.
I also have to say I have taken taxis all over the world and taxi drivers have always been the same: they talk about politics all the time and try to take as much money from me as they can.
So my NY experience in taxis is, from my point of view, utterly positive. Leaving aside they drive like a maniacs.
why are you taking so many cabs? That is too expensive.
ReplyDeleteEhhhh!!! Tranquiiiiissss!!!
ReplyDeleteJust so you know, I had to take two taxis in Barcelona this morning. The first taxista didn't say a word, except when he muttered, cursing his-own-self for not having started the meter till we'd gone a few blocks (huzzah! yay for me!). The second taxista just asked me which route she should take, and then asked about the animal I was carrying with me, and then told me a little about her little dog and the house they have in the country... at which point I sorta tuned about because my brain went off on "What!? She has a house in the country!?"
I haven't had a lot of experience with taxis in NYC, but I have had the Barcelona experience of being at the mercy of one driver who actually argued with me over where I lived, and another who made such racist statements that I couldn't just sit quietly and whose taxi I would have got out of right then had I not just been flying for 20 hours and really just wanted to get home. Evidently, by the way, it's not racist if it's true.
I love the Jamaican cabbie story. We should all go around shouting "OK, OK! I am a superstar!"
ReplyDeleteJust got out of a taxi in NYC (I unfortunately take them way too often). Normally I don't hear a peep out of them, but when you take taxis as often as I do you are bound to have some good, bad, and ugly experiences.
ReplyDeleteI have had a taxi driver kick me out of the car because I opened the door to get in moments before he had come to a full stop. I have had taxi drivers yell at me that my 2 year old child was eating a piece of bread in the back seat and how dare I allow that because his car had just been cleaned! I have also had taxi drivers who are so kind and genuine and happy that they actually make my day a little better.
Just now I had to listen to this taxi driver tell me all about his last fare, and how he was unwilling to make an illegal U-turn so the fare got out of the taxi and refused to pay. The driver told me how he got out of the car and grabbed the mans backpack and demanded his $5!
I gave him an extra generous tip so as not to suffer a similar fate.