Others – on the assumption that the driver doesn’t know who they are and will never see them again – will spill out their guts about things they probably wouldn’t reveal to even their closest confidants. A man once bragged to me, for example, about how he cheated the city out of $80,000: he broke his leg at home but claimed he’d tripped at a municipal construction site and used his girlfriend as a false witness. Another time a man jumped into my cab in a true frenzy. Bouncing through emotions of anger and grief like a rubber ball, he wailed that he’d just been in a fight in a bar – and he thinks he may have killed another man.
Still others, trying to get a bargain by using their driver as a therapist, will ask for advice about anything from career changes, boyfriends and the stock market to how to buy a used car, how to make up a good excuse to his wife, or how to defrost a bagel. Amazingly enough, as years go by a taxi driver finds himself an expert in all these things and it turns out the passenger was wise to have sought his counsel.
So what it all comes down to is this: millions of people from every corner of the Earth - from Kathmandu to Katz’s deli - are jammed together on a small island called Manhattan. They get into taxicabs and talk with their drivers. Communication occurs. And as years go by, a cabbie, looking back, will realize he has been having encounters, perhaps even connections, if not with every person on the planet, then certainly with every type of person on the planet.
He has been having, you might say, a conversation with the human race.
So jump in. Let’s think of reading this book as being like taking a ride in my cab, except without the potholes. You want stories? I’ve got stories. You want opinions? I’ve got opinions. You want advice? Now why would you want my advice about… that? Well, since you asked, I happen to be something of a streetwise scholar on that subject, so my advice you will get.
But where do we start? Well, I think we should begin with the question every single person asks me immediately after they say, ‘Wow, you must have some stories…’
‘What was the wildest ride you ever had?’
I have been asked this question so many times that you would think after all these years I would have a quick response to it. But I don’t.
The problem is there have been so many. Was it the girl who rushed out of the cab seven times to puke? Or was it the guy who, without the slightest provocation, would just start screaming? Or the basket case who got out of the cab in the middle of the 59th Street Bridge? Or the one who got out in the middle of the Williamsburg Bridge?
Hmmmmmm…
Maybe it was the poor guy who was mugged while sitting in the back seat. Or the perfectly nice couple going home to Brooklyn who found themselves sitting between two cops who commandeered the taxi into the middle of a crime scene.
‘Yeah,’ I think, ‘that must have been the wildest’ – but then I remember the ride with the Mafia hit men – and I just can’t decide.
So what I do is this. When people ask me for my wildest ride, I ask them for a little help.
‘What’s your definition of “wild”?’ I ask. This actually makes it more fun for me. It’s my contention that I have some kind of a story for any category they can think of.
But I started to notice a pattern whenever I would ask this. First there is a pause. Then some giggling. And then, the BIG QUESTION: ‘Has anyone had – sex! – in your cab?’
Always ready with a quip, my reply is: ‘You mean tonight?’
‘No, no,’ they say with big smiles, ‘ever.’
Soooo… this is what’s on everybody’s mind (surprise, surprise!). Well, who am I to deny the public what they want? What I’m going to do is rename this chapter. Let’s call it…
Sex and the taxi
…and start all over again.
Okay, admit it. Sure you want stories about crime, hustlers, eccentric people and the gritty charm of New York City. But the first thing you want is sex. So let’s confront this like adults, shall we? Once we get this sex chapter out of the way we can all breathe a lot easier and then move on to loftier pursuits.
So, do people have sex in taxis?
Yes. Not nearly so often as you’d think if you’ve ever seen the Taxicab Confessions program on TV, but, yes, it does happen. There are three stages.
1. Cuddling – two passengers get in and sit quite close to each other in the back seat. A head may rest upon the other’s shoulder. There is some polite kissing. It’s all within the bounds of acceptable public behavior.
2. Foreplay – there is suspicious movement going on in the rear. The kissing is passionate. There is no interest in any conversation with the driver. You look in the mirror and, where there were once two heads, there is now only one. They’re doing something with their hands, but you’re not sure what. It’s time to adjust the mirror and turn off the radio.
3. Outright fucking – if there are three and a half million people in Manhattan at any given time, then there must be something like two million beds. But apparently that is not enough. When a couple assumes the ‘taxicab position’ – the guy sits facing forward and the girl straddles him, facing the rear window – then you know they’re adding ‘taxicab’ to their list of places where they’ve ‘done it’.
One of the age-old questions is how should the driver react when he realizes that, only five feet behind him, and separated merely by a Plexiglas partition with an open window, the cucumber is entering the salad bowl? Should he consider this to be the epitome of rude behavior and throw the passengers out? Or should he take it as a compliment that they would feel so – what’s the word? –comfortable in his space?
With me, I do find it offensive but my level of resentment seems to depend on the way the passengers go about it. While I’ve never thrown anyone out of my cab for this most out of place conduct, I do get annoyed if they’re pretending I’m not even there. I have two ways of dealing with the irritation: 1) take extremely sharp left and right turns in an effort to knock the female off to the side; 2) charge them an extra ten dollars for the ‘hotel room’.
So it’s kind of oddly refreshing when a couple has such balls (sorry, couldn’t help myself) that they make no attempt to hide the fact that they are intending to have sex right there in the back seat and they tell me so as the ride begins. It went down that way one night in the East Village…
Lust, cured
A guy and a girl came out of the Bowery Bar on East 4th Street late one night and jumped into my cab. The guy gave me their destination, 24th Street and 2nd Avenue, and moved halfway across the seat to make room for the girl. As she closed the door behind her she blurted out, ‘You don’t mind if we have sex in your cab, do you?’ in the same way someone else might ask if it would be all right if she smoked a cigarette. Then she pushed the guy down flat on his back.
Before I could get the quip ‘I charge extra for that’ out of my mouth, she was on him like a Fido on a leg. It turned out it didn’t matter if I minded or not, there was going to be a party on the back seat. Although I appreciated her outrageous effrontery, I wasn’t too happy about having to suffer the discomfort I was already beginning to feel. But it was a short ride and I decided it would be better to endure it for five minutes than it would be to raise an objection. So we were on our way.
I drove half a block and hit