What Is It With Me And Cab Drivers?
Arrived in NY ok, long queue at Immigration, train ride ok, first cab ride fine. OK, we had to wait for the guy's friend who likes to go on cab rides with him (?!?!) but he was ok. Arrive at hotel – lovely. Big room, nice staff, fabulous beds, excellent restaurant. Then it all goes to hell.
Taxi Number 2
The next morning at 8:40am, the cab driver is ready and waiting. Seems nice enough. We start talking about the weather (it was bucketing down with rain) this leads to him reveal that he is a volunteer fireman. OK so far it is fine. This then leads (he started it not me) to a discussion about his experiences on 9/11 and his sniffer dog. He then tells the dog died of old age. Then he goes very, very quiet. We pull up to a red light and he puts the car in neutral and spends the next 2 lights gunning the engine while Ian and I stare at each other with our eyes bugging out of our heads. He doesn't say another word we arrive at the office and then is chipper as can be as we pay the bill.
Taxi Number 3
After work I decide to go shopping. We ask the driver to drop Ian off at the hotel and then take me to the mall. All is good. The guy is friendly. Ian then asks me why the police cars say Suffolk on them and not NY. I say because we are in Suffolk County. This sets the driver off on a diatribe about Suffolk County cops being overpaid, snotty and a pain in the ass. We drop Ian off and head for the mall. Consumer lust and thoughts of inexpensive American goods have dulled my senses. So I say - did I hear you right, you used to be a cop? Yep in the City he replies. Wow, you must have seen some stuff I say. Not as much as in Vietnam he says. Alarm bells start in my head. He then tells me policing was the family business. All seems good – the storm has passed. He says we need gas, I say ok. He is pumping gas in the car, I am sitting in the back and realise something feels wrong. I try to think, then I listen really hard and realise he has left the engine running. Here I am sitting in the back of a crappy, smelly taxi cab with an engine that sounds like a washing machine while a gimpy, ex-cop. Vietnam vet, taxi driver is liquid death into a running car thinking I am about to explode and the last moments of my life will have been spent discussing NY Irish coppers. Is my quest for Tang (well failed quest for Tang) for Laura and my lust for Jones New York suits worth it?
As you have surmised, I did not explode. I did; however, get a suit. Not Jones New York one mind you.
Taxi Number 2
The next morning at 8:40am, the cab driver is ready and waiting. Seems nice enough. We start talking about the weather (it was bucketing down with rain) this leads to him reveal that he is a volunteer fireman. OK so far it is fine. This then leads (he started it not me) to a discussion about his experiences on 9/11 and his sniffer dog. He then tells the dog died of old age. Then he goes very, very quiet. We pull up to a red light and he puts the car in neutral and spends the next 2 lights gunning the engine while Ian and I stare at each other with our eyes bugging out of our heads. He doesn't say another word we arrive at the office and then is chipper as can be as we pay the bill.
Taxi Number 3
After work I decide to go shopping. We ask the driver to drop Ian off at the hotel and then take me to the mall. All is good. The guy is friendly. Ian then asks me why the police cars say Suffolk on them and not NY. I say because we are in Suffolk County. This sets the driver off on a diatribe about Suffolk County cops being overpaid, snotty and a pain in the ass. We drop Ian off and head for the mall. Consumer lust and thoughts of inexpensive American goods have dulled my senses. So I say - did I hear you right, you used to be a cop? Yep in the City he replies. Wow, you must have seen some stuff I say. Not as much as in Vietnam he says. Alarm bells start in my head. He then tells me policing was the family business. All seems good – the storm has passed. He says we need gas, I say ok. He is pumping gas in the car, I am sitting in the back and realise something feels wrong. I try to think, then I listen really hard and realise he has left the engine running. Here I am sitting in the back of a crappy, smelly taxi cab with an engine that sounds like a washing machine while a gimpy, ex-cop. Vietnam vet, taxi driver is liquid death into a running car thinking I am about to explode and the last moments of my life will have been spent discussing NY Irish coppers. Is my quest for Tang (well failed quest for Tang) for Laura and my lust for Jones New York suits worth it?
As you have surmised, I did not explode. I did; however, get a suit. Not Jones New York one mind you.
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