New York cabbies are not for the faint hearted

Published May 14, 2009 |

There are probably as many stories about cabbies as there are cabbies with stories about “You’ll never guess who I had in the back of the cab” stories. On a recent visit I was on fifth street, about 20 minutes walk from the Guggenheim. I prefer walking, even in the rain, but time was short and I had arranged to meet someone there, so decided to take a cab.

“Guggenheim please” I asked as the force of his acceleration slid me across to the other side of the cab. He raced into a free slot in the heaving mass of traffic which appeared to move like a slug in molasses as soon as he joined. A tape began to play welcoming me to New York. I thought that was a bit odd, is everyone taking a cab in New York a visitor? Why don’t the locals use the cabs? Two minutes later the cabbie asked me what I was doing for lunch. His thick eastern European accent reminiscent of a cab taken from Tottenham Court Road to St Pauls in London last week.

Discussing lunch with a New York cabbie wasn’t something I wanted to do. Deciding how to deal with his question wasn’t hard, ignoring it seemed the best option except before I got the chance he glanced in a rear view mirror aimed directly at the passengers, presumably to keep an eye on them, make sure they’re not taking a dump on his highly polished fake leather plastic seat. “Ricki’s is great, they just had a makeover, cost him quarter million bucks, why not take your friend there, I’ll drive you half price?”.

Reminds me of the string of restaurants along the beach in most Spanish resorts where they punt for business, except for the acidic smell of overcooked cabbage…

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