Wednesday, February 27, 2013

TRUE TALES OF A NYC CAB DRIVER #9


 
                                                                      The Night I Lost It 


When I drove a cab in the seventies, it was mostly in and around Manhattan, with occasional excursions into Queens, Brooklyn and the Bronx.  The garage where I picked up the cab and dropped it off at the end of a shift was in Long Island City, just on the Queens side of the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge, what we always called the 59th Street Bridge.  A lot of cab companies were based in that area. 

At the end of a shift I would cross the bridge back to Queens and drop off the taxi cab and take the train and bus back to my apartment in Queens Village.  I preferred the night shift to the day shift, because at night people were more varied and often in a partying mood, and there was a lot less traffic.   My shift would typically end at 2 or 3am.   One night after 3am of a busy night I had just crossed the bridge into Queens and was driving the last blocks to my garage.  Passing by a bar I noticed a large middle aged man with his arm up.  I was tired, and ready to call it a night, but the street was nearly deserted, and I figured he was on his way home and wasn't likely to get a cab to stop at this time of night.  So, like the well-meaning fool that I am, I stopped for him.

When he got into the cab I asked him where he was going.  If he had said somewhere far away, I was going to beg off.   But he didn't answer my question, sitting stolidly in the back seat with a glazed look in his eyes.  I asked again, "Where are you going?"

"You just drive," he said in an Eastern European accent.  I was annoyed.  I wanted to know where I was going so late at night on my last fare, especially with someone who had obviously been drinking.  But I drove a couple of blocks before I asked again.  Again he said, "Just drive."

I said, "Look you're my last fare.  If you want to go a long way, I can't do it.  I won't charge you.  So I'd like to know."  His face changed from the stiff glazed expression to one of belligerence.  "I told you, just drive.  You are a public servant, you do what I say.  You don't need to know where I go.  Go left at the light."

I regretted that I had stopped for this ungrateful drunk, wondering how much longer my night was going to be.  I said, "Public servant huh?  That's what you think I am?  I was nice enough to stop for you.  And now you're giving me a hard time."    

"I told you to drive.  I tell you where to go."  Fuming, I drove where he told me.  This was Long Island City, a lonely area with nothing but a lot of factories, all dark and silent at this time of night.  I thought we'd be taking one of the main streets out of the area, but he had me turn into a long dark street with huge factory buildings on both sides.  I couldn't understand where he was leading me.  So I said, "Look, I know you're drunk.  But where are you going?  Maybe I know a quicker way.  There's nothing but factories and railroad tracks around here.  You've got to tell me where you want to go.  Do you even know?"

"You are public servant.  You don't need to know.  Do as I say.  I say go left, you go left.  I say you go right, you go right."

I seethed, thinking, I hate drunks!  "There's nothing around here," I shouted.   "I don't think you even know where you are!" 

"Just do as I say." 

His big red face stared straight ahead, his heavy body a lump of implacable stubbornness.   I didn't need this.  I drove a few more hundred feet into the dark desolate place.  The moon was red in the slice of sky between the tall black buildings. 

Then something snapped in me.  "That's it!" I shouted.  I slammed on the brakes bringing the car into a sideways skidding stop.  I put it in park, threw open the door and leapt out of the cab.  I opened the back door and yelled, "Out! Get out!"  The overhead light showed him sitting, looking at me, dazed.  He didn't move.  "You drive me," he said. 

"Wrong.  This is it.  Get another cab."  Then he stared into the front of the cab.  I didn't know what he was looking at, but then realized he was looking at my Taxi License on display with my name and picture on it.  He was memorizing my name.  At this point I didn't care. 

I gave him a few more seconds, then I screamed with all my considerable force, "Get out!  This is it!  Do I have to pull you out?"  I was ready to.  My anger had left me devoid of any caution or sense.  He was a large man, outweighed me by fifty pounds easily, and for all I knew he had a weapon.  But I was beyond reason; I wanted to be rid of the jerk. 

Finally he seemed to realize that he had no choice.  He clambered out of the cab.  I slammed the passenger door shut and leapt back into the cab, saying, "See ya!"  And drove off, leaving him in the  middle of acres of dark, lonely behemoth buildings. 

I felt a little bad, wondering how far he'd have to walk just to get to a place with people.  But I didn't feel that bad.  Then I thought of his memorizing my name and causing me trouble with a complaint.  But then I thought, In his condition, how is he going to remember a name like Anifantakis?  

 

1 comment:

  1. I have always remembered your name. I had to walk 12 blocks that night to my office where I kept all of my gold doubloons! You would have left my factory a rich man if it weren't for your insolence!

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