A Cab Driver Prepares

by

09/01/2005

W 45th St & 9th Ave, New York, NY 10036

Neighborhood: Midtown

One morning last August, a week before the Republican National Convention, I took a cab to my studio in the Film Center Building on 45th and 9th. My cabdriver was wearing a natty chauffeur’s uniform, cap and all. Once we got going, he smiled at me in the rearview mirror and said, “I guess you’re wondering why I’m all dressed up.” Then he launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed spiel.

“When I lost my corporate driver’s job last year, I traded in a black car for a yellow one but didn’t see any reason to stop providing professional, courteous, positive service to my clients. Think of me as an icon on your computer desktop. A ‘POSITIVITY’ icon. If you’re feeling down, just double-click on me.”

Then he passed a homemade computer-generated greeting card trough the bulletproof divider. It said, “Thank You…” in fancy script on the front above a bucolic scene of swans on a lake. The message continued inside: “… for being a valued client! I have appreciated serving you. Paul J.– Your POSITIVE Cabby.” And despite my usual cynicism, the guy actually brightened my morning.

I thanked him and he gave me a little tip of the hat in the mirror. Then he became quiet for a few blocks, apparently out of script. At the next red light he said, “Once the convention gets here next week, this traffic’s going to be a fucking nightmare.”

Comments
Rate Story
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (No Ratings Yet)
Loading...

§ Leave a Reply

Other Stories You May Like

Nearby Midtown Stories

A Visit with the Madison Avenue Sports Car Driving and Chowder Society

by

Patrick J. Sauer sits in on the monthly meeting of the Madison Avenue Sports Car Driving and Chowder Society.

An Open Letter to Paul Wellstone

by

Driven to despair by elected officials' behavior and his own poverty, the author reaches out to the memory of a public official

A Special Hidden Place

by

“Henry, why must you be such a baby?” I say to Mr. Henry Longfellow, my piebald dachshund, as I carry [...]

Uncle Ayman’s Hot Dog Stand

by

My Uncle Ayman is out of Lemon Snapple. I fish through the drink compartment, a deep bin on the far [...]

Strange People Touching My Body

by

"Just before its doors closed, he thrust his head inside and announced: 'CROWDED TRAIN . . . SEX ABUSE . . . STRANGE PEOPLE .