“Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”
Those were some of the first words we heard as we arrived in New York. As we waited in line for a classic yellow cab, dozens of other drivers were milling about, promising that their rides were classier, faster and presumably featured slightly fewer urine stains on their seats. But everyone in line was more than content to wait a few minutes in order to assure riding in a taxi that was actually part of a legitimate business.
One of the “classy” independent drivers approached a woman behind us and began his sales pitch very professionally.
“Ma’am, if you’d like to avoid the long wait, I have a car available now. Where do you need to go?”
“I’m heading downtown. How much would that be?” she replied.
He thought for a moment and then made her an offer. “For you? Only $70.”
A look of shock passed over her face. “$70! That’s ridiculous. No thanks.”
What followed this brief exchange was a back and forth conversation that escalated into a shouting match, ending with the woman saying very calmly, “Stop talking. Just stop talking to me. We’re done. Stop talking.”
The driver, being the consummate gentleman, ended his proposition with an obscenity-laced tirade that concluded with him storming off while yelling the aforementioned closing remarks.
Clearly, this guy had a few more classes left in business school. Or maybe I’m wrong and, somewhere along the way, the saying changed from “The customer is always right.” to “The customer can take her luggage and cram it up her ass.”
Everyone around us couldn’t help but laugh. Anywhere else in the country, this would have been an insane occurrence that might require a call to the authorities, or at least the Better Business Bureau, but not here.
We turned around to see how the woman was holding up after her brush with Bruno, The Possibly Icepick-Wielding Taxi Driver. Would she be angry, upset or maybe even in shock of what just happened?
But instead, she was laughing too. She looked at us, smiled and simply said, “Welcome to New York.”
As if on cue, our car pulled up. We threw our luggage in and got inside. As we headed to our friend’s house in Queens, we knew we were in for a memorable weekend. Because with a Welcoming Committee like that, we were completely sold on the City That Never Sleeps.
And we couldn’t wait to help it live up to its name.
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A NYC cop gave me a ticket one time for smoking on an open subway platform, and I ask her how much it was going to cost. She said, "60 dollars." I was like, 60 bucks! That's a lot! Then she just handed it over to me and said, "Welcome to New York."
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