taxistas

When hailing a cab, you never know what kind of taxi driver is awaiting you within. In the past year, I have taken my fair share of taxis... normally in the 4am time range... and normally in a less than sober state of being. You know when I'm in a less than sober state of being when I get 'chatty' and make friends with, for example, two middle aged lawyers who then give me a business card for their bull-fighting webpage. I have yet to figure out how that conversation even started... all I know is that I like to think that I was not the one to initiate it.

Anyways, less me and more taxi drivers. In NYC, which is the only place in the United States where I've really even taken enough taxis to make a totally prejudiced generalization, you never really know anything about your cab driver because without a doubt they do not speak English. Half the time they just plain don't speak... when you give the address to which you'd like to arrive, there's no confirmation. No nod. Just a look in the rearview mirror and the car goes into motion. I never know whether or not to feel disconcerted. Here, on the other hand, habitually taking taxis is like doing an in-depth nature versus nurture study... one job, same language, same city, same job requirements... and yet those circumstances yield 2935830276262 personality types. Let me provide a few fun little examples..

The partier. Once upon a time when Joanne used to come out and was still tearing up dance floors with her snazzy moves (the running man, the supermarket, etc.), she, Susan, and I went out for an evening of drunken debauchery. As folks tend to do, we got tired somewhere in the realm of 5am. Cue the ruthless battle for the few open cabs that dare to pass through the area. We finally get one, much to the shagrin of the scantily clad bimbos 10 yards ahead of us who had been frantically trying to hail the same cab. I sometimes have to keep myself from sticking out my tongue and nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-booing them as we pass by. Anyways, by the end of the car ride I'm pretty sure Susan would have gladly given the cab to those girls... because this cabbie was a party-cabbie livin' up the Madrid night life from within the comforts of his own taxi. He was dancing in his seat, blasting music, flirting with the car of girls in the lane next to us, and he actually had a little hanging disco ball dangling from his rearview mirror. As I laughed and Susan clutched the car door as if to jump out at any moment, Joanne was having a blast dancing along with the cabbie, asking for the names of all his Euro-trash music (I call it 'epileptic' even though that's mean) because apparently these days it's the music that brings two souls together (Joanne and Paco). Luckily we made it to our apartment in one piece and he went off to find some more party passengers.

The politician. One day, I was heading to the La Latina part of the city to meet up with some homies for tapas. I, in my state of not wanting to go about changing metro lines, decided to take a cab. From the second I shut the door and divulged my destination, it became apparent that without even trying I had given off the impression that I'd love a not-so-brief run-down of the Spain's political situation for the past 30 years. Eventually it got to the point where he was apparently overcome with passion that he was yelling and waving his fist in the air in a rather violent manner. I'm pretty sure at this moment in time I was shrunken into the back corner of the cab, bug-eyed and with one finger on the door handle. The situation was further aggravated when we ran into a traffic jam due to - what else - a political demonstration in the street. What timing. Luckily for me, this extended the cab ride by about 15 minutes, 6 euros, and 10 more years of political history (accompanied by his own personalized commentary, of course).

The bitch. Female cab-drivers, like female 18-wheeler-drivers, are few and far between. I almost feel lucky when I have one... it's like seeing a comet that can only be seen from earth once every 284,000 years or going on a whale-watching expedition and seeing a rare albino orca whale. I don't know why an albino orca comes to mind... perhaps lasting effects from having recently seen DaVinci Code. Anyways, on this particular day (almost two weeks ago- as I was bringing a suitcase to Alfonso's) I was lugging aforementioned suitcase, that by the way weighed approximately the equivalent of a mastadon, across town and I sure as hell was not going via metro. I stood on the street corner beneath the 'Taxi' sign like an upstanding (non)citizen with my suitcase for a good 15 minutes to watch time and again as women finishing up a day of shopping snagged the few cabs that were passing by at that time of day 20 feet in front of said taxi sign. So, I dragged my mastodon suitcase to the other side of the street to try my luck there. Bam. Within two minutes I had a cab. With a woman! What luck! So I get the suitcase in the trunk, get in the back seat, and tell her where I'm going. She stares at me in the rearview mirror with dead eyes and informs me that I should have caught a cab going in the other direction. For a moment I actually thought she was going to make me get out. I explained the situation... I had waited for a really long time and people kept getting the cabs just ahead of me... to which she replied with a heavy sigh, a dramatic shift into first gear, and finally a 'Well I guess I'll just have to turrrrn arouuunnndd ughhhhh.' When we got to Alfonso's street I asked if she could pull to the left side of the road (it's one-way). She pulled to the right and stopped where there was no opening in the fence. Whatever. I got out, collected my belongings, and silently cursed her. Hey lady, just because you only have half of a thumb don't take it out on poor innocent moi.

The nice guy. These are my favorite cabbies. They indulge in pleasant conversations with their passenges. They don't, for example, yell at you when you get a cab going in the opposite direction from the one you're headed to. The nicest one I ever had was the one who started talking about how he didn't understand girls who wear really short skirts but then knee-high boots, combining two opposing seasons in the process. We laughed about other female clothing styles (something I like to do on a frequent basis anyway.. need I mention my daily observance of the Over-The-Top girl- a fellow Middlebury student- and her crazy belts, fish necklaces, hats, and yes, TIES).

The fanatic. When my family was here, we went to a soccer game. During that week, due to my mother's fractured ankle, we took taxi's everywhere. It was just a given. So obviously we weren't going to be going up and down flights of stairs and switching metro lines with thousands of boisterous, inebriated soccer fans. At least we didn't lug along the wheelchair (aka "Charlie") on this particular outing... that night I got to just get into the cab instead of leaning in to ask 'Can you open the trunk' first. Well, on this fine afternoon for a soccer game we happened to get a cab driver who by a stroke of luck turned out to be a soccer fanatic. First he was asking us all about soccer teams and which Madrid team we were fan of and if we'd ever been to a game before and if we knew the songs. We, needless to say, had not recently brushed up on our soccer songs... and as a result, he spent the rest of the cab ride singing and trying to teach us the songs for BOTH Madrid teams... which at first was funny and entertaining. But... after ten minutes it just grew uncomfortable and we were all shifting in our seats and smiling nervously.

So what is it that makes one cab driver an absolute beast but the next someone to whom you want to say 'Will you be my friend?'