While I spent the majority of the week leading up to my first solo business trip essentially panicking about having to present to major clients, I was pleasantly surprised to find that traveling for free has its own set of rewards – most of which came in the form of my taxi drivers and unlimited Cajun mix from airport news stands.
In NYC, most cab drivers are completely uninterested in acknowledging your existence. You climb in, shout a cross street through the glass partition, and hold on for dear life as Bin Laden’s cousin drives you feverishly through the streets of Manhattan. Living in NYC, I’m completely used to this and think absolutely nothing of it. Which is why I was caught by surprise when every single one of my cab drivers in St Louis and Madison, Wisconsin struck up a conversation with me. In fact, I’ve grown so accustomed to enjoying a quiet cab ride by myself, that I had no idea how to react when confronted with the foreign notion of friendliness. Really, what struck me the most was how personal each one of them got with me. I’m not sure if it’s my appearance that lends itself to talking and opening up, but I highly doubt it seeing as how I haven’t been on a date in months and most people tend to run far, far away from me. In fact, each cab ride felt like a mini date to me. No better or no worse than actual dates I’ve been on with complete strangers.
Driver #1 – St Louis: His name was Frank. He was 65 years old, divorced 3 times, remarried now complete with a mistress and 6 children from 2 marriages. He spoke with a twang and reminded me of an elderly man that would have multiple sets of grandchildren, sending each one a thoughtful Birthday card with a check for $10 and a pack of cigarettes. His demeanor seemed soft-spoken, yet that quickly changed as soon as I climbed into his cab and got an earful about his life. “That third wife of mine was a real cunt – she cheated on me 3 times with my neighbor. That son of a bitch was a cripple too, so that tells you how much of a whore she was.“ Being that it was 9am and I was on my way to meet with clients, I had no idea how to properly process what was occurring. In all of 10 minutes, I had learned the lineage of Frank’s family as well as the fact that his first love (aka first wife) was a sex addict who could smoke a cigarette from her vagina. Yum.
Driver #2 – Madison, Wisconsin: This fiery red-head was named Sandy. As I emerged from the hotel lobby, I spotted her with a cigarette hanging from her mouth and the passenger door of the minivan open and waiting for me. “How ya doin today?” she asked, in a thick Midwest accent. “Fine.” I replied, half asleep at 8am. Just as I climbed in the car, Sandy made a wide U-Turn as I began closing the door and I nearly fell out. “Well Gash Fuck it, I thought you were in the van already! Sorry ‘bout dat!” The last way I would have expected to die was falling out of a minivan at 8am in Madison, Wisconsin. “Oh no problem, I don’t really need my legs anyway” I replied sarcastically. Just as I finished the sentence, I heard the horn blaring and glanced out the window to see a middle-aged woman in a motorized wheelchair darting for her life and out of Sandy’s way. “Dat bitch should use the sidewalk! The road is for cars and I don’t give a hoot who you are!”
As we barreled down the main street Sandy continued telling me stories about her years as a cab driver. “One time dis fat gross motherfucker offered me 50 bucks to touch my shoulder. And you know, I ain’t someone to turn down free money so I let him. But then he tried to grab my tit, so I stabbed him with a pen.”
As abruptly as she recounted stories of “cocksuckers” and “scumbags”, she switched to talking about her son, who was entering the 6th grade.
“He’s just soooo great, and a real ladies man. Gash did you know kids are startin’ to get naked with one another younger and younger these days!? Seems like all of Jake’s friends are knocked up!”
And with that, I thanked her, gave her a hefty tip for entertaining me, and made my way into a client meeting wearing a suit that now smelled of Sandy’s Newport Cigarettes.
Driver #3 – Madison, Wisconsin: When Carl pulled up in the pouring rain to take me to the airport, I thought he had just woken up from a nap. We pulled onto the highway and I caught a glimpse of him sniffing his shirt. “Oh ya, my cat definitely slept on top of this shirt last night. Maybe did a little more than slept” he said, as he looked in the rearview mirror at me and casually winked. I’m not exactly sure how the topic of Sandy came about, but it seems in a small town like Madison, most cab drivers know one another.
“Oh yeah, dat dere is Sandy. She’s a real pistol”. No kidding.
“You know, I gotta give it to her, she’s done real good since her days as a meth head and crack dealer. “
As we continued towards the airport, Carl told me that Sandy used to be heavily into crack and meth, but then sobered up for her kids and has been a cab driver ever since.
In a thick Midwest accent, Carl continued , “And you know, she has 2 kids and one of them is a reeeeal fuickin genius. I mean he’s the smartest person I ever met. Like some type of trilogy.” I knew Carl meant to say ‘Prodigy’, but I gave him a free pass.
It was when he started talking about the long-lived and often times loud sex life of his two cats that I began to tune out. The last thing I really remember before grabbing my bag and heading into the airport was Carl telling me, “You know, sometimes it’s hard to compete with those two cats. If my girlfriend and I are doin’ it at the same time as them, it sounds like we’re runnin' a Gad Damn brothel in Tijuana. Anywhoo, have a safe trip!”
When I got back to New York, I climbed into a cab half-expecting another wholesome conversation all the way back to my apartment. Instead I climbed in, locked eyes with Sanjay the cab driver, and gave him my address. With nothing more than four words, he replied “$65. Not including Tip.” And as we pulled away, he continued screaming into his Bluetooth in Hindi. I sank further into my seat, laid my head back, and thought It’s good to be back.
