When my co-adventurers and I hopped into Troy's back seat yesterday, he told us "you're not gonna get rich driving a cab." And that his girlfriend of 18 years had just left him "because I wouldn't get married." Though he'd just finished drowning his sorrows in soul food, he ended up leading us to
Coming up: a taxi adventure with two of the most impressive travelers I know. Plus, a bit of light from the driver's seat in the form of sunny dispatchers, cool street vendors, good bagels and New Yorkers just being themselves.
You can learn a lot about a person by eavesdropping on their cell phone calls. And when someone initiates a chain of calls from the back seat of my cab, I feel no shame about listening in. I may be invisible to some of my passengers, but they're never invisible to me.
During my last shift, I learned two lessons that are going to be burned on my brain for as long as I’m driving a cab: 1. Never, ever, order an iced coffee 2. Never, ever pick up anyone going to JFK after 3pm and expect to return your cab to the garage on time.
I was a little alarmed when I walked into Little Morocco on Friday and saw that every single chair was empty. Wasn’t this cabbie Hossam’s go-to spot for couscous? Hadn’t he told me to make sure I got there early in case they ran out?
About halfway through my ride with Hossam from Spanish Harlem to Midtown, I asked him what inspired him to leave Egypt.
"I hate it," he said.
"What do you hate about it?" I said.
"Why is that important?" he said, "What does that have to do with Taxi Gourmet?"