ExposedNYC

In general, I’ve got pretty good karma. I’ve gotten lucky in drawings, raffles and such and I generally find the answers to crises of housing, employment, etc. just when I was ready to give up hope (and yes, I’m knocking on wood as I type this- shout out to the karma gods!).

But what I’ve discovered lately is that I have awful cab-ma. In the taxi universe I am slowly descending into the lowest possible caste, and I’m afraid the one I’m going to end up in involves plaster and a full-body.

Living in New York City definitely ups the probability of a crazy cabbie story. I’ve been in the backseat during a completely unintentional 360 degree turn in the snow and continued driving unharmed. I’ve even had a driver go out of his way to return a lost cell phone. As sort of a sacrificial offering and solidarity with the service industry, I have a habit of over-tipping.

But something lately has changed.

I went to see a show at The Knitting Factory- a fairly well known music venue- the other night. After telling the driver the name and address of the club, he was still perplexed but I just told him to drive while I called information to get more specifics. I followed up my instructions with the cross streets and that it was just below Canal Street.

Then this guy broke the mold of every stand up comedian in the country and, after making a few wrong turns, pulled over to ask directions at a deli! He suggested that we were close and that I get out and walk, but I held firm to my initial suggestion that we would find the place together. Finally, upon arrival, I paid the man his (full) fee, tipped moderately, and chalked one up to his having a bad day.

Three days later I’m rushing from one engagement to another during peak theater traffic hours and decide to try my luck again. I flagged one down, hopped in, and after three blocks of crawling along in gridlock suggested a side street to speed up the process.

Backseat driver backlash shows up five minutes later when the driver had engine trouble, had to pull over on the West Side Highway and left me strolling down the street in heels.

I’ll be spending Sunday on my knees doing one hundred Hail Cabbies at an alter of air fresheners.

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