|Manhattan cabs–Photo by May Michaely via Flickr|
My suburban life now consists of owning a house, driving a Volvo, choosing from a dozen great restaurants in my town, buying groceries once a week, and having an extremely civilized 37-minute commute on NJ Transit into Manhattan.
Besides having a stressful workday that involved scheduling FedEx to pick up a shipment from a DHL warehouse (you can imagine how much fun that was), I was running late for my doctor’s visit. My appointment was at 3:40 p.m., which was the time I left my job! The doctor’s office said: “If you don’t get here by 4 p.m., the doctor will leave.”
Avenue past Thirty-Seventh Street.
|I used my nifty taxi-hailing reflexes to get another cab—photo by NYC Gal via Flickr|
I looked in my wallet and counted $8. Darn! I knew this would cost about $10. Instead of getting out, I replied, “I’ll just have to use an ATM machine once we get there.”
He replied, “Well, if you try it later and it works, you pay me double. If it doesn’t work, you pay nothing!”
were finally heading through Central Park to the Upper East Side. “So is that why you don’t want to use the credit card machine? Because you won’t get the money?” I asked. He didn’t answer.
You just never know what you are getting yourself into when you jump into a New York City cab—a cheating meter, a maniac, or a sob story. I got lucky with this one. At least he realized the importance of my getting medical help over his extra cash.
|TAXI!!–photo by Roger Moffat via Flickr|