It bothers me when people berate cab drivers. In New York, the city would slam to a stop without these people who sit behind the wheel twelve hours a day and take you where you need to go. Critics say they drive like maniacs, they don’t know where they’re going, they’re always trying to scam passengers, and they don’t want to go to Brooklyn or Queens.
Back in the day, when I was devoid of both driver’s license and car, Butch would wait for me when I got off the commuter rail train in the bowels of Lawrence, Massachusetts. It was not a part of town where a young woman should be alone. Rarely did a cop bother to show up when the train came in. I was often asked if I was “selling” when attempting to cross the bridge over the Merrimack to the desolate downtown, where I could save two dollars on a taxi cab. That’s when I began hopping into Butch’s taxi. Continue reading