Fun with cabbies

Gasp! She's not dead!
Nope. I was just wandering randomly amidst the bricks on the Close, pondering the nature of my soul and divinity. Far too busy with heavenly things to worry about such prosaic things such as posting to a silly blog. Ha!
Or more like I was away at my Diocesan Council meeting (Motto: Proudly pathological since 1607, but we are so damn nice.) And then I got snowed in. Because the one time I try to leave NYC, we get record-breaking snowfalls. Clearly, God finds this amusing. Clearly. And then I had to spend the last 2 weeks getting caught up and sane again. Council will take it out of you, and then falling behind will too.
But it's not like I didn't have a good time. I got to see all my friends from SoVa, whom I love dearly. I got to corrupt innocent minors, in grand Brutonian clerical Council tradition, or at least try to. I got to get completely bitch-slapped by my retiring bishop, along with the rest of the Diocese, and when his farewell address is posted, I shall link to it. Because everyone should really know what it feels like to get whacked with the crozier once in a while. It's a special feeling. ;)
But really, the highlight for me were the cab rides to and from La Guardia Airport. Now, despite what you might have seen on Sex and the City, not all New York residents take cabs. Only the rich ones do. Which definitely excludes me. The only time I take a cab is when I'm desperately late for something, or going to La Guardia.
The other possible exception is when my grandmother is in town, and convinced that my walking 5 blocks will get me raped, mugged, and pillaged. Then I take the $40 she hands me and take the cab 2 blocks, and walk the rest of the way. This is how I afford coffee for the next 2 weeks. She's sweet, but old, is my Naw Naw.
Anyway, this trip involved 2 fun cab drives. Drive #1 was at 7am in the morning, which is not a time that God wants me to be awake. However, I woke up quickly when the two cars ahead of my cab decided to merge into each other on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. The cabbie swerved, and we avoided the collision, but rather than thanking his appropriate deity and moving on, the cabdriver slowed down, and opened his window as he pulled alongside the wreck. He leaned all the way out of the car as he pointed and yelled at the now-damaged mini-van, "HE WAS WRONG! HE WAS WRONG!" After ever-so-helpfully pointing this out several times at a high volume, the driver sped up, and off we went, as he continued his monologue to me, about how the drivers in America were crazy, and would kill us all. I sat motionless and crouched down low, sure that the driver of the mini-van would come back to shoot up the cab, full of early morning road-rage. Do you want to point out that someone was wrong in the middle of a highway? Is this a wise move, especially in the middle of New York City, and most crucially, do you want to do this while the meter is still running? Because, if you die, it is important not to be charged for it.
Which brings us to Cab Ride #2. After finally making my way back to NYC, a day later than anticipated, due to massive (27.9 inches!) amounts of snow, I waited in line for a cab for an hour. Outside. In the Cold. the Bitter. Bitter. Cold. When I finally got a cab, he didn't know where he was going in Manhattan, which I found upsetting. (It's a grid! My address is an intersection of 2 numbered streets! How hard is this?!) Then there was traffic. Then the toll was higher because we took a different bridge. So when we finally got back to Manhattan, I was disgruntled already, on top of my tiredness and annoyance. And also, I should point out that in the city, there is no place to plow 3 feet of snow. It just makes the streets slushy and narrow, and the traffic worse. So my driver was agitated and cursing the traffic in several varied and intriguing languages, which I find fascinating now, but not so much at the time. Then, he decided to turn left. Unfortunately, this was highly illegal, which he figured out about a second after he completed the turn, and a second before he noticed the police behind him.
Now faced with a situation that would test the mettle of any professional driver, my driver promptly buckled. He panicked. He floored the gas, and tried to outrun the police. All the while cursing the government, the law enforcement, and the traffic, and that's only the stuff that I could follow in English. We slipped and slid for a while until he determined that the coast was clear, and I had determined that cabbies truly were sent from the devil to test my nausea tolerance. And again, this poses the question: If you are going to die while trying to evade police capture in a high-speed chase in a snowbank, shouldn't you turn off the meter? Food for thought.
I made it to my destination safely, and now I am safely home from my travels. Until spring break, that is, when I will be heading back to Pa, for a time. Possibly down to Richmond, as well. The lesson I have taken from all of this is: public transit is the way to go. Seriously. Screw cabs. The subway is my friend. Sitting there, with my iPod playing chirpy Arabic pop music, all is right with the world. Now if only I could convince people that I'm not crazy when I dance along....
Edited to add: Did I say Arabic pop? I meant that I play 'Let the Eagle Soar!' Also I enjoy most Toby Keith songs! Alberto Gonzales, you're dreamy! :)