Nigeria, the World Cup, and Why Brewfest Sucked

Yesterday afternoon, we got lost on our way to Brewfest on Governors Island. Or rather, we thought we knew where we were going, and wouldn't you know it, we didn't have a clue.

Go figure.

So once we realized we were 4 hours late and on the wrong side of Manhattan, we ditched our walking shoes and hailed a cab.

Our cabbie, Andrew, who was from Nigeria, clearly owned his cab, as it was decorated in all manners with the Nigerian flag. He had the Nigerian flag on the the head rests, and one hanging from the partition.

Awesomely, he was listening to Alan Jackson, which is the first time I've ever had a cab driver listening to American country music. (For those who don't take cabs or live in NYC, most cabbies listen to talk radio, dance music, or music from the motherland.)

But that's beside the point. The point, these days, is the World Cup. So I asked him if Nigeria would be able to advance. He said sure, but only if they scored 4 goals against South Korea. Then he laughed. And I laughed. Because really -- who scores four goals in one game in the World Cup? (Sure, Germany did last week in it's trouncing of New Zealand, but hey, who's counting).

We laughed a bit more, I wished him luck, and then we hopped on the ferry to Governor's Island, only to realize that we totally missed Brewfest, so we headed to the other side of the island, where a crowd of people were gathering for a free concert headlined by Morning Benders instead.

The Happy Cabbie, again and again

My friend Michael called me last night – he was reading Taxi Confidential in bed, which is the biggest compliment ever! – to tell me that he had personally ridden in the Happy Cabbie’s taxi twice. That’s two times for you people who have problems counting.

Also, thanks to pervasive Facebook status updates, he saw that another of his friends had snagged a ride with the Happy Cabbie last week.

No idea what I’m talking about? Read the book! (Specifically the Red Light District story.) Here’s a hint – the Happy Cabbie strings his cab with lights, digs good music, and genuinely wants everyone to be happy. Basically, he spreads good cheer with a shovel.

Michael first met him four years ago. In Michael’s own words:

“I was in the front seat, three were in the backseat, we were wasted. It was like a disco. A crazy disco. I don’t know if the music was great because we were wasted, but it was great Indian techno. Every couple of blocks [the cabbie] would turn it down and say, “I’m the happy cabbie!” He’d give us bits of advice about life. The windows were down, and we were just jamming, flying up Fifth Ave.”

Then two years later in Chelsea, Michael got into the Happy Cabbie’s cab again. And once again, he was in the front seat, three guys were in the backseat. And and the cabbie looked at each other – “it felt like seeing a long lost friend after 10 years,” Michael said – there was a moment of stillness, and then recognition.

“It’s the Happy Cabbie,” Michael exclaimed.

“It’s you!” the Happy Cabbie said at the same time.

(Above is a photo of Michael, looking hot.)

Flawless manners, or, was he flirting?

I was waiting on the corner of Delancey and Chrystie when the guy beside me turned and asked, “Are you trying to get a cab? Because I don’t want to cut in front of you if you are.”

I kinda melted. I mean, can you get any nicer?

That was the only time anyone ever asked me that. I have much more experience with people jumping in front of me to grab a cab I hailed, stealing it out from under me. In the rain. Or in the snow. Or when impractical footwear was mangling my toes. Bastards.

Clearly, I thanked the man profusely.

Which brings us to the unspoken etiquette of cab hails:

• If someone near you has their hand up for a cab, stepping only 6 feet away to hail one makes you an inconsiderate dick.
• However, going across the street or down a full block to find a cab is acceptable.
• If someone steps in front of you and claims what would have been your cab, you are within your rights to call them out. You may also shove your way into the cab with them. Someone needs to learn a lesson, after all. (Let’s just hope it’s not you.)

This is a pic of the intersection in question. The intersection of pleasantness.