UK, Cabbies and WMDs

This just sent in my alert reader Johannah.

Once the British public learned their source on WMDs was an Iraqi taxi driver claiming to have overhead a conversation between two Iraqi army officers, cabbie knowledge (or in some cases, lack thereof) came to the fore.

So who's collect the UK's cabbie stories? The Guardian, that's who.

(At this point, I was going to post a photo of WMDs, but I balked. They're too scary, and I won't be responsible for your nightmares.)

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.)

Turkey Taxi Tales - Big Bottomed Girls

I scored this fab taxi story over the Thanksgiving turkey. And for those who would chide me for posting this so many days after the fact, I have one word -- tryptophancoma. Look it up in the dictionary.

As told by the headless woman holding up the fine bird: I was in a cab yesterday, and the driver started talking to me. He told me how his wife had gotten really fat over the past few years. As in 250 pounds fat. He didn’t know what to do about it.

His friends suggested he get his wife a job, so she’d walk around more and loose weight. So he got her a job working on the subways. But she’s still fat.

[TaxiCon: Yeah, nothing like working in the smelly, concrete, underground to make you feel like loosing weight.]

I even started complimenting other family members in front of her on their shapely figures, hoping it would encourage her to take off pounds.

[TaxiCon: What? You’re complimenting other Family Members on their bodies? In front of your wife? Hide the kitchen knives and rat poison! Also, please, please say you’re not related to these 'younger family members' by blood. Third cousins I can deal with, but that’s it. I’m looking at you, Woody Allen.]

We aren’t even having relations anymore. We haven’t in years. I’m telling you all this because I know I’m never going to see you again.

[TaxiCon: I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark here and say you're not 'having relations' with your wife because you keep telling her 15-year-old sister she looks hot. Just sayin'.]

Cab Crucible

Story, as told by Kaja Perina: My own most harrowing ride happened when a cabbie lacerated my arm by shutting the trunk on it back in Aug 2002. I still bear a large scar.

I was at LaGuardia Airport en route home from a psych conference. I was on one side of the trunk, the cabbie on the other. I threw my laptop into the trunk, and just as I was doing so the cabbie slammed down the trunk and the sharp edge lacerated my upper arm as I tried to pull away.

And it bled.

I bled all over his cab but refused to go the hospital. I wasn't thinking straight and weirdly just apologized for bleeding in his cab! (I was later told I should have gotten stitches.)

He kept apologizing and asking if I was okay, probably genuinely concerned and also concerned about a lawsuit. I thought about getting the medallion number but was in too much pain. Also, I had health insurance, so I figured why get the guy in trouble; it was clearly an accident.

(This photo shows you what Kaja's arm could have looked like, had she been less lucky.)

Baby Born in Cab -- Urban Legend Lives

An impatient baby girl was recently born in the back of a speeding cab.

According to the New York Post article, daddy helped deliver the baby in the backseat when the kid, named Alice Adeline Proctor, decided to pop out while the cab cruised from the Upper West Side to New York University's medical center.

The article said Mom was only in labor for two hours, which seems lucky, until you factor in the bit about giving birth in a cab, which doesn't really seem ideal. For anyone. I mean, people, there's not a lot of space back there for mom, dad and baby. And the clean-up had to be something else.

One of my favorite stories in Taxi Confidential involves a baby being born, but with a few added twists. For one, the parents -- a young Orthodox Jewish couple -- were incapacitated with panic, and the driver -- who delivered the baby -- was a kind Pakistani Muslim and a father of six.

(above photo Alice by Michelle Farsi)

Brian Lehrer Stories

This morning, I was on WNYC -- Brian Lehrer's famed New York public radio show.

And it was great. Not only because I idolize Brian Lehrer, but because three of my favorite cab drivers featured in my book called in.

Osman Chowdhury -- who found a suitcase of diamond rings in the trunk of his cab, and returned it to the owner, who had given him a measly 30 cent tip earlier that day.

Seth Goldman -- a New York born-and-bred cabbie who grew up idolizing comedic icon Mel Brooks, and wound up with the legend in his cab. (In fact, he took drove him to his hit Broadway show, The Producers.)

Davidson Garrett -- who's hair-raising tail includes three prostitutes, a john, a crowbar, and a brand-new cab.

New Yorkers called in to the radio show with their favorite stories:

One woman told how she had only a few minutes to get from the Upper West Side down towards Grand Central, how the cabbie peeled down the road, how they estimated her fare and made change before the cab even reached Grand Central, and then -- as she leap out of the cab -- he shouted after her 'Run baby run!'

Want to hear more? Listen to the podcast here.

When your driver just got out of jail

Passenger Story, by anonymous: It was 6 a.m., and I was catching a plane for a business trip. I live in Brooklyn, and you can’t find yellow cabs there, so I called a discount car service.

This driver seemed pleasant enough, and he was a talker.

"Wow, this is great,” the driver began. “I really needed this fare. Thanks man.”

I told him no problem, and told him I was heading to LaGuardia’s Delta terminal.

"Yeah, when dispatch called me to pick you up, I was pretty happy,” the driver continued. “I could use the money. I had a tough weekend."

My curiosity was piqued. "Oh, I’m sorry, what happened?” I asked, figuring he was going to share an amusing yarn in hopes of scoring a bigger tip.

“Well, I was in jail all weekend,” he said. “I just got released, like, an hour ago."

Um, okay. I probed further. “That’s too bad. What happened?"

"Well, the police found cocaine and some drugs in this car. But they weren't my drugs. I leant this car to my friend, and he must have put them in there."

Well shit.