Taxi-Talk

What an odd morning it has been. I had a very strange dream last night. It was probably a series of dreams all smashed together, but I woke up with it still lingering all around me. Maybe I'll post about that in a few minutes...

First I want to tell you about my trip to work. I spent my last few dollars taking a cab to get here. As usual, I was running late, and this morning I had to photocopy study sheets for my students. Despite my recent efforts to limit my spending, there were no other options to get me here in under 40 minutes.

I frequently attract attention from cab-drivers, although I'm not sure why. I'd say that about 70% of the time that I'm travelling alone, the driver will strike up a conversation with me. Sometimes it's to hit on me, but more often it's just to make conversation. I had an odd chat with my cab driver this morning--an older man who turned out to be quite a character!

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It started off when he announced to me that he was a Marine. Very proud of the fact, he was still wearing his tags.

"We have a birthday coming up on November 10th," he said.

"Well, Happy Birthday," I replied.

"Not my birthday! The Marine's birthday!"

He asked me what I did for a living. I told him that I studied and taught history.

"Did you know that the Marines are actually older than the country itself?" he asked.

"Really?"

"Yep. The Marines were founded in 1775!"

"Wow..."

I was trying to read through some papers, but finally decided it was futile. This guy really wanted to talk.

"How long were you in the Marines for?"

"Three years. And I'm lucky I didn't get killed!"

"When was that?"

"Do you remember the Gulf of Tonkin? I was just dropped in there with a bunch of other guys. It was hell. Very unpopular war. A lot like this one. Do you remember that? Nah! Probably not. You were probably just a little girl then..."

"Um, I don't think I was born yet."

A little girl then? That happened in 1964. My mother was only 18 then! How old do I look??? Anyway, the cab-driver asked me where I grew up.

"Long Island."

"Hey! I live out there. Do you know Kitchen Cabaret?"

"Sure..."

"I was just there. We got pulled over for speeding that day. It was embarassing. I mean, everyone knows a Marine doesn't get a ticket, but to get pulled over..."

He went on to tell me about a great steak sandwich he ate there last week.

"Speaking of steak," he said, "PJ Clark's--the steakhouse right near where I picked you up? Half owned by Steinbrenner of the Yankees and half owned by a Marine. Steinbrenner lets all of us in uniform into Yankee Stadium for free. You can eat and drink as much as you want for free too. They don't tell you that, though."

"Yeah, I've never heard that..."

"I used to live in the city, too," he went on, "Down on Sullivan Street. Do you know why it's called Sullivan Street?"

"No. Why?"

"Named for Washington's generals. They all are--Macdougal, Sullivan, Thompson, Wooster, Greene, Mercer..."

"Wow. I never knew that."

"Yeah, when I lived there I was thinking about it and it was funny. I just wanted to know, so I looked it up in the city's municipal archives. And the arch in Washington Square Park? The old wooden one is still inside the new one!"

"Really?"

I find that hard to believe.

"I used to live down there back when it was ruled by the Genovese crime family! The old Italian days! Yeah... I used to give them a hard time, alright. 'Why isn't it called 'Russo' or 'Caruso' Street,' I would ask. How's that? Are you guys ruled by the Irish?"

I laughed.

"Yeah, they would ask if I was looking for trouble," he said. "But they knew I had the silver star, so they left me alone. They respected that."

Then somehow he got back on the topic of food.

"I can't believe you haven't been to PJ Clark's. Great steakhouse, right in your neighborhood! What about the Palm? Best Lobster in the entire world at the Palm! And I know lobster!"

"Yeah, my friend was just telling me how good the lobster is there," I said. (Indeed, NDN had been singing it's praises).

"They fly it in from Maine. So fresh. It's the best anywhere, and I've been around and tried a lot of lobster."

"Wow..."

"You know what the secret is?"

"No. What?"

"See, I had the chef from the Palm in my cab and he told me. Normally, before you drop a live lobster into boiling water, it freaks out--it tenses up. It knows what's coming. Not gonna stay tender that way, right? So what they do is they swish it around in some wine first... Nice dry white wine. They relax it-- keeps it tender. Then they drop it in the water, and then leave it for exactly four minutes. Exactly four. Gotta time it."

"Alcohol and lobsters? So there's some lobster psychology involved?"

He didn't answer that. He just kept going on.

"You wanna know what else is great in your neighborhood? The Oyster Bar at Grand Central. They've got the best muscles. I got a linguine dish there once --sea scallops, clams, muscles. The freshest!"

"Those places are kind of pricey for me, I guess."

"It doesn't have to be so expensive if you go for lunch."

"Or the UN! Have you tried the UN?"

This guy was on a role.

"Where can you eat at the UN? Isn't it closed to the public?"

"Nah! There's one place open--this place called the Delegates Lounge. It's open to the public and what they do is they pick a country--they do eight countries a year."

"And?"

"Well, they have a buffet--all the dishes from that country. It's a real feast. It's like they want to entice you to go there. I went to Italy-day. From 12:30 to 5:00 we ate everything and it only cost $19.00! From all the different regions, you know? I tried to go on France-day, but it was mobbed."

(I looked this up online, and can't figure out what he's talking about. As far as I know, there are no restaurants open to the public. Maybe he went a really long time ago).

"C'mon, kid! You really gotta get out more in your own neighborhood!"

Anyway, then he started going off on the French, complaining that they weren't grateful enough that we lost 60,000 men there in World War II. I had no answer for that. I mean, what's there to say to someone who talks that way? And then he started grumbling about the traffic, calling one driver a "meshugganah" (which is basically Yiddish for "crazy") and then yelled at another driver "vaffanculo" (which as far as I know is Italian for "go fuck yourself.") I have no idea what his ethnicity is, but this man was proving himself to be a consummate New Yorker.

By the time we got to the school where I teach, he was sorry to see me go. He told me to have a "beautiful day" and "God bless."

"Would that there were more nice young ladies in the world, like you," he said. "We'd all be saved a hell of a lotta problems!"

Um, yeah...right. I thanked him and paid and was on my way.
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So that's my story. All in all, it was an interesting way to start the day...