The Passenger Seat

I have some thoughts about living life passively, which I tend to think of as sitting in the passenger seat just watching everything happen. But today I had a literal passenger seat experience that made me think twice about this analogy. On my way across town, I got into a taxi, newspaper under my arm, and told the driver my destination. Like many New Yorkers, for some reason the only time I don't even think about putting on a seatbelt is in a cab, perhaps the single most unsafe mode of transportation. When I sat down and the driver turned back to me, lit cigarette in his mouth, and asked if I minded if he smoked, I didn't think anything of it. 'Sure,' I said magnanimously, and then threw in an 'of course,' just to show him that I'm down. He smiled, dragging deeply on his cigarette, adding charmingly, 'How about if I drink?' Hilarious.  He went on: 'Oh I'm just kidding, no drinking. No drinking for me anymore. I haven't had a drink in three...no four, four hours.'

As often happens in a situation like this, I found myself trapped. Trying to buckle up as discreetly as possible, I sat quietly and pretended to be amused by the litany of drunken driving stories that followed, including a New Years' Eve 'lucky turn' as he sped directly toward the Flatiron building, and something unintelligible about David Letterman. It was at this point in his story that he intentionally cut off an Audi to our right, 'just to show her not to get too close,' shouting back at the terrified driver, 'No, no, it's you that is mother fucker!'

'Oh you know what, this corner is fine. I can just walk the rest of the way.'