I’m riding in the back of a cab coming home. It’s an uneventful trip. Out of seemingly nowhere, my cab gets cut off by another cab. My driver loses it. Honking at the guy, screaming at him. Usually, you’d get a little nervous at this. For some reason, I reacted differently.
For some reason, I rallied to this guy’s defense. “Screw that guy!” I yelled, in support of my newfound…friend, I guess? Why the hell am I backing this guy? Just because he happened to pick me up, now I’m Team Our Cab?
Why did I pick this one time to engage with a cab driver, the time one gets unconscionably angry? Why didn’t I stick to my usual routine of mumbling something about traffic, or the weather, then hoping he’s tuckered out on conversation so I can stick my headphones in? Instead I’ve inserted myself in a Cab vs. Cab skirmish that, hello, I have NO IDEA how it’s going to end. I mean these guys could pull over and play Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Tire-Irons.
Depending on the outcome, I could be an accessory. That’s going to be an embarrassing interogation at the police station. “So how do you know the perpetrator?” “He uh…he was my cab driver.” “No we realize he was a cab driver, but where did you meet him? Were you friends, cousins, or…?” “No…we actually met when he picked me up in his cab.” “So wait, you just got into a fight to defend him because you were in his cab? Paul, let this guy go. He’s too stupid to put in prison.”
He could be a raving lunatic for all I know. All I know about him is that he has a driver’s license and he hates being cut off. Any other detail about his life is on the table. “Sure, he has a long rap sheet, and the other guy is an exemplary citizen, but in this particular instance my driver was right and the other guy was wrong! Plus, this guy did have the foresight to pick up myself, aka the best passenger ever.”
Will my support of him end with this little example of road rage, or will my support embolden him? “Hey man, you seem like a guy I can count on if stuff goes haywire…you want to pay a visit to my sister’s boyfriend’s house? He’s been treating her bad and I want to teach him some manners the old fashioned way!” Next thing you know I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of an idling cab outside some jerk’s apartment while I wait for this guy to hope in our makeshift getaway car.
Or maybe he decides he likes fighting other taxi driver’s so much, he starts a Taxi Fight Club. He and other taxi drivers get together in dimly lit basements to fist fight each other so they can feel alive. Worst thing is because I know about the plan he forces me to join. I’m too far in. Of course that means I have to get ripped, become a taxi driver, and start getting in weekly fist fights with other taxi drivers. Three things I’ve never budgeted when scheduling my weeks.
These are all reasons why I never talk to my cab drivers. No offense to all of you, I just don’t have time to get involved in your fight clubs.