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In a moment of personal crisis, how much help can you expect from a New York taxi driver? I began studying this question and found the answers interesting.
One morning I got into three different taxis and announced, “Well, it's my first day back in New York in seven years.I've been in prison.” Not a single driver replied, so I tried again.“Yeah, I shot a man in Reno.” I explained, hoping the driver would ask me why, but nobody asked.The only response came from a Ghanaian driver, “Reno? That is in Nevada?”
Taxi drivers were uniformly sympathetic when I said I'd just been fired.“This is America,” a Haitian driver said.“One door is closed.Another is open.” He argued against my plan to burn down my boss's house.A Pakistani driver even turned down a chance to profit from my loss of hope; he refused to take me to the middle of George Washington Bridge-a $20 trip.“Why you want to go there? Go home and relax.Don't worry.Take a new job.”
One very hot weekday in July, while wearing a red ski mask and holding a stuffed pillowcase with the word “BANK” on it, I tried calling a taxi five times outside different banks.The driver picked me up every time.My ride with a Haitian driver was typical of the superb assistance I received.
“Let's go across the park.” I said.“I just robbed the bank there.I got $25,000.”
“$25,000?” he asked.
“Yeah, you think it was wrong to take it?”
“No, man.I work 8 hours and I don't make almost $70.If I can do that, I do it too.”
As we approached 86th and Lexington, I pointed to the Chemical Bank.
“Hey, there's another bank,” I said, “Could you wait here a minute while I go inside?”
“No, I can't wait.Pay me now.” His reluctance may have something to do with money-taxi drivers think the rate for waiting time is too low-but I think he wanted me to learn that even a bank robber can't expect unconditional support.
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