A New York cab ride, Part 3432.

I had one of those cab rides this morning, of the sort that make New York New York.

Because I take a shared car to and from work, I sit in the front seat whenever it is available. It means I don't have to scoot over when someone else needs to get in or get out. 

This morning, I got the front seat of the new car of choice for New York's ride shares--a Mercedes Metris, which comfortably sits eight, and I'm told gets close to 20 miles per gallon--doubly the mpgs attained by the once pre-eminent Chevy Suburban.

We headed south on East End Avenue, and before we merged onto the FDR Drive, I felt a gentle tapping on my left thigh.

"Excuse me," the driver said. "What is that music you're listening to?"

I figured it was too loud, even through my headphones.

"Eh, some jazz," I mumbled.

He handed me an adaptor. "Do you mind if I listen to it, too," he asked. "That's pretty smooth."

I put on "Watermelon Man" by Quincey Jones on his sound system.

"Yeah, that's good," he said navigating through what seemed like a presidential eruption of cop cars and holiday traffic all before 8AM on the East Side. "It's smooth," he said.

"Do you know Booker T and the MGs," I asked. I shuffled and found the song.

"Yeah, I could listen to this all day," he said. "It's classy." We drove a half block and he put out his hand. "I'm Abdul," he said.

"George," as I shook his hand.

The cops had for whatever reason blocked all West bound traffic at 7th Avenue and we drove down to 39th Street looking for an opening. Finally, I got out of the cab at 37th Street and hoofed it to work. 

Listening to a little Tiny Grimes on the mile in.

--
BTW, the Times tells me a man set off a bomb at the subway station at 8th Avenue and 42nd Street this morning. The reason for the nuttiness of my commute and the reason I was able to share so many tunes with my driver, Abdul.

Blast.