The Gabby Cabby

It’s autumn in New York. And yesterday, I was the backseat company of two different car-service drivers. The fellow chauffeuring me to my destination was quite loquacious and the other, chauffeuring me back home, absolutely mute. As a rule, I prefer the latter. Nevertheless, since I didn’t request a Marcel Marceau-type, I was at the mercy of an uber-gabby cabby who revealed to me—in our thirty minutes or so together—a considerable portion of his rather eventful life story. He was Dominican by heritage and has been an American citizen for decades. The man spoke fluent English and lived for a spell in Italy, where he mastered the art of cooking, specializing—naturally—in Italian cuisine.

Personally, I think it wise to avoid raising the specter of politics with perfect strangers. I was, nonetheless, a captive audience—an ear whether I liked it or not—trapped inside a fast-moving SUV. The gabby cabby complained that today’s immigrants aren’t of the caliber of past immigrants like himself. From his perspective, contemporary immigrants are addicted to government munificence and frivolously spend their money. Now, that’s painting with a pretty broad brush, I’d say. But I understand that people like to rant to an audience, even if it’s an audience of one. The gabby cabby wasn’t done with this point, citing the first round of stimulus checks as Exhibit A. He witnessed countless folks purchasing big-screen TVs and other luxury items with it. The gabby cabby, you see, believes in saving money for a rainy day—a rainy day that, he said, will come sooner rather than later to most. He might be on to something there.

Then gabby cabby then effortlessly transitioned to a recent news story of a machete attack in a Bronx bodega—an incident emblematic of the increasingly violent city at large. He blamed Mayor de Blasio for not supporting the NYPD. The gabby cabby spoke of storeowners buying handguns for protection. He dubbed the criminal element “parasites” worthy of the guillotine. I brought up the rising instances of drag racing on selected city streets and stretches of highways, which I see and hear 24/7 nowadays—startling loud revving engines and disconcerting backfires. The gabby cabby and I were in accord that—based on our observations—cops aren’t cracking down on these speed racers as they should. But, we agreed, that it’s understandable in light of how they have been demonized by the feckless city fathers and mothers over the last several months. The New York State Attorney General, by the way, recommended that police no longer arrest people during traffic stops, even if they have open warrants. Seems to me that the police will go them one better and avoid making any traffic stops at all—or, certainly, a lot fewer than in the past. I can thank my local politicians—where one is worse than the other—for this precipitous decline in the basic quality of life. The gabby cabby and I also concurred that our president has lost whatever marbles he may have once possessed. We are, too, waiting with bated breath for another stimulus check to save, of course, for that inevitable rainy day.

After my quiet return trip home—no politics, no anything—I contemplated whether or not to watch the evening’s vice presidential debate between Mike Pence and Kamala Harris. I gave in to the temptation—again—and tuned in to the spectacle. It was simultaneously painful and boring, with both candidates ignoring direct questions. A fly landed on the vice president’s head and chilled out in a blanket of white for a while, which was a welcome diversion. Watching Pence speak, though, of the president, as if he were a normal Republican and normal human being, was the painful part. But on strictly debating points, the vice president won going away. Harris’s performance was really, really bad, totally insincere from where I sat. Her pre-planned “I’m speaking now, okay?” responses to Pence interrupting her—which she knew he would do—were totally transparent. Of course the interruptions were dubbed sexism—yadda, yadda, yadda—by the predictable media talking heads. It seems to me—and I’ve watched countless political debates through the years—that candidates of both sexes and all races, ethnicities, and religions interrupt each other. It’s the nature of politicians and politics. It being 2020, of course, the idiotic woke chorus chimed in to further validate their idiocy. Actor Mark Ruffalo tweeted: “Just going over it all in my head. The way Mike Pence constantly interrupted and spoke over Kamala Harris was the prime example of white male supremacy and its common dismissal and disrespect for black woman.” As Captain Arthur Hastings would say, “Good lord!”

At the end of the day, the presidential race is about Trump versus Not Trump. Neither Kamala Harris’s disingenuous, pathetic performance nor Mike Pence’s defense of the indefensible will make much difference, I suspect. My vote’s already been cast for Not Trump. Alas, I cast my fate to the postal winds and am left to wonder if the gabby cabby’s path and mine will ever cross again.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)