Until this fall, I could count the number of taxi's I've hailed in my life. I have officially lost accuracy of goofy jumping expressions, arm flailing and intoxicated stumbles on a curb for the yellow submarines. In the midst of the (hopefully) short rides, I always manage to strike up a conversation with my lucky (20% tipper) driver. Most of it is small talk like, how is the night? What's the score of the Giants game? What is your name and where are you from? One driver hauling me from an interview to the next that I had 5 seconds to get to, informed me that no matter how bad a day may be- "it ain't as bad as that guys" (pointing to a homeless man screaming at a brick wall). This advice stuck with me.
But this weekend- a ride that left me mentally exhausted and emotionally confused. The cab driver came from the middle east in the 90's. He left behind his family and friends to make a living and decided within the first 10 years here that he wanted a middle eastern wife... so like all wants and needs- he ordered one.
His wife and him now have 4 children and he "sometimes talks to her when they must." There was no "dating" as we Americans call it. He did not choose a thing except for her arrival. I may have been riding the gin train but I could hear in each syllable this man's sadness. Not admitting to any further depression, he stated his life and wife are okay as the sedan continued to crawl along the dim streets.
As a young adult, more so female... this everyday occurring cultural process does not even come to mind as to where will I end up. Do I want my coffee hot or cold today? Do I prefer to walk or ride a bike to work? Do I give the last quarter in my pocket to this person or put my head down in ignorance?
I can't say I've ever looked at my left hand ring finger as a piece of ownership or real estate...
For some it is just a ride. For me, it is a 10 minute chance to learn more about the symphony called culture.
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