Want to know what it was like to drive a cab in New York City in 1945? Ask Johnny "Spider" Footman -- he's still doing it.
Quote of the Week: "They had sex in the back [seats] in the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s,” he recalled with a twinkle in his eye. “The cabs were a lot bigger then."
H/T: New York Post
Why have a career and pay for a gym membership, when I can have two-in-one?
Crossing the street seems like such a simple thing. But I've quickly discovered in New York there's an additional subtle dance you go through as you're clicking off street after street heading northbound, or if you're plodding across the avenues heading east to west.
Given the frenetic pace of the average New Yorker, a leisurely stroll from point A to point B isn't on the menu. You've got to get there. Because you're running late. Even if it's two hours before your next appointment, you still have to ping off the blocks at high speed because you're running late.
So do you walk down the block. Stop at the "Don't Walk" signal and wait for it to change? Nooooooo. Why? Because you're a friggin New Yorker, that's why.
So here's the dance: You get to the corner. You check the signal. If it's got a "Walk" sign, you walk. If it's got a "Don't Walk" sign blinking, signaling that cars may start barreling down on you in seconds, you still walk. Maybe 0.3 mph faster. Maybe not. Think New Yorkers follow instructions, like those on the sign below? Don't you believe it.
"Don't Walk" signal is illuminated? You take a quick glance either left or right -- most streets are one-way, and after a while by instinct you know which way to cock your head to check for oncoming traffic -- then you walk. And this is an important technique that separates the amateur crossers-against-the-light from the true professional artists: You never make eye contact with any oncoming drivers.
Does that mean if you are crossing against the light and screw up that the cars will stop for you? That's as likely to happen as the General Lee not landing a slow-motion jump. For cab drivers, catching arrogant pedestrians in the middle of the street when you've got a green light is like dove hunting. It's their sport, and they'll be chatting with their buddies for weeks about the one that tried to get away, but you lined them up in your sights and plugged them. Or if you're lucky, they'll stop short by 2 inches and then lay on their horn with the rage of the justified.
I haven't mastered these techniques yet, but I figure if I can manage to work my way across a dairy pasture without getting my boots knee-deep in something that's not mud, I can learn this crosswalk do-see-do. Make sure to keep checking out ManhattanHillbilly. If I don't post in a week, you'll know the cabbies got me.
Recent Comments