|
Taxi Riding In a moment of personal crisis， how much help can you expect from a New York taxi driver? I began studying this question after watching the Taxicab Confessions， a series of documentaries in which hidden cameras record the secrets of unsuspecting taxi riders. I found the results varied. One morning I got into three different taxis and announced： Well， its my first day back in New York in seven years. Ive 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， so I could say casually， Just to watch him die. But nobody asked. The only response came from a Ghanaian driver： Reno? That is in Nevada? Taxi drivers were uniformly sympathetic when I said Id 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 bosss house： If you do something silly and they put you away， you cannot look for another job. A Pakistani driver even turned down a chance to profit from my loss of hope： he refused to take me to the middle of the George Washington Bridge， a $20 trip. Why you want to go there? Go home and relax. Dont worry. Take a new job. One very hot weekday in July， while wearing a red ski mask and holding a stuffed pillowcase with the work BANK on it， I tried hailing a taxi five times outside different banks. The driver picked me up every time. My ride with Guy-Caaude Thevenain， a Haitian driver， was typical of the superb assistance I received. | 
