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PASSAGE 34 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. | 
