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When a cab driver asks you about your boyfriend, there is a narrow window of time in which you can answer before he starts to make assumptions. If you answer quickly enough in the affirmative. Always the affirmative. You know that coffee mug that you use compulsively every morning? And it is dependable, lovable, and quite the perfect companion in every way. The second you pause, however. He knows the truth. And then, well. All bets are off.
Earlier this week I took a cab to Queens to visit my parents. The cab driver, as per usual, was being kind of sketchy. At every red light, he would turn around and leer at me. I, in return, attempted to look very busy with my phone. Who knew that text messaging yourself could be so riveting!
Trying to determine, if I did have to jump, what the likelihood of me dying would be. Calculating the force with which I would hit the pavement and whether or not that would be enough to break a bone or, worse, my skull.
Only to be interrupted by his next question. My mind. All I wanted was to do something nice and surprise my parents and in return I am going to die. What to do. I smiled. Tried to brush the whole thing off. I mean he was old. Note to all of you cab drivers out there. It is NOT okay. And it makes us uncomfortable. Because we, as passengers, are essentially powerless. I was really working myself into a tither. But then I remembered something.