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Astoria, Queens

West Midtown, near Penn Station

Hell's Kitchen

Chelsea

Harlem

Chelsea

Greenwich Village

Midtown

Shots from 7/27/08

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Tudor City and The United Nations

SoHo

Shots from 8/9/08

Hybrids vs. Big Taxi

For several years now hybrids have been proving their safety and reliability to the public not only as private cars, but as taxis. One of the few things the mayor has done right was buckling down on both the taxi and private for hire business. I posted a piece over at YellowCabNYC.com.

Stay tuned over at YellowCabNYC, I'll be publishing pictures and stories over there too, while also publishing over here at NYCtaxiphoto.blogspot.com

YellowCabNYC.com is a great source for current news relating to the world of NYC taxi, and I'm glad to be a part of it. I'll make sure NYC taxi photo continues to be as awesome as it always has been as well.

Nissan Altima hybrid taxi

Shift Shots

The Strand Theatre, Brooklyn Academy of Music, Fort Greene, Brooklyn

Times Square

Sometimes the police have scheduled times and locations where a few precincts show up at once and park their cars everywhere. The woman in front of the car didn't realize he was parking.

Shots from 7/26/08

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Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Chelsea

Sunnyside, Queens

Far West Side

Shots from 7/6/08

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Chelsea

Sunnyside, Queens

Far West Side

Shots from 7/5/08

Problems With Wine And Cheese:

I usually don't talk about what happens outside of work, but I feel I need to vent. As I was posting my last blog post at the Apple Store yesterday, it seemed I was running into a bit of luck because a few photographers were going to show their work and talk about some of their pictures. What are the odds, I didn't even have to get out of my seat to see some fine photography. 

The first photographer shows his work for about 45 minutes; it was all documentary work. I was stunned by the high quality I was seeing. So after he was done his whole spiel about humanity, and respect to his subjects, about marketing aggressively, I decided I would tell him about my spectacular blog. First I would write my name and email down on his contact list, then I would talk to him and hand him my card. While I signed my name and email, my hand was shaking and my penmanship was just awful due to the previous coffee I'd had. I made sure to control my hand writing, a man on my right encouraged me to write faster, then encouraged me to take his card rather than waste time writing my name on the list, "What are you writing, an essay?" he asked. I had no time to look up because I was engrossed in tunnel vision, then I continued to write my Url down too, because honestly I had no interest in receiving junk mail, I'd rather have more people view my site.

I was completely unfazed by this asshole, and so I continued to the other end of the table where I thought the photographer would be. Well, guess what? that asshole was the photographer, and when I returned to the contact list he had written under my name, only write your name and email address. 

The fact of the matter is that he'd have been pissed at me no matter what I'd written on that list. He had seen me as unimportant, a pee-on, less then worthy of his 35 cent paper. And for that Landon Nordeman, you are scum, and I will neither support you nor the APA.

Shift Shots

Sunnyside, Queens

Astoria, Queens

Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Shots also from 6/29/08

Shift Shots

Sunnyside, Queens

Greenpoint, Brooklyn

Gravesend, Brooklyn

Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Shots from 6/29/08

Lucky breaks with tickets (3 of 3)

-Situation number three:
In the previous situation a cabbie would receive a double-parking ticket for waiting in a moving lane without picking up or dropping off people. However, if a cab dropped off a fare and still received a double-parking ticket, would this be fair? The answer to this question depends on small technicalities, but here’s my story:

After an earlier nasty customer and the added waste of time I spent going to the airport and waiting there, soggy day turned sour post, I looked for an easy ride, something short, preferably not involving Manhattan, and I was really excited to get just that.

The Short Ride

She was an unusual fare. She hailed me, but then directed me to meet her at her house down the street, where I’d meet her and she’d load the car. In the normal hustle and bustle of New York madness, I might have expressed to her that I didn’t have the abundance of time to load and unload a car no matter how short the ride, but since the last thing I wanted was another obnoxious rider in busy Manhattan traffic, I thought of this ride as a blessing. I pulled to the curb of the address O.J. Simpson style -- crooked that is -- and waited for her to find me. It was a quiet street with Manhattan’s skyline in sight, but its sounds and congestion were so far away. When she got there we started carrying down her things from upstairs. Eventually we loaded the trunk. One exception was a long bamboo stick which was placed across the back seat and protruded through a rear window.

“My roommate just left, and she left all this mess behind,“ she said. She then pulled on the front right door latch assuming it would be unlocked, since the back had that long bamboo across the seat, but then upon finding it locked she feared she’d overstepped her boundary with the New York taxi driver.

“Can I ride in the front?”

I couldn't unlock the door fast enough and I told her it wasn't a problem while I moved my bag -- filled with nothing -- under the cup holders. She sat down, and laid, each arm against its respective armrest.

"I'm sorry, I'm used to... where I'm from we all just hop in the front when we hail taxis," she said.

I pulled the U-turn, turned on the meter, and drove the short distance to the thrift store. She pulled out a ten-dollar bill, handed it to me, and told me with a struggle of colloquialism, it was “for my trouble.” She had an unusual comfort about her, like she’d ridden in dozens of taxis before; only she had a totally different association with them from riding in other parts of the world. It was as if she trusted cab drivers; it was as if the cab felt more like home to her than her own house. I can’t explain exactly what makes me assume all of that, but I am a pretty good judge of people’s comfort and discomfort, the way they carry themselves. Sensing all of this I tried to desperately keep her talking, to figure out anything more I could about this odd person who was actually comfortable in a yellow cab.

“So, are you… new to uhh... this neighborhood?” I wanted to ask what country she was from, but she seemed too settled to be a fresh American. Besides, I know nothing of foreign countries. My geography knowledge expands from midtown to Queens, and I dabble in the Boogie-Down and the Island of Shaolin.

“Oh I’ve been here for 3 years, or 4,” she replied. “It’s a great neighborhood-“

“Oh yeah,” I said, “Its convenience to the city, its proximity to Manhattan, is just so good if you have a car."

“It’s a very quiet neighborhood, really nice, the best neighborhood I’ve been to in New York yet, and the N train is right here,” she said.

And so we were on to small talk, and although I made sure we continued the small talk, I wished I hadn’t. So it turned out she’d been to a few more neighborhoods in New York, been in the city for 5 years or so, and came from some country I already don’t remember where. Pointless, all of it; the ride took less than 2 minutes and we had to find a parking spot. Instantly 3 separate parking spots opened, and instantly there was a car waiting behind each one to park.

It was useless, so we double-parked in front of the thrift store. We immediately got somebody from the store to help unpack the car, and the 3 of us got the car empty faster than you can say, hey I’m walkin’ here, well, not that fast, but it was record time I tell ya. A man inside his PT Cruiser was waiting patiently for it all to end so he could get out of his parking space, I was impressed. But equally unimpressive was the guy waiting to take his spot when he left, he kept leaning on his horn. I acknowledged the man in the PT Cruiser with a smile for his tolerance, and glared back at the black Pontiac with yellow Jersey plates, pressing his horn as if it were the greatest musical instrument ever.

As I got in my cab to leave, my customer came back and leaned in on the passenger-side door, telling me she still owed me for the ride.

“Nope, I got your ten right here,” I said. What I really wanted to say was: The ride is done, I can’t stay here forever, and really a ten is more than enough. But I didn’t want to be rude. I’d had it with rudeness. Besides, anymore moments with her might give me more clues as to what was up with her, and maybe with more time I could get her number. There. I said it. I said it in my head, not out loud of course.

She then says, “No, the ten was for your help. Now I have to pay for the ride." Then I'm handed a business card, “Here. This will change your life forever.” Modern Buddhism, it said, in an all lowercase, rounded European type-font. I wasn’t sure whether this was a graphic design group or a religious group of which she was a part.

Before I could think, I dug through my bag like a nervous school boy. “Wait, I’ve got to give you my business car-“, my business cards were all torn and tattered at the corners, with faded black ink coloring, and a photograph I took dating back 2 or 3 years now.

I was too ashamed to even carry my cards with me, so she’ll never find out about this blog and read this entry. Nor will she be able to send me an email in Helvetica. As if that disappointment wasn’t enough—

The Ticket

BEEP. The ticketing agent for the neighborhood had just run her scanner across my registration and I was now getting a ticket for double-parking. My customer was still leaning into the car. She dug through her bag and handed me a handful of change. I don’t care for change, but to keep her spirits good, I took it. The change didn’t even cover the fare.

Now all that good energy had gone out the window, and I had to go back to Mr. Angry Cabbie in my conversation with the ticket agent.

Ticket agent- “Could you move up, so that the guy behind you can leave?”

Me- “Why should I? You're already gonna give me the ticket.”

Agent- “I see. So you're going to be a jerk to him because he’s honking his horn. I see.”

Me- “Well actually I like that guy a lot. He’s being very patient. It’s the guy behind him who’s being an asshole.”

I eventually moved up, out of courtesy for the guy behind me, because the ticket agent was taking way too long to punch up the ticket on her electro gizmo. However, I didn’t move up enough because I didn’t want to create an impression that I was evading the ticket, and the little PT Cruiser still didn’t see enough space to get out of his spot. I tried to come up with a quick explanation as to why this ticket was unjustified:

“I couldn’t just leave. My customer was leaning into my window. What am I supposed to do kill her?”

Ticket agent- “You’re blocking traffic. Listen to all those people honking at you.”

I smirked in response. This was nothing new. I’m driving a big yellow taxi, and being a nuisance to unsuspecting drivers is my job. If you ask me, people who honk their horns more than four times per minute within the span of three or more successive minutes should pay the maximum fine: 350 dollars. When people honk at me I give them the brakes; I brake for horns. People need to learn that horns after a certain point are just obnoxious. Imagine hearing people’s horns for 12 successive hours.

So my customer had finally gone away, the ticketing agent was finished with me, and traffic was delayed twice as long as it would have been, had I not been ticketed. There it went, my whole day, I thought, all my profit, taken by the department of finance. 

I took one more small fare in Queens, driving her around the block while she grabbed her purse or something; then drove her another three blocks to her destination. That was it. I arrived at the garage in disgust, thinking nice guys finish last, that I should never go out of my way to help someone with tons of stuff again. I counted out my profit for the day, it was $114, and the parking ticket: $115. Oh bitter fate, cruel irony, how you mock me!! Total profit: negative one dollar.

Not Guilty!

The dispatchers heard my bitter cries  and gave me a call that night. They told me to explain my situation to their in-house lawyer. The lawyer told me my chances were better than most people's to win because:

1. I had been in the car while receiving the ticket
2. I had turned the meter off after the ticket was received

Thus, it was proven, when I appeared for my hearing with a copy of my GPS trip record, that the ride was finished after the ticket was issued. My fare was still paying me the fare while I was being ticketed. Case Dismissed!!!!! Oh I could hug this judge!!

Lucky breaks with tickets (2 of 3)

-Situation number two:
There is a particular taxi line with such high volume some days it doubles to two lines; one line in the parking lane, and the other in an otherwise moving lane. And on this second line when taxis stop at the intersection while the light is green to wait for their spot on the line at the other end of the intersection they sometimes get a ticket for double parking I assume. I have seen this twice and fortunately I was never precisely at the intersection while the cop was there. Once I saw a cop walking towards me from behind while flipping open the ticket book. The whole line was able to clear out before anybody received a ticket. Avoiding a ticket is three parts hyper-awareness and one part luck, maybe two parts luck.

From this I decided to always stop before the intersection when waiting for a chance at a passenger, then to proceed slowly to the intersection and look for ticketing agents.

Stay tuned for #3 which is way better...

Lucky breaks with tickets (1 of 3)

I can’t write enough about tickets, and it’s now been more than a year since I’ve received a moving violation! There have been some close calls of course and I still get a few parking tickets, but mostly, I’ve stayed clear of the thin yellow slip demanding we pay our due, or go to trial and then pay our due. Getting tickets is kind of reminiscent of getting scolded for running in the hallway as a child: it is inevitable. Neither now nor then could I prove my innocence, the system has no tolerance for back talk young man. But sometimes there are days when I win one, and those days will live forever in the depths of my jigsaw puzzle of a brain.

-Situation one:
Once after dropping some one off at a LaGuardia Terminal, I unknowingly crossed a solid white line. A Port Authority Officer was waiting for me so I pulled to the shoulder and after he told me what I had done wrong, I acted as genuine and apologetic as I could, while trying to maintain confidence and clarity of voice. After I gave him my license, he told me he’d give me a break, a BREAK!? Can you imagine? He asked me if I might know where he could find a taxi that completely evaded the pull over and accelerated right past him. I told him about the 4 airport hold lots, “But when I leave the airport,” I said, “I just drive back to the city to avoid the waiting time.”

“So basically he could be anywhere-“ He asked, or ascertained.

I looked straight ahead, trying to hide my pride for the fugitive cabbie, then turned to the officer “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him,” he said, as if somehow we were in this together. He then turned to the limousine behind me and signaled him for a pull over now that he’d finished with me.

Situation #2 tomorrow, then #3 the next day.

 

Shift Shots

Mott Haven, The Bronx

Adjacent to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Upper East Side

The Guggenheim Museum, Upper East Side


Shots from 9/28/08

Sorry it's been more than 6 days since my last post, I've come down with a flu bug that's been going around, and my nose has grown like Pinocchio's. Anyway, I think my health is getting back to its usual strong form, and this blog will get back to the somewhat regular posts too.