Can I touch your hair?

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

I’ve been wanting to share my recent crazy cab ride from the airport story with ya'll. I had landed at JFK airport from Cali at 11:59 p.m. on Sunday and immediately raced with my carryon to the taxi line outside, when a guy in a suit asked if I needed a taxi. I said yes, but wisely asked the price first. It was the same as the yellow cabs and he had a sedan, so I thought “why not?” He quickly took my bag and put it in his trunk then told me to sit in the front. I was like “the front?” and he nodded and left to see if he could get another passenger. I was annoyed sitting there, it was late and I had work the next day and now the yellow cabs were zooming past me on their way to Manhattan and the boroughs with their single passengers riding comfortably in the back. The driver finally returned just when I was getting ready to pop the trunk and leave. We finally pulled away with Indian techno music blaring. The music was fun, but it was really loud, especially when I wanted to sleep.

Tony--that’s the driver’s name--didn’t match his music though with his blueish eyes and minimal accent, but while I was forced to hear his life story I learned that he came here by himself from New Delhi at the age of 16 1/2 without knowing any English. He was nice, but super talkative and chummy. I do like talking to cab drivers and they usually like confiding in me but at least then I have a front seat/back seat barrier. So Tony starts asking me personal questions, it started off simple finding out we both are Sagittarius, thus loyal and outgoing people. Then he asked how old I was and he was surprised saying I looked barely 18, not that it seemed to deter him any since he next asked if I was single and went on to tell me about how his last girl was after his money. As a result, he is going back to India for five months this summer to find a wife and save up for a Benz. Honestly, I can go on and on and tell you a lot more about Tony here from that 20-minute ride, but the most memorable part was during a blissful lag in conversation when he turned to me and asked, "Can I touch your hair?"

Yup, you read me correctly. Here I was trapped in the front seat, Bollywood techno music blaring, Tony chattering on about his love life and him reaching out to touch my hair. I was only a block away and didn’t know what to say. I was like "um ok." Yes, I know. So he tugs on the end of my hair and goes "wow, so silky," then goes on to say how everyone is so different in this world. True that.

Finally, my apartment was in view but he still managed to give me his card to call if I needed a ride again or if I’m no longer single. Yeah, I’ll do that *rolls eyes* What a welcome back to New York, huh?

Moral of the story don't sit in the front seat of a taxi and be sure and wait in line at the taxi stand instead.

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