I Am Sorry About The Taxi Driver Essay
Taxi Driver: “Mam, Where to?”
Sol replied between gasps, “1st Avenue and 16th Street, please.”
By the sound of the quiver in her voice he was already eager to drop this passenger off. As luck would have it two minutes into the ride they got stuck in New York traffic, the bumper-to-bumper kind. Two minutes became fifteen minutes and all they had moved were inches. The sobbing and gasping that men typically run from was in plain vision. The taxi driver felt compelled to deal with it. Her home was not far but in a heavily congested area of the city. So he resigned himself to his situation and began in his deep New York accent, “Mam, I am no Dear Abby, but since I picked you up fifteen minutes ago you have not stopped sobbing. We are stuck in traffic, let’s talk! I don’t know why God would have me pick up a sobbing woman? I hate criers! I don’t do well with the sensitive, but there has to be a reason I was chosen to pick you up at a church. Did a relative die?
Sol was short, “No!”
Taxi Driver becoming slightly irritated, “Is a relative going to die?”
Sol replied again, “No, I do not think so. At least, I hope not.”
Aggravated he thought he was not going to get…