Jack  

April 29th 2013

Met at Hess Station at 4:15am

Finished at Hess Station at 4:30pm

Net Profit: $295 

Passenger Count: 36

Jack drove a hard bargain, which shouldn’t have been surprising given his past as a broker at Morgan Stanley.  My budget for this unfunded personal photo project was $150 per driver; however, within seconds of our initial phone conversation, Jack took advantage of my obviously amateur negotiating skills and had me settling comfortably at $250 for the 12-hour shift. The combination of his unlikely story and his striking confidence in his ability to give me unparalleled taxi driver experience made me feel this would somehow be worth it.  I mean COME ON, Wall Street Broker turned Taxi Driver. As diverse as yellow cab drivers are in New York City, Jack still qualified as a unicorn.

Prior to meeting Jack, I assumed he would be bitter about where the twists and turns of his life had landed him. A native New Yorker and Babson graduate, he was on the 73rd floor of 2 WTC when the first plane hit. Instinct led him to the stairwell, where he made his way down crowded steps until curiosity coaxed him onto to the 53rd floor. Through office windows, he witnessed a horrific scene of destruction and inhumanity. He helplessly watched as frantic, screaming strangers chose between remaining on a sinking ship or plummeting to their own deaths, the ultimate catch 22.  After speaking to his wife and parents, he was still on the 53rd floor when the 2nd plane hit. He narrowly escaped that day and made it home to his wife who was pregnant with their first child.  He described how soon after the attack, he went into a Morgan Stanley office only to be told they would  “…take a look at his numbers/performance??” He chuckled at the absurdity, but it was clear their callousness cemented his already burgeoning disillusionment with the financial industry and specifically, Morgan Stanley. After 9/11, Jack worked a few corporate jobs that we brushed over briefly during our drive, none of which seemed to stick or inspire.  

When the economy collapsed a few years later, he decided to drive a taxi as a temporary fix. It would bring in some cash for his family, while simultaneously affording him the flexibility to explore more desirable options.  It was only supposed to be for three months, but here we were, 3 years later meeting at 4:15am at the Hess Gas Station on 44th and 10th.  Jack was amused as I recounted my morning wake up strategy.  I am not accustomed to leaving my apartment before 10:30, let alone at 3:45am. He laughed as I explained that it took three alarm clocks and an online wake up call to ensure my presence. I couldn’t tell if he was just used to it or really didn’t mind the early start time.  He averages about 5 hours of sleep a night, but as an obviously devoted family man, the shift allows him to spend some time with his wife and two children, the youngest of which shares my name, Carly.

Jack approaches driving a taxi with same strategic nature that a professional Texas Hold’em player might approach a National Tournament or a seasoned invester might an unstable market.  He explained there is a natural order by which the city operates and to understand that system is to conquer it.  He remarked several times during our journey that there is a science to this gig and if you know where to “fish,” when to “fish” and who to “fish,” it can and will determine the financial outcome of your day. He was raised in New York so he is deeply familiar with the complex network of streets. Jack understood that unlike the Sunday day shift, Sunday night shifts are slow and whoever is driving his car on Sunday night will inevitably return the car early.  He takes advantage of this fact and starts his Monday at 4:15am. 

We hit road at 4:30am, which by his standards was late. Our initial goal was to meter $100 by 7am.  As the only cab in sight, we had the advantage as we headed up the west side. We immediately scored a fare heading down to Chambers Street.  From there we picked up an unlikely drunk couple heading home around 5am. I was silently convinced we had a “puker” on our hands, but Jack was unfazed and we made it unscathed to Avenue B and 14th. From there we decided it was a great time for coffee and he knew just the guy. Suddenly, en route, he remembered that Monday was his day off and his replacement left a LOT to be desired in the java department. Luckily, our plans were hindered by Tony Touch from the Rocksteady Crew (it’s ok, I don’t know who he is either) who hailed us down for his 65-year-old nightclub worker friend, who hopped in the cab wearing a very sexy bondage outfit. She and Jack reminisced nostalgically about the old club/dance scene of New York, while I sat shotgun, slightly jealous and still caffeine free, wondering if my 20’s had been misspent sipping bud lights and doing shots of Jamison in dive bars. She brought us back to the upper west side, where we picked up a Lulu Lemon clad mommy on her morning trip to the gym. From there we got a fare to Penn Station and then picked up a young eager Goldman Sachs employee in the west village. He sat in the back silent and distracted. Jack observed the Goldman guys, especially the younger ones, were usually pretty quiet.  

We had caught the wave. It was one fare after another with only brief pauses in between. By 7am we had surpassed our goal by $20 dollars, which meant we had earned the lease for the day and it was time to make some money. Now our objective was to make $40 an hour and no less.  Ahead of the game, we had a moment to stop for coffee and Jack suggested I consider tea as this guy, too, was challenged in the coffee department. Regrettably, I went with coffee. While parked, we were spotted by a suitcase, which meant airport.  It was off to LaGuardia, but not before we scored two cups. Our passenger waited patiently, asserting  “…a man needs his coffee in the morning.” 

On the way to the airport we hit some traffic in the tunnel and Jack questioned his decision to take that route.  Every decision impacts and you cannot always be right, but throughout the day Jack proved to be pretty damn close.  After dropping off the suitcase, Jack decided it was still early enough to catch a fare back without impacting our game. We got stuck in a snail paced line and were eventually leaked into a parking lot filled with taxi’s waiting to pick up a fare. 

I spotted a men’s bathroom and I jumped at the chance. You have to understand that my only anxiety about riding the 12-hour shift was the constant nag of my infantile bladder. Despite attempts to dehydrate myself pre-ride, the 8 ounce coffee had caught up with me. Jack admitted during the ride that his bladder too was not much to brag about and confirmed that limiting your liquid intake is definitely a strategic advantage.  We only glossed over it, but I’m pretty sure he does have a pee bottle, which thankfully he didn’t make use of in my presence, although I would have understood.

We brought a young B of A employee who had just landed from Raleigh to Bryant Park.  He and Jack talked golf courses and I wondered how often he was getting out on the course these days. Now one thing I realized during the day is that to be a good driver, you have to be aware of everything that is going on around you. I would point out potential fares that Jack had seen 2 blocks earlier. I started facetiously referring to myself as eagle eye midway through the day. Our next passenger was a timid woman armed with a headscarf and note detailing her destination. She shyly waved her arm and Jack caught it out of the corner of his eye.  The fare was $8.50 and she confusedly handed Jack 8 dollars and disappeared into the midtown masses.  I think I was more disappointed about being shorted that he was. “It happens…” he muttered as we took off to fish for our next fare.  We picked up a family of Russian tourists, whom we dropped at the Peninsula Hotel.  They too failed to tip, obviously ignorant of that unique American tradition. Their young daughter proudly exclaimed “thank you” as she exited the cab, proud of the new words she had recently picked up. Again, Jack let this slide and I began to understand an important element of his personality. Remaining positive throughout disappointment and adversity may be one of the most powerful weapons we can arm ourselves with in this unpredictable world.  Maybe he is the Buddha of taxi driving, a philosopher behind the wheel of a yellow cab.

Jack predicted the Peninsula hotel fare would throw us off for the remaining part of the day.  We got caught in midtown, which seemed to be a whirlpool where you must swim around the edges or you will get caught in an endless cycle.  We picked up one or two more fares, but missed our chance to pick up mommies on the Upper East Side fetching their children from school.  Jack had figured out how to keep his meter lit with small short trips making that last and toughest hour lucrative. It was essential to keep that meter on. We ended a half hour early and only 5 dollars shy of our goal of hitting $300 profit for the day. 

We said goodbye a block from the Hess Station where we had met 12 hours earlier. We promised to keep in touch and I hope we do. Jack has plans for the future that do not include a yellow taxi and he seems close to striking a deal with a company. That notion makes his eyes light up. I have no doubt that Jack’s stint in a taxi will be nothing more than an interesting chapter in the story of his life. I also started to realize that, in way, Jack’s story is not so crazy.  Job security is a thing of the past and as the economy teeters on the edge of uncertainty, Jack probably won’t remain the only unicorn out there.