Fists of Fury

The HBO show Taxicab Confessions was famous for eliciting highly controversial and taboo confessions from patrons who let their guard down in the anonymousness of a New York City cab. This weekend I saw the other side of that coin. Settling in comfortably against the familiar leather seats with one of my friends from college the only thing running through our minds was who was going to be at this party. However, all those thoughts soon dissipated as the driver let out an unprovoked string of expletives directed at the driver of a blinged out SUV playing what he described as a “fucking gay nineties dance mix of fucking shit.” The accent accompanying these well thought out tirades was Eastern European as was the order of the grammar. “This guy, who does he think he is, this guy listening to this shit.” His fury from a buzzed back passenger’s perspective was highly entertaining. My friend and I looked at each other quizzically then went about the very easy task of egging him on, baiting him with snark comments which he inevitably finished and usually took too far.

Once the object of his frustration had parted directions he turned his attention to lesbians. “Fucking dykes from Brooklyn” he called them. Apparently he wasn’t a fan of Williamsburg, especially as he related these longer cab fares to highly questionable acts in the very seats we now resided.

“These dykes, they cannot wait until they get back, they just fuck in the back. And I’m like ok..” We had to know more after this tantalizing statement.

“Excuse me? Fuck? What do you mean?”

“These loose lesbians, they stick like their entire fists up there, all the way to the fucking elbow these sick fucks.” His accent and roaring voice cannot be overstated in this instance. We were now hysterically laughing at the inappropriateness in this exchange of experiences. He regaled us with forays of toys, joints, and oral excursions all within the cozy confines of this well worn seat.

When we reached our destination we hurriedly threw some money at him as he continued raging at Brooklyn culture and lesbian tendency to copulate mid fare. It wasn’t exactly a confession but without doubt was an unprovoked, warrantless deluge of some very risqué experiences that had we not been such well versed metropolitans could easily have stirred us to much more than laughing. As it was, laugh we did while this cab driver, this guy who does he think he is saying these ridiculous things. I say it’s what we pay for as New Yorkers; this opportunity to let those completely unlike ourselves voice their opinions louder than our inhibitions compel us not to listen. That’s what makes it the greatest city on Earth.