The Usuals do New York, part 2
Katelyn Moore

If you've never hailed a taxi in New York, you really have never experienced the absolute hopelessness and feeling of self idiocy that really defines the sport. Maybe it was just me, but standing on the side of the street waving your arm like crazy so an utter stranger can pick you up and take you somewhere for money made me feel just a little bit strange.

And let me say this. Four people do NOT fit in one taxi, no matter what you see in movies. It can be done, but someone is getting squished into jam. That's all there is to it.

When there are four people and a mountain of luggage, finding a cab is even harder. Luckily, the New York Public Transportation Department (or whoever it is that controls the beehive) decided that investing in big yellow SUVs and minivans was a good idea. Unfortunately, the drivers of said SUVs and minivans are firmly convinced that they are still driving your standard #2 pencil of a taxi. Alexis, Carrie, Jarrett and I knew we had to catch one of these giant monster cabs, but, like when you hook a gator while fishing, it's great that you've caught one, but what do you do with it when you have it? We hailed one of the SUVtype taxis and started hauling luggage over to it, much to the dismay of the cabbie, who's cries of "too much, too much!" fell on deaf ears. We really wanted to get to our hotel ASAP.

We managed to get about half of Mount Luggage into the cab before the driver got fed up and shut the trunk on us. Then we realized we'd have to split up.

Not good.

As a preview of how our New York trip was going to go, we split up according to who had cash with them. Alexis and Carrie crawled over carry-on luggage to get into the SUV-taxi, and Jarrett and I were left to wait for the next available ride with the rest of the luggage.

After a hurried conversation to give at least one of the other car's occupants the address of the place we were going, Jarrett and I hailed our own cab and got on the move.

I know there's a million stereotypes about New York City taxi drivers, and really, I have to say, this guy was the only one who fit it. The rest of the time, we got drivers who were at least semi-polite and helpful, but this first guy was a nightmare.

If you've never been in a NYC taxi (and I hadn't, up until this point), then really, you've never quite taken your life in your hands (unless you jump out of planes for a living). The lines painted on the road are really kind of just suggestions, and the horn is used in conjunction with the blinker to signal, not that you'd like to come over, but that you're coming over into the next lane come hell, high water, or a giant Mack truck.

It. Was. Terrifying.

And then we got lost. Thankfully, Jarrett is the biggest nerd I've ever met (we love him dearly) and had his laptop with him, which, in true nerdy fashion, had a GPS system installed so that he could pop open the laptop and within a minute and a half be rattling off directions to the cabbie like he'd lived in NYC his whole life. Somehow, we managed to get to the hotel before the others, and we were unceremoniously dumped at the curb with all of our luggage.

A very nice man in a white double-breasted coat descended from our hotel (which was up a flight of stairs) and began hauling our rather bulky luggage up the narrow staircase to the lobby like a Sherpa hauling packs up Mount Everest. With the three of us schleping the bags, it only took two trips to get it all up there, and by that time, Alexis and Carrie had shown up, so we had to make a few more trips up and down the stairs to get the rest of the luggage actually inside the hotel.

Once that was accomplished, it was time to check in.-- Katelyn Moore is a reporter for The Forest-Blade.

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