Taxis

From time to time taxi cab and car service drivers feel perfectly comfortable unloading their most personal problems to their passengers. Yesterday I arrived at Barcelona airport, jumped into a taxi with a driver who is a part-time journalist for one of the leading newspapers but due to the economic crisis in Spain drives a taxi. For the next 30 minutes he talks non-stop about his situation, upcoming divorce, friendship with Sting and jobless friend forced to work in porn movies.

Same thing happened to MJ - the best friend--not so long ago. Her driver even craned around his head to ensure she didn't look at text messages while listening to his rant. Some drivers must like the idea of a captive audience. Does this happen to men?

Last time I was in Barcelona a taxi driver literally cried on my shoulder about her mother's cancer. It was terribly sad and odd at the same time. Then there was the Russian ice hockey player on Facebook the entire time he drove me from BWI to DC: One eye and one hand for the road.

How many times have I gotten into a taxi in a strange city, usually Berlin, and wondered if I was safe? I don't know where I'm going. There are no landmarks I recognize. It is often late. Sometimes I call to give someone in another country my location (dark highway, random city names). How would they find me? I know it is futile and yet it makes me feel better. And yet, nothing untoward has ever happened to me in a taxi.

My chatty driver this time did tell me he doesn't normally talk so much, and he thought I had a lot of positive energy. I'm sure he talks that much all the time but telling me I had positive energy made the whole monologue suddenly bearable.