Mother Theresa Joe the Sage Cab Driver Invites Me In

"I'm taking a cab home tonight," I declared as we exited EJ's luncheonette.

"Oooh. Look at you. Taking a cab," said Euro, sweet midwestern thing with a pretty smile.

"Um. Right. This is why I work two jobs." Fake irritation spreading over skin, vocal cords.

Euro laughed. She stood on the sidewalk with Roxie, another peer of ours, and waved me goodbye as I entered a cab on 3rd avenue.

Euro, Roxie, Coetz and I had just finished two plates of cheese fries and a fruity vanilla shake. I also ordered a peppermint tea. When our waitress set it down in front of me, I promised, "I'm going to take this mug." The others half-laughed, quarter-grimaced, quarter-clutched their bags as I eyed the stout treasure, labeled "EJ's Luncheonette" on one of its sides. I told them I collected mugs from diners; they turned away when I placed it in my bag and slapped a hearty tip on the table, slid across the booth and vacated the premises.

They were happy to wave me goodnight.

"Do you take credit cards?" Now too careful to speak slowly, enunciate clearly as I lean into cabs.

"Yes, yes. Get in. Where are you going?"

I gave him my address, buckled my seat belt and sat back.

Joe the Cab Driver, an Indian man in his fifties, showed clear disdain for his fellow drivers.

"Look at them. They are all over the road. All over the road. They aren't getting anywhere, any faster than us. They are crazy." I admired his cadence, rhythm of speaking; his habit of driving 25 miles per hour.

"They are all over the road. Total nuts. I don't know how you do it."

"It is crazy. I drive slow. Safe. They signal: left, right. They are all over the place. They are crazy."

Yes, they are.

"You do want me to turn at 116th correct?" Conscientious Joe the Cab Driver understands the plight of the east-of-Marcus-Garvey-Park resident.

"Yes, that would be perfect, sir." Total score with the "sir." Yes!

"Do you like living up here? Do people harass you?" He turned around to look at me as he asked this. Turned his car onto 106th, not 116th. Wrong way. Screech. Reverse. Turned around in the middle of the street.

I felt very safe.

"I meant to turn on 116th. That okay. That okay. We take Madison, it's quicker." Joe the Cab Driver knows his way around this city.

"That's fine, sir. Don't worry about it." As I watched his meter increase.

Finally, we made it to my street. A usually $12 cab ride cost nearly $20. But what service!

I paid with a credit card. As the receipt unscrolled from within the cab's payment console, he turned around to take a good look at me.

"You, get out of this neighborhood. You are too pretty. You are too kind and nice. Yes, you are too pretty to be living here." Joe the Cab Driver doubles as Joe the Sage.

"You are right, Joe. I am getting out of here." Proud, smiling widely at Joe, who tore my receipt with great fervor and made sure I had all of my belongings. I stepped out of the car.

"Remember, you take a cab wherever you are going. They will harass you. But you are too good. You must get out of this neighborhood. Now go inside. I will watch you as you go to your door." So much concern for a stranger. Joe the Sage Cab Driver triples as Joe the Mother Theresa.

"Thank you, Joe. I'll never forget you. I'll be safe."

"Good. Goodnight, dear."

That night, I dreamt about Mother Theresa Joe the Sage Cab Driver and imagined a universe where women and cab drivers move freely through an urban landscape, integrated and harmonious.

One day, I will find a Mother Theresa Joe the Sage Cab Driver candle and pray to it in the dim moonlight of a Queens apartment. I will be pretty. I will be kind. I will be safe. All because of Mother Thereasa Joe the Sage Cab Driver.