A few nights ago - a night that later turned out to be an insane collage of drama, intrigue, machinations, whispers and fisticuffs - I actually got to hop into a taxi and yell "Follow that cab!" Unfortunately it wasn't the result of any high speed pursuit of love, money or villainy; it's what happens when you forsake Tribeca parties and let an LA local plan your NY night.
"Where are we going?
"The restaurant Alta in the East Village. It's near the cock. On MacDougal and Sixth."
"Wait! MacDougal and Sixth don't intersect..."
One door slam later and it's: "Follow that cab!" What followed was one of the most surreal taxi experiences of my life (and this beats out the time two girls picked me up via the cell phone conversation between my cab driver and theirs). Through shifting traffic and destinations, these two taxi's moved in tandem, a ballet dance of street and bumpers unlike anything I'd ever seen. There were moments they ran in perfect tandem allowing for actual conversation (and I mean conversation, not just a few shouted words through open windows)
"Let me call Verizon."
"64 West 10th Street. Near Broadway."
"Wait! Broadway's on East Tenth Street."
And there were moments of pure anarchy. When we entered the deluge of cabs that populate the lower parts of Sixth Avenue, I was sure we were lost until our driver slams on the breaks, and points to his rear view mirror and said - "they stopped."
"Why did they stop?"
"I don't know. Do you see the place?
"Wait. Let me text google... 6529 Kennedy Blvd. North Bergen, NJ?"
"Where the hell are we going?"
Two stops, one giant u-turn, and five extra dollars in tips later, we finally reach our destination. Unfortunately, it was all down hill after that, and I have not missed the Tribeca parties since.