Taxicabs and the Single Life

If there was ever a time to give up on life and romance, Saturday night at 2:00 am was it. Having gone to the midnight showing of Match Point and watching an emotionally-torn man choose between lustful passion and familial comfort, my roommate and I walked out of a fictional reality and into a stranger one: the fruitless search for a cab in the city of Boston.

If T.S. Eliot was born in the last half of the 20th century, he could find inspiration for his wasteland at the intersection of Congress and State Streets. Shivering young women wearing sleeveless shirts in 30 degree weather and obnoxious young men wearing black velour blazers; the latter refusing to be chivalrous for the same reason the former would decline the gesture anyway - you need to look fashionable when you are hailing a taxi.

I felt like an extra in Dawn of the Dead. People wondering aimlessly, listlessly with their arms extended, being led by
the false promise of returning home. If the single life was a destination, we all found it. Cabs, much like a meaningful
relationship, were nowhere to be found. And when they did drive by, they did so in harsh mock metaphor.

The Tease. "Hey, there's a cab. Hey, come on it's slowing down for us. Hey, where's it going? Damn! It's already full. Why did it slow down, if it already picked someone up?"

Off Duty. In single life parlance, this is someone who is emotionally unavailable due to a recent breakup. In the transportation business, it's dumbfounding. Me: "JP, please. Centre Street." Cabbie:"Sorry, I'm off duty." What?! Hey, buddy, if you're out of the game, don't make yourself look
approachable from across the street.

The Rebound. If a cabbie just got out of a long run to Davis Square and got stiffed from a couple of Tufts students, there is no way he's investing the time in taking you out to the South Shore. Not happening. He wants short-term runs to Beacon Hill.

The Shared Ride. The concept of the shared ride is like an open relationship - it sounds like a good idea at first, but it fails because trust always deteriorates. "Hey, you're going to Davis Square? Do you mind if we share? We live in Porter." You may enjoy a subsidized ride, but you will curse the Harvard crew if they don't factor tip.

Perfect but Spoken For. You see a cab in the distance and take off for it. The back window casts no silhouettes and you start to smile. It's too good to be true. Then a head emerges from the blind side of the cab. She just yacked Jagermeister and then took off in the cab that seemed to be your destiny. The emergence of the head is like seeing a ring on the left hand.

The One That Got Away. No matter if you are flagging a cab or attracting a mate, competition always comes into play. And sometimes you lose to a guy in a black velour jacket and a more aggressive index finger. When you are so close, it can be tough to stomach, but after a good cry and a McDonalds milkshake, things always seem better and it's time to move on.

After 45 minutes of canvassing Government Center, we saw a cab turn onto Congress. With no other souls around, we couldn't help but think it was meant for us...proving the adage that timing is everything.