Whether it’s a Stradivarius violin or the portable hub of your iLife, the New York City taxi cab is a robust reservoir of personal items gone lost or forgotten. Today, a short story and some tips below.
Just yesterday, I stood on 1st avenue between 2nd St. and 3rd St. near a nondescript deli which, as I discovered during my curbside occupation, is one of the favorite swap-stops for cabbies. If you live in NY long enough, you’ll discover that catching a cab between 4PM-5PM is wildly difficult. This is because the latter is the very time when cab drivers go to their respective swap-stops to (as you might guess) end shifts, swap drivers, and pick-up dinner before they head home. This commonplace event also includes catching up with fellow cabbies and cohorts of NY’s favored form of transportation. Let’s be honest, with recent threats of increasing fares and cutting routes, the MTA can just…well, y’know.
The painful discovery was made yesterday morning when I decided to preempt my 8AM cellular alarm by effectively turning off the contraption. In the AM-darkness, I palmed my way across the top of the dresser to discover that my phone was not in its familiar location. Eventually I coordinated an effort and a kind friend called my phone. To my surprise, a husky voice answered and I spoke with the cabbie who found my Black(bane of my existence)Berry in the backseat of his SUV last night.
“Meet me on 1st Avenue between 2nd and 3rd street on the left hand side!” he replied to my groggy query. So pleased was I that my phone had enough juusu to facilitate our parlay, I neglected more important details and simply replied, “OK. See you at 5PM at 1st between 2nd and 3rd. I’ll be wearing a green dress.”
At the prescribed time of 5PM, my Kermit-self stood at the nondescript deli swap-stop on 1st Ave. between 2nd and 3rd. Laboring over each minute from 4:45PM to about 5:30PM, I looked at every cabbie that pulled into the swap-stop with an earnest look that bordered pathetic. Is it you? I was searching for ‘the one.’ Though not The One, a cheeky bugger walked up to me and said, “I couldn’t help but notice you looking at me. Can I do something for you?” I recognized his inflection.
“Oh no, thanks, but I’m just waiting for a cab driver who has my phone,” I replied.
“Ah. I wish I had your phone! I sure do!” he chuckled. “If he says he’ll be here, he’ll be here.” I nodded with equal parts dread and hope. The cars flew past me and none of the cab drivers seemed interested in the girl in the green dress.
“What is his name?” asked the Friendly One.
“Umm,” I replied, slowly realizing that I failed to collect any useful data.
“His name?” the Friendly One paused. “Do you know his mobile number? His medallion number on the taxi?” Clueless, I scratched an itch on the back of my head. The Friendly One explained that if I had the medallion number of the taxi (metal ID on the hood and up on the roof), a dispatcher could call out on the airwaves to let The One know that I was waiting on the curb. Logic = 1, Nico = 0.
With no other choice, I sidled along the road and curled my toes over the curb in anxiety. I turned over the previous night’s events and frivolously attempted to recreate the face of the cabbie. Over the course of the next ten minutes, I paced to and from a shabby pizzeria on the corner to glance at the sober clock on the wall. When the minute-hand struck 5:30PM, I decided that my fate had been written. I turned to look at the Friendly One, standing in the doorway of the nondescript deli to keep watch over me. I made sad-smile face at him and shrugged as if to say, “My fault. Oh well.”
“Miss!” said the Friendly One, his arm outstretched indicating something of merit was just beyond me. Defeated, I turned around and saw a smallish gentleman walking towards me. I was charmed by his resemblance to the health inspector in Ratatouille (the Middle Eastern version, of course). He peered at me with wide-eyes as though asking “Are you The One?” He pressed something between his palms. Mild-excitement but no expectation, I wondered, “What’s in that hand-wich?!” With purpose, the small gentleman walked straight to me and said, “You?” He opened his palms like a mussel in steam.
“You!” I replied, the corners of my mouth raised high. I plucked my phone from its perch. “Thank you so much!” While I sang The One’s praise, The Friendly One began to admonish my angel for having kept me waiting. I made light of it all and expressed extreme gratitude. We parted ways and I went to Whole Foods to get some juice.
And now for some tips…
Tips:
1) Charge your phone fully before you go out so that you have enough juice to call your phone once you’ve realized that you lost it
2) Call your phone immediately and get the following information from the person on the other end: name, mobile/contact, medallion number (if a cab),
- Also consider leaving a friend’s number with the Finder.
- Also consider having that friend join you at the pick-up (which should be a public place so sketchy people can’t take advantage of you)
3) Thank your lucky stars that someone even answered and is willing to return your phone. Try not to do it again.
4) Take your phone charger with you to the prescribed pick-up (because nothing sucks more than having to go to your provider’s store to pretend like you’re shopping when you’re secretly charging your mobile)
5) See if http://www.tigertag.com/ might work for you (i.e. let dreamers’ dream)
Luck be a lady…or a smallish man.
