Alex Balk, Midwesterner.
I was walking down Third Avenue in yesterday’s afternoon heat when I saw a taxicab idling at the curb. It had been parked at an odd angle, and as I got closer I could see that the driver was slumped over behind the wheel. The windows were open and the car was running, and the light indicated that he wasn’t off duty or anything. My native instinct told me to just keep going, that it wasn’t my problem, and then, for whatever reason, I decided that I couldn’t live with myself if I wound up reading about a driver who had suffered a heart attack or something and died at the wheel of his cab because no one had stopped to see if he was alright. I went around to his side of the car and tapped gently on the door and said, “Sir, are you okay?”
He jerked awake with a start and yelled, “I’m fuckin’ napping!”
You know when you trip or bump into something and you quickly look around to make sure that nobody else saw it because you’re so mortified? Multiply that feeling by about a million and you still won’t know the shame I experienced in that moment. I failed at being a New Yorker. I want to apologize to my family, my friends, my fellow citizens, and anyone else I have brought dishonor upon. I don’t know how I can ever live this one down.
