I rush to meet Meredith for a 7 o'clock curtain of a new Broadway play, Time Stands Still, by Donald Margulies (one of my favorite playwrights). The 4-person stellar cast includes Eric Bogosian, Brian D’Arcy James, Laura Linney, and Alicia Silverstone. It is the kind of play I most prefer: a tight drama, lots of tension, beautifully performed, and no boring moments.
I plan on taking the subway home but when I see a cab magically appear in front of me, I can’t resist. I get in and see that the driver is talking on his phone, something that is illegal to do in NYC. He is speaking in a language that I don’t understand. I interrupt and ask him to please hang up and he does. We travel a few blocks and his phone rings again. He says something into the phone, which I don't understand but am guessing goes something like this: “This bitch in the back seat won’t let me talk. But don’t worry, I have a little plan to get back at her.” For after he hangs up from that call, he proceeds to:
1. accelerate
2. locate and hit every pot hole he can spot
3. weave in and out of traffic
4. ride the break
4. stop at every red light at the last possible moment
And finally, the pièce de résistance, he sneezes into his right hand.
I begin frantically looking for singles in my purse so I can pay without asking for change. I find only tens and twenties. Now what? When the meter reads $7, plus the $1 surcharge. I screech, “Stop. Right here is good.” So what if I'm four blocks from my house on this very cold night? I find a ten dollar bill, hand it over without our fingers making contact, and jump out of the cab. I should have taken the subway.
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