Cabbie Disdain.

Okay, I get it. I live in Brooklyn. Compared to an address within the isle of Manhattan, it's "far," requiring the crossing of the East River by bridge or tunnel.

Sigh ::eyeroll::

Yes, I said bridge and tunnel. I don't understand or like the derision that some "city" folk have for "BNT" folk like me, albeit, I am not your typical BNT. But trust me, Brooklyn IS New York City. Having lived there for nearly 30 yrs. of my life, I'm more "New York City" than you are Mr. Chelsea/Clinton Hill/Upper East Side/West Side/East Village/West Village/Gramercy boy, ORIGINALLY from Whereeverthefuck, USA. Don't be a city snob, gives REAL New Yorkers a bad name. Confidence is sexy, arrogance is ugly.

Continuing, my gripe is not with you Mr. "City" Boy. No, it's with cabbies. Not necessarily all of them, just the ones I've had the displeasure of dealing with.

Like this morning at 6:15AM, after working nearly 20 hours, I found myself standing in a NY snowy morning, cold, wet and windy, reluctantly hailing a cab. I promised my manager I would take one. He put money in front of me, saying, "Don't take the train at this time… people get shot on the train at this time of the morning." I was tired and fatigued beyond belief. Wanting to get home quickly, I capitulated and at least tried.

I saw him in the distance and raised my arm but noticing, he had his "Off-duty" light on, I figured it was a sure, no. Still he pulled over to me and I knew the eventual outcome.

Upon hearing the words, "I live in Brooklyn," he curled his lip with displeasure and drove off in a hurry as if I had a second head, covered in pus spewing boils, threatening to envelope his pea-sized brain.

Fuming, I walked to the train station.

Didn't get shot. Still hate cabs.