An Asian Man, a Hasidic Man and My Husband get in a cab...

So there's a transit strike. That means hoofing it from Penn Station. This would be all fine and good but for the fact that last night at around 1:30am I managed to get a giant splinter wedged very far into the "ball" of my foot. This required minor surgery to be performed to extract said splinter. (This, I find, is the danger of hard wood floors, even when wearing socks). So this meant that this morning the foot was a bit too sore to walk the 16 blocks from Penn in the cold to the Job. Compounding matters is the fact that yesterday a co-worker remarked on how short I really am since I have been wearing flat shoes at the office for the past few days. Thanks, and you look uglier than usual. So, I've got the de-splintered foot and I'm wearing heeled shoes.

This means getting a cab. Thanks to New York's draconian taxi rules-- we're sharing, hence the subject line. We managed to hail down a cab going uptown and in it are two passengers-- a young banker type Asian guy and a Hasidic man. Add in the two commuters from Jersey and the slightly overweight Filipino cab driver and its a true cross-section of NY. From the moment we got in the cab the Hasidic man is gabbing on the phone at full blast, talking a mile a minute with some kind of lisp. We're hearing all about how Avi can't come to Shabbat and someone else's son has been seeing a psychiatrist, etc., etc. Finally, he gets off the phone and starts to kvetch to the Asian guy about how people just can't get along. The Asian man says nothing. Silence. Finally the Hasic man says: "What, you speak english?" The Asian man says, very seriously: "Yes."

Then we were at 47th street and the party had to break up.