Victor Kerlow Dear Diary:
After dodging two bicycles going the wrong way in their own lane, I planted my feet in the dangerously narrow pedestrian area between traffic and parked cars, and began looking for a cab. With none in sight I lighted a cigarette, but after just a few puffs I could see a dimly lit taxi top-light about a block away.
At $14.50 a pack, (Thanks, Mayor Bloomberg) I don’t waste, so as the cab approached, I got in a couple more drags and was about to behead the cigarette to save it for later. Just then, the cabdriver held up a pack of smokes on his dashboard â€" the universal sign for freedom. More rare than unicorns or honest politicians, this was a smoking cab.
The moment I stepped inside I was instantly transported back to a pre-Bloomberg New York. Passengers in taxis to the left and right stared at me with palpable envy and I was awash in a sense of privilege. Savor this opportunity, I thought, for it may never come again.
I rewarded the driver with a great tip, but then, fidgeting with the clunky sliding cab door, I was reminded that nothing escapes Bloomberg’s influence. Doors that swing open can hurt bicyclists, so now, once again inconveniencing the many to appease the few, we have sliding cab doors. An elderly person has as good a chance of opening one of those doors as she does of wresting Excalibur from its stone.
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