Ghost Cabs

“I have never seen one for brunch.”

“No. Agreed. Not for brunch,” said Nate, somewhat acting like a notary of what Tyler just said. Nate is someone who I am friend adjacent, along with Tyler who invited me to the Upper West Side for Sunday brunch on Amsterdam.

“What are we talking about?” Using my arrival to ask something I would’ve asked anyway. “Ghost Cabs,” said Nate.

“Ghost Cabs?” I avoid sounding naïve about the city I just moved to by not asking for elaboration on things, but this felt like a safe space.

”These… otherworldly cabs that just show up when you need them,” offered Jess from her cattycorner seat from me, right at the distance where she could use her normal speaking voice. “Except for brunch,” noted Tyler.

I was intrigued but didn’t want to force the subject. It was very possible that everyone in this restaurant knew what a ghost cab was except for me. Gigi, fortunately, was also intrigued. “Like a cab that’s there right when you need it?”

“It’s weirder than that.” Tyler glanced around and looked like he was being forced to elaborate when, really, he was barely able to keep himself from jumping into the story too quickly.

“I had to get to Grand Central one morning. I was at my old place on Columbus — a subway ride was a non-starter and Lyft was ridiculous for some reason that morning. I was standing on my corner, thinking about how I’m going to explain how I missed a train to my Connecticut client when this old school taxi pulled over.”

“Andy Kaufman shit?”

“Like big. 90s. Round.”

“Was it from Newark?”

“No, no — it was a real cab,” assured Tyler.

“I get in and tell the guy, ‘Grand Central.’ And he takes off — like the tires chirped. I couldn’t see him because of the divider, and his license was faded to shit. He had those leather gloves without fingers on them, and he was driving like a madman.”

“I’ve seen guys like that,” offered Gigi.

“He jumped the curb into the old taxi drop-off on Vanderbilt at the station. The whole trip was a blur. He pulled up to the door and said, “That’s $5.50, Mac.”

“He called you ‘Mac’?” I asked.

“He charged me $5.50,” Tyler emphasized. “I gave him a ten through the glass and made the train.”

“Hmm, one might have picked me up outside of my building the day after Sandy then,” said Gigi.

“I’m positive one took my parents to JFK to catch their plane even though they accidentally said they wanted to go to LaGuardia,” said Nate.

“One took me to wait on line at Supreme for a drop,” said one of the guys at the end of the table.

“That was me when I had a rental car for an extra day,” offered Tyler.

“I’m pretty sure one found me on Ludlow,” said Jess. “Otherwise, I would say it’s all an urban legend. It was a few years ago, It was late at night, and I was walking towards Delancey. This old- school cab pulled up.”

“Like in the Taxi Driver?”

“Like big. 90s. You know, round.”

“Sounds familiar,” I said, attempting a dry, witty tone.

“Anyway, it’s this older lady driving, and she tells me to get in, so I do, and she asks me where home is, and she took me to my old place on 7th.”

“Was it Fran Lebowitz?” asked the guy at the end of table.

“It was not Fran Lebowitz,” said Jess.

“How can you be sure?”

“That just sounds like a pushy lady who needed a fare,” said Nate.

“She was pushy, but it was a concerned pushy. I think she was concerned I was on Ludlow late at night.”

“Concerned you were going to The Hat too often?” asked Nate.

“Maybe, I think she was pre-gentrification. I think she just wanted to get me off the street because she thought Ludlow was dangerous…and needed a fare,” concluded Jess.

“If she was a ghost, why did she need to make a fare?” I asked.

“How long have you lived here?” asked Jess.