The Haitian Taxi Driver

Some magical experiences never leave you. This happened in to me in NYC when my days of financial independence were in steep decline. I was living moment to moment and dollar to dollar. The anxiety it produced was at times, overwhelming, but I was learning to trust the Divine more and more about money. My ability to earn it was severely compromised and undoubtedly had a negative effect on myself-esteem. So I did odd jobs and was dependant on the kindness of strangers.

That particular evening I had been asked to care for (baby-sit) for a first-born child of a successful woman and her husband. I arrived at their conveniently located mid-town apartment in a doorman building and was handed a detailed list of everything. There is nothing quite like first-born to bring out the over-protective nature of parents. There is a need is to micro-manage almost every nuance. God bless them!

With babies, toddlers and children I have always felt a special connection. Rarely have I encountered one who didn't take to me. Perhaps it is the same way with you. The baby did not have her own room so I was obliged to hide out in a tiny New York size kitchen to give her a chance to fall to sleep. It was one of the least interesting households I'd been in except that it was compulsory neat. The magazines were perfectly squared off, there was no edible fun food in the fridge or cupboards nor did they leave any money for delivery. This was unusual and so was the tension between the couple. Were they having separation anxiety? They could rest assured they were leaving their number one treasure in capable hands.

There wasn't much on TV, I hadn't brought a book and the magazine selection in my opinion was fair. Reading "Parenting" magazine does not ring bells with a single, thirty-something. Time passed slowly as I gently get up so as not to disturb the baby in the living room.

Finally, very late, maybe 2 -2:30 am, they arrive home obviously inebriated. In my pocket was one token. That's it! Gigs like this pay cash not by check unless it's a weekend long job. The husband pulls out his check book and hands me a check. A quick glance tells me he is under-estimating my value and time but he could barely write the check. He had disappeared into their bedroom. I'm shocked but wait as I get my bag and jacket. I thought sure the woman would give me cash to pay for my cab ride home. That never happened. I was ushered to the door. Now, its later than 2:45 am. This is not a good time for a woman to be out on her own.

The door man offers to get me a cab. I tell him I have no money for a cab. Would he direct me to the closest crosstown bus stop? I arrive just as the bus pulls up and ask for a transfer. There are few passengers as I board the bus. Little by little they get off at the cross streets as the bus moves down to the avenue. I'm the last on off. It's a bleak and deserted corner stretch of First Avenue. I have to travel up to 83rd street where I am staying due to the kindness of friends. It will be counted among one of the most dangerous waits in my life.

How could this self-absorbed couple put me in such a situation? I stood on the corner of 57th and 1st for a very long time. The frequency of buses decreases sharply at that hour of the morning. 10 minutes, turned to 20 turned to thirty. Picture this a petite, attractive woman standing alone on the corner. There was no covered lit waiting area

A couple of cabbies stop but when I explaine my dilemma, they rolled up their window and drive off. More time ticks by as I focus on keeping my composure. Even if a had a quarter, there was no phone box nearby. Who could I call at this hour anyway?

I've often asked why I didn't ask for cab fare from these people? It was because they said they had no cash on them. What? By this point at the end of the 20th Century there was an ATM on every corner. No one ever expected their baby-sitters to pay their own way home.

Finally, a cab passed by. It was beginning to sprinkle. The cab passes, then backs up. "Where are you going?"  the lilt of an accent touches my ears. "I have no money", I simply say. "That's alright. Get in. I'll take you home." Gratitude fills my heart. I give thanks.

"I'm going to 83rd between 1st and 2nd." We talk on the way uptown. He's from the West Indies. "Are you from Haiti?", I ask. "Yes, I am." he answered surprised. "How did you know?" "The Haitians are God's People", I say simply. I tell him he can let me off on the corner as not to inconvenience him. "No, I'm taking you to your door because I had a fare who tipped me most magnificently tonight when I took him to the airport. I am glad to be of service to you."

As I got out of the cab extolling his angelic qualities. I went up the steps to the brownstone. I turned and waved. He was waiting to see me safely inside. I closed the door and went up the steps to my refuge.