My train came in at about 3:00am this morning. I had an eclectic matrimonially abundant weekend in New York. It was refreshing. What wasn't refreshing was my difficulty catching a cab from Union Station over to SE Washington. Granted, I might have been overly naive at the notion that my metropolitan attitude, travel methods, and corduroy blazer were enough to transcend the whole being a "black man trying to catch a cab thing."
I felt like I was back in high school (three blocks away) at a friday night mixer in the gymnasium asking some girl to dance with me... asking her to pick me... subconsciously asking her to acknowledge that I was good enough... asking to be judged... sowing the all too common adolescent seeds of self loathing convinced that if she didn't chose me, it was my fault.
My first mistake was walking across the street from the station because the crowd waiting for cabs was way too long. In retrospect, the credibility of the Train Station would have helped me out.
Across the street...I waved. I pointed at over a dozen empty cabs. When the few drivers that bothered to slow down leaned out of their windows to ask my destination, I tried to make my home sound more "Capital Hill South", less "Southeast Propper." It was an exercise in futility. Finally, I stood in front of a nice hotel down the block in an attempt to seem like I was a guest. It was oddly successful.
Oh... the best part... I went into the hotel to get the phone number for a cab company and the concierge told me (through the door, cus opening the door would have been way too polite) that everybody was asleep and that I wouldn't be able to call a cab, so he couldn't help me.
What?
I just need the number, dude. I'm not trying to rob you...
Did you not see the corduroy blazer?