taxicab confession

I seem to be stuck in a cycle where strangers feel completely comfortable telling me rather intimate details of their lives. I think I emit some sort of pheromone that attracts highly-personal relationship-gone-wrong stories and detailed (and usually very graphic) medical histories. Seriously, I've been pretty patient about it up to now but I am instituting a zero tolerance policy when it comes to discussing certain ailments. If your condition involves phlegm, fungus or oozing... move on. Please note that this is not an exhaustive list -- I'll update it as the need arises.

But I digress... in a cab ride from the Upper West Side to Brooklyn tonight, I discovered that my cab driver:

:: is against the upcoming fare hike
:: hates Bloomberg and is concerned for all New Yorkers about the rising cost of living in NYC
:: lives in a 3-bedroom in Elmhurst and only pays $550/month
:: will be evicting a freeloading woman he's been shacking up with for the past seven years... TOMORROW. Apparently, she's been lying to him and bleeding him dry and he "can't have that." Girlfriend will be pounding the pavement tomorrow if all goes according to plan. ::snap snap::

I actually didn't mind my verbose driver and this very personal exchange. He totally disarmed me and I even answered some of his questions and politely dodged the ones about the whereabouts of my boyfriend. I think it was his soon-to-be-single status and the toothpick dangling from his mouth that made me stonewall him during certain portions of the getting-to-know-you exercise. But he redeemed himself after I paid my fare... he removed the toothpick and blew me a kiss of thanks without being gross about it. I almost offered to go to Queens to help him evict the dirty skank.