Why don't I feel bad for this guy?

This cabbie was pulled over on Avenue A this afternoon, one block north of the $#&%show known as a Verizon commercial shoot. Trunk undone and engine steaming, I still didn't feel bad for this guy; in fact I never feel bad for cabbies. Why should I? They rule the streets. They all mysteriously go off duty when it rains. They refuse to go to Brooklyn. They talk on the phone more than BFF high schoolers. And about that - who are they talking to?!? I can't imagine the significant others of cabbies to be sitting around at 4:30 in the morning gabbing about what little Jimmy did at school that day. Do they converse with other cabbies? Do they share secrets about where the best bunch of B&T'ers are that night? Traffic reports concerning the FDR and Midtown Tunnnel? The latest cricket game? WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT?

Yes, this bothers me.

Granted, my stock in Motorola Bluetooth headsets appreciates their business, but I find it utterly annoying. One night after a long day of work I was cabbing it home (on the company, natch) and the driver was exceptionally loud. Annoying laugh, strong emotions, the whole bit. Did I follow the tourist tips posted in the backseat and kindly ask my driver to hang up? No, of course not. After all, I prefer not to detour to Red Hook en route to the E.V. I did the only thing I could do - I fought back with the in-car TV. Suddenly the cab-tube that I normally loathe and immediately mute upon entering a cab was my last hope for ending the ear-splitting cackle in the front seat. Cranking the volume on NBC highlights and "ask the locals" commercials, the chatterbox was forced to hang up. Trust me, it was worth bearing the obnoxious clips for 50 blocks.