I am a Jackass New Yorker

Last night, I was in a hurry to meet up with some friends in Manhattan. I had made the long commute from Westchester on a train and was late for my little alcohol rendezvous. I decided to flag down a cab along Lexington Avenue. To my dismay, all of the cabs were occupied and I was getting frustrated. 15 minutes later, I saw an available cab half a block up, and I raised my hand as if summoning a servant to hurry up and get me some water. I then started running toward the cab and finally made it to the passenger door with my hand on the handle. At that very moment, a young man and his girlfriend - all dressed up in their new designer clothes - start to enter the cab on the other side.

I never thought it was in me, but I gave him a mean stare. . . the type country fathers give to the farmboys found with their daughter in her bedroom and right before raising and aiming a 2-barrel shotgun to the boy's face (and ass as he jumps out the window). Then, I raised both hands and said "for God's sake man," and then I started running toward a cab a few feet away that had just become available. A split second after I turned away, I heard the guy say, "Hey buddy, it's no problem, we'll just get another cab."

At the time of his statement, I hadn't realized what he had said. When I got into the new cab, I noticed that even after I had chosen the new cab, the couple decided to let the disputed cab go, and then they stood on the sidewalk waiting for another cab, presumably for the next few minutes.

Lesson learned. Not everyone in New York is a jackass. The second you make that presumption, you become susceptible to being one yourself.

Welcome to New York AcidJazzBoy. You really are a bitchass bastard.