Small Annoyances

The weather was beautiful, and I had planned my evening perfectly.

I’d walk through Central Park, passing by my favorite sites while catching up with friends and family on the phone. I’d jump on a train from Penn Station, and be right on time for my flight from Newark Airport.

Isn’t this how all angsty stories begin? “Everything was going according to plan…”

In a way, it’s my fault. I’ve been living in NYC for 15 years now. Shouldn’t I know better than to go to Penn Station? And isn’t it playing with fire to go to New Jersey?

On the other hand, New Yorkers understand better than anyone that trains are more reliable than taxis, and that going through the Lincoln Tunnel at 6pm is a death trap.

Let me step back and share that it all began so well. I walked by the Guggenheim and entered the park by the reservoir. I talked to my parents while passing the MET, my favorite magnolia trees, Bethesda Terrace, the zoo, and a saxophone player on a bench who had a dozen people dancing. So good, right?

I exited the park, still on schedule, and talked to my older brother for the next twenty minutes. We hung up as I got to Penn Station. I grabbed my ticket and hopped on a train. As my cousin Gurpaul would say, “On time. On budget.”

We waited on the train for about 15 minutes, which was fine because I had plenty of buffer. Then we heard an announcement. There had been a train accident, and all trains were coming in and out of NYC on a single track.

They couldn’t anticipate what time we’d get going. Another woman saw that I had a suitcase and asked if I wanted to split a cab to Newark. She had a faint Italian accent, and was traveling to Minnesota. So endearing — but I didn’t want to spend more money. Besides, I still had an extra 40 minutes to spare. I thanked her and declined.

I didn’t have wifi but I did have phone reception. So I caught up on more phone calls. The minutes went by, and my buffer was gone. After 40 minutes, I decided it was time to bite the bullet. I headed upstairs to hop in a car.

Ubers and Lyfts were more than $100. It must have been cheaper to take a regular taxi. I hopped in one, and the older driver smiled. “Aaiyai sardarji,” he said. “Miharbaani, I replied. “Newark Airport jaanaa hai. Lai jo gay?”

His smile disappeared. He wasn’t frowning, but he wasn’t thrilled. He paused for a second. He looked at me through the rearview mirror. He said in Urdu, “I don’t like to go to Newark. It’s too much driving on the highway and too far away from my home. But since Allah has willed it, I will take you.”

Part of me felt bad that he had to drive me where he didn’t want to go. Part of me wondered if he was playing me for a bigger tip. Another part of me felt annoyed by the drama of it all. Was any of it necessary?

The driver put in a massive surcharge. $23… I rolled my eyes again.

He started driving, and I could tell this was going to be a long ride. He slowly inched around another car even though he had plenty of space. He stopped at a light that had barely turned yellow. Then he reached back and asked me to put Newark Airport into his Google Maps. I was dumbfounded. But I let it all go.

We got through the tunnel and into New Jersey, so I called my friend Dave. It would be a good distraction from the annoyance. But while we talked, I watched the meter go up and up and up. The driver kept slowing down, sometimes going less than half the speed limit, even on the highway.

I wasn’t the only one annoyed. Other drivers honked at us at least 15 times as they drove around us. When my driver misread his map and took his second wrong exit, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Dave I’d call him back. From that point on, I dictated every single direction, both in English and in Punjabi, until we got to the airport entrance.

Of course I was in Terminal C, the furthest from the airport entrance. More time with this driver, and even worse, more money on the meter.

I was so annoyed. How could a cabbie be such an incompetent driver? He has one job!

I looked up at the meter on his dashboard so I could calculate the smallest appropriate tip possible. As I looked at the meter, I glimpsed his hands, shaking on the steering wheel. I turned away quickly, as if doing something wrong. Then I looked again at his shaking hands. Was he scared? Did he have a neurological disorder? Was there something else?

I looked in the rearview mirror again and saw him for the first time. He was older, closer to my parents’ age. I could tell by the short gray stubble around the crown of his head.

I thought of my own parents and wondered what retirement might look like for him, or if he’d even have the luxury of retiring. I wondered about his family, about what his dreams must have been when he moved to the US. All of these curiosities, in the matter of moments.

Then I looked a third time at his shaking hands and remembered what he told me about not liking to drive to Newark. Maybe he wasn’t being dramatic. Maybe he was doing something he’d rather not because he had no other choice.

My heart softened, thinking about my own parents. What would I want for them in this situation?

I thought of my irritation, and realized how trivial it was. I had a plan for my evening; It didn’t work out. I ended up in a taxi with a driver who wasn’t the best. I ended up having to pay more than I would have otherwise.

Yes, all of these were annoying. And they were all building up inside of me. But what helped me in this moment, in the midst of my annoyance? What helped me feel peace when it felt like I had lost control of my plans?

It was a flash of curiosity, a willingness to pause my selfishness for a moment and wonder about someone else’s life and experience. I didn’t mean to do it—it happened naturally. I didn’t even need answers—just asking the questions did the job.

By the time we pulled up to Terminal C, I was feeling calm again. I looked him in the eye, said miharbaani, and gave him a healthy tip. I walked into the airport feeling zen (which is saying a lot, given how stressful airports can be).

And now, I’m sitting in the airport, writing this reflection with one primary question in mind. What would my life be like if I was more curious about the people around me?

Maybe, just maybe, seeing other people in these moments can help us see ourselves a bit better. Maybe it’s a way for us get a different perspective in the moments we need it most.