I love NY! Nobody can surprise you with unsolicited generosity, scathing wit, searing political commentary, etc, more than a New Yorker, a real New Yorker, not a tourist or transplant, but one who is vital to the workings and misgivings of this great city, one who not only knows which things can go wrong when a billion things are happening at once, but also knows how to fix those things if at all possible. Yesterday, I arrived back in New York after my 8 week sojourn and took a cab back from JFK because it was late and I was tired. The taxi driver was a former motorcycle mechanic who now drove a cab 4 days a week. He explained to me the details of short hauls from the airport which allow the cab driver to cut back to the front of the line if he chooses to return, which areas constitute short hauls and long hauls, the strategy of staying in the city or leaving the city for the outerboroughs on the weekends. He explained his love of motorcycles, the speed, the power, the danger. All of this with almost no prompting. As I sat in the back of the cab, I relaxed and finally felt that I was finally back home where I belonged. I was so relaxed, I didn't even remember taking the knapsack off my back and placing it on the floor of the cab. Only after I had gotten out and walked 50 feet towards my apartment did I realize I had left my knapsack in the cab. How ironic. After taking so much care to mind my stuff during my trip, keeping my passport always on my body, keeping my europass always accessible but hidden, and doing a good job of it as I hadn't lost a single thing during my entire trip, how ironic that I should lose my knapsack on the taxi ride home from the airport. I panicked because the camera had all the photos from my trip. My europass was also in the bag although I didn't need it anymore I still wanted it as a memento. Thankfully, the taxi dispatcher at JFK had handed me a piece of paper with the cab's medallion number before I stepped in the car. One of those bureaucratic formalities, like a receipt, which one doesn't ordinarily pay much attention to, but which has the potential to be a most important piece of paper if something should go wrong. In my case, it was the only link I had to the cab. I didn't know the driver's name but I knew the medallion number. It was a start. I also knew that the cab driver was likely to go back to JFK since my ride was only a short haul. It was an incredible piece of luck that I had just learned that bit of trivia. I looked up the Taxi and Limousine commission website for a way to contact a driver for lost property, but all the offices were closed and would not open until Monday. So I called the JFK general number to see if I could contact the dispatcher, but a recorded message told me to call back tomorrow. I called information to see if they could give me a number for JFK taxi dispatch or ground transportation, but they could only give me the same useless numbers I already had. Then I saw a little footnote at the bottom of the webpage that said reports about taxi drivers could be made 24 hours a day at number 311. 311. That's it. Like 911. Or 411. I thought it might just be for emergencies and then I remembered that the Mayor had created 311 as a sort of screen for 911, for minor emergencies. I convinced myself that my lost knapsack constituted something of an emergency, and frankly I was getting nowhere with my telephone calls/internet searches so I gave it a shot. I did not know that by calling 311 I keyed myself into the network of true New Yorkers, the public servants who work through the night, the true New Yorkers who know how to fix things when they go wrong. The 311 operator calmly listened to my story and gave me a general number for JFK. When he started to give it to me I thought it would be the same number as the general number I already had since the first 4 digits were the same, but alas, the final 3 digits were different. I had gotten the "real" number for JFK, the one that people who need to know now know, the number that is scribbled in the margins of the directory next to the general numbers, the number to a telephone next to a living person, not just an indifferent operator whose job was to answer the phone and initiate a game of circular phone tag, but a living person who knew what he or she was talking about, a person who was responsible for things besides answering the phone AND who had the integrity and sense of responsibility to answer the phone. I called the number and instantly the man who answered the phone understood my situation as if he had dealt with this hundreds of times, which he probably had.
Operator: You have the medallion number?
Me: Yes!
Operator: Ok, I'll transfer you to the dispatch supervisor. Hold on.
Dispatch supervisor: What's the medallion number?
Me: XXXX
Dispatch supervisor: Ok, this is what we do in these situations. We will put a hold on his medallion number so when he gets to the dispatcher he will not be allowed to proceed without contacting me. We will ask him about the bag. He has to turn it in if he has it.
Me: Ok, but he didn't do anything wrong.
Dispatch supervisor: Yes, but the driver may not know the bag is even in the car and the next passenger may take the whole bag without the driver knowing.
Me: That's true. Should I leave my number so you can call me?
Dispatch supervisor: Sure. (Writes down my number and name). And here's the number for the taxi lot if you want to call them, 555-5555. I just spoke with them. Good luck. I hope you get your bag back.
Me: Thanks. I'll just wait by the phone.
So I waited a few minutes wondering whether I should call the taxi lot just to be sure. I didn't want to be pushy but I eventually decided to call.
Taxi lot clerk: Yes. The supervisor explained the situation to me. When he comes back to JFK we will stop him and tell him to call you. What's your number?
(I give her my cell phone and my land line phone). Ok, I just spoke to the dispatcher outside so he knows. Good luck.
Me: THANKS!
Now THIS is a city that never sleeps. I had spoken to 3 extremely polite, well trained people who knew exactly what to do. I was confident the wheels were now set in motion. And all of this had occurred around 11PM on a Friday night. Still I wasn't sure whether I would really ever get my bag back. Just in case, I kept my phone ringers on extra loud and right beside me at all times. I was exhausted though, having not slept for 36 hours and I eventually fell asleep. The next day I still hadn't heard anything and I had pretty much accepted the fact that I had lost my bag. I was dealing with it and had a million other things to do like donate my furniture to the salvation army, another organization that knows how to get things done. I managed to clear out most of my medium sized furniture which was a great relief and I went back to Queens to chill out for a while. I had my cell phone with me earlier, but I left it in the apartment before I went to Queens having mistakenly given up hope for a call from JFK. But alas, when I got back to Brooklyn around 10PM, there were messages on both my cell phone and my answering machine! They found my bag. The taxi driver had it with him and they gave me his cell number and name. I gave him a ring.
Me: Hello is this "taxi driver"?
Taxi driver: Yes, is this "Me" (He knew my name and was expecting my call).
Me: Yes
Taxi driver: Can you call me back in 3 minutes?
Me: Ok.
(3 minutes later)
Me: Hello?
Taxi: Hi. I have your bag. The next passenger found it and passed it to me. I have it right next to me. Let's see. There's a book, two europasses, a camera, a pack of cigarettes with a lighter, some mints, a half-empty bottle of pepsi, and some gum. (everything!) There's no passport.
Me: That's ok. I have my passport. Sounds like everything's there. That's great!
Taxi: Are you in the city?
Me: No.
Taxi: Oh that's too bad. I'm on duty so I can't drive all the way out to Brooklyn. If you come out to the city tomorrow I'll give you your bag. You have my number.
Me: Ok. I'll give you a call tomorrow. THANKS!
Taxi: Sure thing. Bye!
Wow! I never expected to get my bag back. I thought it was gone and I was pretty depressed about it. But now I'm ecstatic. I can't wait to have it in my hands. I will give the taxi driver a BIG tip! I wish I could tip all those people at the JFK taxi dispatch as well. There were awesome! I will write a letter or give them a call tomorrow once I have my bag back. The stereotype of indifferent, rude New Yorkers is wayyy off. Maybe the tourists and transplants are like that because they think that's how New Yorkers should behave, but real New Yorkers, the public servants in the greatest city on earth are some of the nicest and most helpful people on earth. Period.