I don’t usually drive my taxi on Christmas Eve. But a couple of years ago, I decided to go out. My folks moved to Florida, and I can’t take hot weather in December. My only brother, him and his family moved to Minnesota. Now, I can take the cold, but that’s tundra temperatures out there. So, I was alone in the city. I figured driving would give me something to do, and besides that, I was a couple of hundred simoleons shy of the rent—three hundred seventy-seven and seventy-five cents, to be exact.

Let me tell you, Manhattan becomes one enormous Christmas decoration during the holidays. Everywhere you turn—store windows, lamp posts, bus stops—they all have a bow, string of lights, or something that says it’s Christmas. Looking up Fifth Avenue, even the traffic lights, turning from red to green, look like they were planned as part of the holiday decor.

So this one Christmas Eve, I made my way up Fifth Avenue, figuring I’d get some high-brow fare at one of the high-brow hotels. You know, if you can afford to stay at the Plaza or the Sherry-Netherland, you can afford to drop a substantial tip on your cabby. At midnight, the streets were practically deserted. A few hours earlier, it was bumper to bumper, horns honking, the sidewalks packed with last-minute shoppers. But now, nearly no one at the corner of 34th Street and 5th Avenue—a hundred stories up the top of the Empire State Building was lit red and green. At 42nd Street and 5th Avenue, the lions in front of the public library, wearing those huge wreaths around their manes, were silent. And as I made my way uptown, I found the tree at Rockefeller Center as alone as I was.

By the time I passed the Plaza, the chances of getting a passenger looked pretty slim. Then I saw him right near the entrance of the Central Park Zoo—a guy in a Santa Claus suit hailing a cab. Well, it takes all kinds, and the one thing New York City’s got is all kinds. This guy was waving like crazy. I was gonna pass him by, but hey, it was Christmas Eve.

Before I could even stop, he’s got the cab door open. He yells to me, “Open the trunk. I’m in a hurry.” At first, I thought to myself, “Who does this guy think he is?” Then I realize, who knows, this might be a trip to the airport—that’d be good for a few bucks. I jump out and open the trunk. This guy’s got bags of stuff like I’ve never seen before. I’ve got a big trunk, but I wound up having to tie it closed. And we put a bunch of stuff into the back seat and more up in front with me.

By the way, this guy was wearing the best Santa Claus outfit I’ve ever seen. Beautiful. I mean the fur collar, the belt, the boots, the whole deal. And if that beard wasn’t real, I’m not a Yankee fan. I know a guy, another cab driver, who dresses up like Santa every year. A bunch of us pitch in, buy a case of canned hams, and he goes to the shelters and places like that and gives them away. I always thought his outfit was good, but this guy had him beat hands down.

We get into the cab, and he tells me to start driving. We get about a block, he yells for me to stop. So I stop. He says he’ll be right back, grabs a couple of things from the trunk and disappears into this building.
Once he’s gone, I notice how quiet it is. I mean silent. When you live in New York, quiet is a scary thing. When nothing happens in New York, that usually means something’s about to happen. I figured I better step out and keep an eye on all the stuff in the trunk. Well, just as my foot hit the pavement, I hear the passenger door slam. It’s him. He’s back. “Let’s go,” he says. I pop the car in gear, and we don’t go half a block before he yells to stop again. He’s out before I can even stop all the way. I jump out of the car. I mean, that kind of thing is unsafe, right? He’s rummaging through the trunk. “Hey,” I says to him, “are we gonna be making a lot of stops?” “Yes,” he says. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you wait to get out until I stop,” I tell him. I’m not embarrassed to say I was a bit steamed. He says, “I’m sorry. I’m just in an extreme hurry,” and disappears into another building. Hey, what do I care? The meter’s running.

Well, before I know it, he’s back in the cab. The routine keeps on going—we stop at the next building, and then the next, and the next, and the next, and the next. Every time he’s in the trunk, into the building, and back lickety-split. After a few blocks, I figure I’ve got it down. I step on the gas and stop at the next building. “Keep going,” he says. I’m thinking, “What is with this guy?” I look up and notice the sign—Temple Beth-Israel. “Hanukah’s over,” he says, “keep going.”

A few stops later, I’m looking at him in the rearview mirror, and I noticed, for the first time, a little trickle of blood on his forehead. “Hey buddy,” I says to him, “you all right?” He nods. “Had a little accident,” he says. “There was a new building on the skyline,” he says. “Wasn’t on our maps,” he says. “We wound up right near the zoo. That’s when you picked me up,” he says. “Anybody hurt?” I ask. “Just a little shook up,” he says.

We keep moving up and down the island of Manhattan. Then we hit Queens, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and even Staten Island. Covered a lot of ground. And I drove him into some pretty rough neighborhoods, too. I was a little nervous, but he says, “Don’t worry about it.” So I didn’t. Everything turned out all right.

The sun was just coming up when we got back to the zoo. The trunk was empty. Nothing left in the back seat, nothing left in the front seat. When I turned off the meter, the fare was eight hundred seventy-two dollars and twenty-five cents. He hands me a wad of bills and says, “This should take care of it.” He heads back into the park, and I yell to him, “Hey, who are you anyway?” He turns, looks at me, and then laughs.

After he disappeared into the park, I look down and count the money—twelve one-hundred-dollar bills. The guy gave me a three hundred twenty-seven dollar and seventy-five cent tip!

Every Christmas Eve since then, I take my cab out. I hang out on Fifth Avenue near the park, just in case. And you know what? I don’t care what anybody says… I believe. I believe I might just get Santa Claus in my cab again.