the inside of a taxi cab

I have several different ways to get to work. I can walk, although I rarely do that (and almost never in the summer months). I can take the subway, and it's only two stops plus a five- to ten-minute walk to my office. Finally, I can take a cab: it's a short ride, and I never go far above the base fare because my office building is so close to where I live.

I take a cab pretty often, probably more often than I should. This means I have a lot of experience with cabs and cabbies, and each ride, while routine, is also unique. Every cabbie has his (or, on occasion, her) own personality and driving style, and they all handle the Korean-speaking foreigner a little differently. Most are cool with my speaking Korean; they even expect it. Some are utter idiots, unable to comprehend how it is that a foreigner can speak "our country's language," as they so nationalistically put it. For these people, I can speak perfectly clear Korean, even saying the same thing multiple times, and they still don't get it because they've convinced themselves, upon seeing my foreign face, that they simply won't understand me. So every cabbie brings his/her own ambiance, and even their cars are different in terms of engine rumbles, weird vibrations, open/closed windows, air conditioning, etc. I also take cabs to go along other routes than just to work, so there's that, too.

But for the moment, I want to focus on one earthy aspect of cab-riding: the smell. Some cabs have a perfectly neutral smell, so I don't have to think about that aspect of the ride. But other cabs... damn. There can be a pungency, even a reek, in certain cabs. Sometimes, the driver is so ancient that there's the inevitable old-man smell that permeates the cab's interior. (The average age of a Seoul cabbie is 60. I'm talking about drivers who are much older.) This odor can be, in some cases, pleasant or reassuring, but in other cases, the odor brings with it a sad hint of imminent rot and death. Certain female cabbies load themselves up on perfume (especially if they're younger women, who are rare for me to encounter), turning the cab into an olfactory roller coaster. Some cabs are filled with the heavy stink of the cabbie's breath, which I always find a bit unnerving, especially since—in theory—we're all wearing masks these days. And then there's today's cabbie, who obviously hadn't showered in a while, leaving me to bask in his malodorous funk while I thought Pigpen thoughts.

You do what you can do survive the experience when you're in a cab that smells bad. This might mean opening a window. It might mean just stewing while remaining outwardly stoic even as your soul, like a caged animal, struggles and yammers to escape the situation. It always means that you're only too eager to leave the cab once you hit your destination. I'm a big guy, so getting out of any low-set car is always a chore for me, but I still make haste when liberating myself from my taxi-ish prison, heaving myself out to freedom and cleaner air.