Three Stories from One of the Unsung Heroes of NYC

Like “Cash Cab,” but better.

The man’s name is Nana Kwabena Oppong, or Nana for short. Nana is a king and yellow taxi cab driver in NYC — perhaps you’ve ridden with him.

Long story short, after a few minutes of banter, extending our talents of juggling and …juggling, Nana offered his talent: telling jokes. He told us to call him “Sam,” explained that he is originally from Ghana, and then proceeded to tell story after story of absolutely absurd experiences he’s had driving a cab in New York City.

Sam ended up telling Lindsey and I that he wanted to publish a book. Excited and amazed by what we had just witnessed, we exchanged numbers and he gave us his journal. Lindsey would spend the next couple of days typing up 57 pages of handwritten stories into a Google Doc.

His journal opens with this:

We met with Sam a few weeks later to return his journal over coffee at a Starbucks in Midtown. He shared with us some photos from his past as a King, and we laughed with him, returned his journal, and vowed to be in touch. But unfortunately, we lost contact with Sam — and never nailed down a way to make his dream of publishing a book come true.

This led me to go back through the 57 page Google Doc of Sam’s stories. I decided that even though his book isn’t published — the world deserves to see at least a few. So, here are three good ones:

NOTE: These stories were transcribed exactly the way Sam had written them — we included line breaks for clarity — but otherwise it’s all his writing. Not mine! Not even a little! All words of King Sam, the funniest freakin’ man I’ve ever met.

I have no college degree but I know more than any professor at Columbia University. My passengers love me not because of my sense of humor but because I entertain them, I make them laugh, but I’m not a comedian.

The Italians love me not because I speak both Italian and Napolitano, or try to get a big tip, “forget about it.” The Italian women will try to give me their numbers so I can call them and have a drink of red wine in a restaurant with them. I never call because I don’t have time to go hang out in a bar or restaurant. Time is money. I’m just a cabby, not an African credit card hustler, or fake bank check peddler who will spend $60 dollars on a bottle of champaign.

I remember one day I picked up one Nigerian guy with this beautiful light skinned African American lady who was about 6’3”. He asked me where I was from, and I said Ghana. Even though I’m an American citizen I never tell people I’m an American because my accent confused them and I’m tired of it. He took me to the Hudson Hotel lounge where we spent about a thousand dollars that night. That was my first time drinking champagne with strawberry fruit hanging on the top of the glass. I wish I could tell him to just give me the money he spent on drinks. I look at this light skin lady good looking at the end and he told me to drop her off at Brooklyn and he pay me upfront to make sure she gets home safely. He gave me $70 dollars even though the fare was going to be around $35 dollars. He told her: “Honey call me as soon as you get home.”

I could tell that he had another date, that he was a “ladies man”. That’s what they do every night, go from one bar to another, clubbing and spending money like there is no tomorrow. So, on the way to Brooklyn the lady told me that she is not going to Brooklyn and told me to take her to battery Park near ground zero. This trip only cost around $9-$12 and when we got there another guy around 6’5’’ who looked Latino was waiting outside the building. I asked myself if she was going to ask for the difference, and decided she wouldn’t because she would have to call the Nigerian guy and say “Honey I’m home.” I know the answer already, she’ll probably go to the bathroom and call him and say “Honey I’m home.” So as soon as she stepped out of the cab this Latino guy, probably Dominican, Puerto Rican, “Boricua”, Columbian or maybe Sicilian. The lady hugged him without even asking how much the trip was, I took off without even looking back because to me it was not the first time. I see more than that so I was not surprised.

It was midnight and I was in front of my usual spot “MAD RIVER LOUNGE” when this good looking guy about 6’2’’ and a lady about 5’5’’ get into my cab and they making two stops one in uptown 145th st and riverside and second stop on 96th street and Broadway so I took the westside highway and when we reach 72nd street I felt my cab was bouncing a little bit up and down so I look at my inside mirror and I saw the guy was on top of the lady so right away I pull over to the shoulder and the guy realize that I have seen everything so he put something in my hand when I open it, it was $50 dollar bill and I did hesitate I continue my trip. It was very tough decision for me that time but at the same time with that fifty dollars I kept my mouth shut but this lady wont stop screaming at the back seat. I drive the Toyota Siena Minivan so there are lot of room in the back and I said to myself “this might be dangerous to my mental health for that kind of stuff going on in the back seat.” So the first stop was the lady so after we drop her off the guy said to the lady didn't wanna go to hotel because she is married and afraid somebody might see her and the husband is gone out of town for business trip that end of the story.

I will check you if you have the vibe because I do the night shift and the traffic day shift. I tried it once and I lost five pounds first day. I said no more.

The following week I was cruising down York avenue and the light turned red so I stopped at 72nd and York and this gentleman with nice suit probably Kenneth Cole outfit that is where I buy my clothes and shoes so if someone has it on I can tell. Suddenly he opened my door and said take me to 72nd and York while the light was still red and I was already on 72nd and York and he said shut the fuck up take me there, and I was like what can i do he won’t get out he want’s to go there and if I call the Police to come and throw him out it is gonna take forever so I said to myself I have a plan.

I circled around the block and came back to the same spot on 72nd and York and I said here we go this is 72nd and York and he asked me how much, and the meter was only two dollars since I went only one block so I told him two dollars and he gave me twenty dollars and ask me if it enough. I was afraid to say yes he might say shut the fuck up again, so I kept silent and he pulled out another twenty dollars from his wallet and I was watching through the inside mirror and anytime he pull out the twenty dollars and I kept silent. He will drop it on my front seat until there was no money left in his wallet and he opened my door and slammed my door so hard and walk so fast across the street like somebody was chasing him. So after he disappeared I stood there for about ten minutes because I felt so bad and at the same time i was happy and maybe that was my compensation for saying shut the fuck up.

Still now I don’t know what causes that guy to behave like that even people who are drunk will never clean their wallet, I pick up a lot of drunk people they never clean their wallet. Even an Irish drunk guy the highest he will pay you is double not triple and if you try to take more money from him he forget it you’ll lose he’ll take his money back from you and he’ll pretend he has already paid you and he will never pay again so what ever you get keep it and help him out of the cab.

Getting money driving yellow cab is never hard for me, I know how to hustle I don’t stay in line at Penn Station, Port Authority or at the Airport. I like to cruise around and I don’t play games with off duty light and change people flat rate I go anywhere no matter what time rush hour or midnight I know all my joints from Upper East side, lower east with the hipsters, Tribeca, Soho, Meatpacking with all the Douchebags is how you make money. I like talk to my passengers and they always say you’re the nicest cab driver I ever met some of the Cab drivers are mean they smell and they’re mean, and then they’ll say “you know which i’m talking about.” And they will ask where you are from originally. That is the phrase I like to hear not where you from, and I will ask if you wanna do the cash cab - if you win you’ll get a free ride but if you lose you’ll pay me double and i’ll give you three life lines and a clue. Sometimes they win and they still pay me. One thing I like about Americans just entertain them that all they want.

Hells Kitchen rush hour time to make my money and this Upstate girl on the phone throughout the whole trip going down to lower east probably one of those hipsters begging her boyfriend not to breakup with her pleading to him he will not do it again. I don’t know what she did to the boyfriend and they boy is not listening. I was trying to get rid of her because she was annoying making noise in the cab cursing and pulling her hair.

So finally I reach her destination and the meter was seventeen dollars and I was expecting her to pay me so I can move on but she won’t listen to me I said Ma’am I got to go she was still pleading with the boyfriend and wasting my time and I said give me the phone let me talk to your boyfriend maybe we can work things out and they boyfriend told me if you want take her with you she is a liar, and she is too fat and I look at the lady she wasn’t too fat that you can’t take her to dream hotel or Provocateur that if you’re not good looking you can’t get in the meatpacking, she was okay looking but my temper started heating up since she refused to get out of my cab I even beg her to get out if she doesn’t have money — she was still wasting my time and this is not to dial 911 I take care of it myself. I have to open the door for her, there was one guy who looked like a douchebag who came after I explained everything to him and i’m sure they were going to link up because they guy paid for her and definitely he will get the phone off and go to a bar somewhere since lower east side has many bars than anywhere else in the world.

The residence has been complaining to Mayor Bloomberg for years but the more they complain the more bars they open every apartment has a bar next to it. And I believe they’ll go to Coyote ugly bar which is on first avenue and somewhere twelve street because the bartender who lives in Bushwick Brooklyn use to be my regular customer. She’ll call me every Friday and Saturday to take her home she will tell me a lot of stories about the douchebags and a lot of ladies looking for guys cheating nasty stuff.

NOTE: This story was originally authored in 2013 by, Lindsey Bernstein and myself — in a dusty old Google Doc.

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