When it comes to getting around town, I feel like I’ve always been a pretty low maintenance, public transportation-using, walk-when-I can kind of fella. I will avoid cabs at all costs when Midtown is involved, either directly or indirectly. I use the subway multiple times a day.  I am anti Uber because it is run by douche-bags and caters to the 1% in a way I don’t like (note: I use Uber in other cities so am complete hypocrite, but I stand firm (ish) in my NYC conviction).

And then came Via. I would date Via if I could. For five bones, I can get anywhere (basically) in Manhattan. That means I can now get to the East side in 10-15 minutes instead of spending a solid 40 minutes on a bus. With my friend Via, I can relax. I don’t need to freak out that the cab driver is taking me (and surely he is) the most expensive and slow way possible (see: https://underthefalseimpression.wordpress.com/2015/05/20/taxis/) because no matter what, my ride costs the same cheap price.

I’ve been using Via for over a year now with few complaints.  Sure, you might have to walk a couple of extra blocks. Sometimes the wait is too long. More annoyingly, sometimes you take  routes that seem absurd/out of the  way (because they are). And I’ve been annoyed to pay a cancellation fee when I cancel seconds after I book. But I can live with these flaws. I can also handle the fact that you have to share the ride sometimes, because for $5, who gives a shit? Apparently someone wants me to give a shit.

Today, I called a Via. I was still doe-eyed/naive despite my year-long tenure with the service because I DID NOT KNOW WHAT COULD HAPPEN YET. A block after my son and were picked up, a woman got in holding a one year old. Not hers, she told us, she was the sitter. As she clambered in, she cheerily (and okay, vaguely apologetically) informed me, my 6 year-old and the Via driver that the baby she was toting “hates being in cars, sorry!”  She shut the door. The child, Zachary — and believe me, I will remember him probably forever, possibly into my next life even though I don’t believe there is one – immediately commenced what can only be described as a decibel-piercing, ear-plug defying screech that would have made any dog figure out how to immediately end its own life.  This was on 109th and Columbus. We were going to 79th and Columbus. They were going to 20th and 3rd. Aka I knew they were in it for the long haul.

Six blocks later – if that, I’m being generous here – my own lad who is not as pro public transport/walking as I am – in fact, I’d call him anti – turned to me, eyes brimming with tears, and said, “Mommy, can we get out?” I was determined to stay in  because I’d already paid, and it’s $7.50 for two people, not the $5 I freely throw about. I didn’t want to deal with re-hailing a cab (or calling another Via) and I thought I could handle this Zachary, deafening and shock-to-the-system-ish as he was. What was 24 more blocks down an avenue, I thought, especially since I’ve begat two children of my own, one of whom I didn’t really like that much from ages 3-4. In hindsight, this was perhaps a poor judgment call.

Zachary did not let up. Like, I’m not sure I heard him pause to inhale during his tirade. What he did do was become increasingly apoplectic  and, if possible, loud. He also raised the bar by commencing to kick/flail/throw himself around the back of the car.  The sitter tried; she did. She rocked him and shushed him and tried to give him a bottle/feed him (sidenote: I worried he would vomit any milk/snack up due to his exponentially growing state of hysteria, but hell, if it gave me 20 seconds off, I was willing to see where it would take us.). The driver tried. He suggested opening windows. He put the freaking Minion movie on his Iphone and passed that bad boy back to us (and by us, I mean them). He tried to reason with Zachary (“Zachary, what’s wrong?”). My own boy tried. He plugged his ears and woefully looked into my eyes, imploring me through the power of thought/telepathy to get the fuck out of the cab.

On 84th street, I threw in the towel. The thought of even two seconds more with the devil known as  Zach was above my pay grade and coping mechanisms. To quote my boy upon exiting what I feel perfectly comfortable calling actual hell, “I thought I was going to go deaf. I really did. In fact, I wish I had gone deaf because then I wouldn’t have had to hear him anymore.” He was serious and not really being all that dramatic.

Because I cannot blame the anonymous parent who is inconsiderate/rude/crazy/thoughtless enough to have her child share taxis with strangers while he is in this stage of, um, development….I will implore Via: Please don’t do that to me again. I don’t want to break up with you. But if you ever do it again, well…I’ll probably still use you anyway.