Despite the drama, many drivers love the freedom. No boss breathing down your neck, no performance review, and you get to listen to your own playlist all day. I had a driver in Boston who played nothing but 80s power ballads and called his cab “the therapy couch on wheels.” He made about $40,000 a year, which he said was “enough to keep the lights on and the cat fed.”
But the numbers can’t capture the real cost: the aching back, the dodgy customers who smoke in the back seat, and the sheer mental energy of navigating a city that changes lanes without signaling. It’s a job that pays in cash but charges you in patience. One driver summed it up perfectly: “You’re not making a fortune, but you’re never bored.”
So, next time a cabbie curses at a red light, remember: they’re not just late for dinner. They’re trying to make rent. And if the fare is $12 and you hand them a $20, you’re not just giving a tip—you’re buying them a little less stress. Or at least a really good coffee.
