Rethinking A Cab’s Bulletproof Partition

Cab drivers and the Taxi and Limousine Commission are rethinking the unsightly bulletproof partition separating the driver from his or her fares:

It emerged in the 1960’s as an invention born of fear: the taxicab partition, meant to spare the lives of drivers at a time of gunfire, armed robberies and murders. Over its lifetime, it would become yellowed and defaced; its contraption for safely passing money to the driver would often break down. And with the partition closed, the classic cabbie conversation – the one about politics and local lore, current events and competing theories about the best way from, say, Midtown to Kennedy – would become all but impossible.

Now, however, the partition is being rethought, in a New York City where crime is down and passenger demand for legroom and other comforts is ever greater. The Taxi and Limousine Commission has issued a proposal seeking new ways to design and install the partitions, which have been required in most yellow cabs since 1994.

. . .

The dividers generate strong reactions from drivers and riders alike. Most drivers who work daytime shifts do not bother to close their partitions, leaving the sliding door open to allow for conversation with passengers and easy exchange of money. Riders, in turn, believe the grimy plastic barriers discourage them from giving directions (not a bad thing, from the driver’s perspective) and make them feel as though they are in the vestibule of a battle-scarred liquor store.

Partition opponents cite safety concerns (“a plastic surgeon’s dream”) and aesthetic considerations (the “gritty, scratchy partition that prevents them from seeing the wonderful city around them”) as reason enough to discard the thermoplastic barrier. But that said, there may be other good reasons for it:

Ryszard Belc, 45, a Polish immigrant who lives in Elmhurst, Queens, said he thought the partitions kept out germs during the flu season.

And Mr. Belc said he had little nostalgia for the lost art of taxicab conversation.

“With cellphones, nobody wants to talk to the driver anymore,” he said. “Even on a five-minute trip, they always think of some long-lost aunt they can call.”

So that’s what they think of us — a bunch of infectious, self-involved marks.