Cabbies, regardless of what company they work for, tend to have each other's backs in violent situations. But the thing about my superintendent is that he doesn't "tend" to have my back, he always has it. I'm not a large man, but I stand behind him with my arms folded, eyeing potential improvised weapons. A crowd of similarly minded drivers forms.
We're there to protect our boss, but we're also judging him. He does well, calmly and sternly telling the interloper to leave without giving an inch or showing fear. The man doesn't comply, instead choosing to run up to people and yell about how he's a suicide bomber, and that we better have guns if we want to take him on.
A cop shows up before things escalate further, and I can't see through the crowd. I hear her yelling at the man to take his hands out of his pockets, and then see him storm into the heart of the garage. I press into a corner and hope that the cop isn't dumb enough to open fire.
She's not. Her backup is there in seconds, and the man's taken away with his pants around his ankles. The mob of drivers disperses in seconds, off to work.