It's one thing if you're texting and driving. You're the one controlling the car, and if it's your fault that you do something stupid, it's your fault. It's a completely different story when the person whose job it is to safely get you from Canal St. to the Upper East Side is texting, has an earpiece in, is listening to one of these malicious songs, is eating street meat, is putting in an address into the GPS, cleaning his dash, trying to change shoes, shooing away window washers and yelling at the 30 other cabbies surrounding him all at the same time.