Now for the second, much more disturbing story.
Saeeda and I went to catch a movie on Friday night (Vantage point – wait for the DVD), and decided to take a cab on the way back home. The guy drove over the speed limit, and swerved across lanes multiple times. That in itself is not unusual behavior for taxi drivers in a big city, but it was dangerous nonetheless.
The fare was $5.85 by the time we pulled up to our apartment building. I had a brief internal debate over whether I should give the guy $6.00, therefore punishing him for the bad driving by giving no tip, or whether I should give the guy $7.00 (the amount I would have paid normally). I generally tip cabbies, because I know the hard work they put in, and how little they make. So despite my better judgment I gave him $7.00 and started walking away from the cab.
A yell from the cabbie caught my attention, and I turned around. Next thing I know, the cab driver is approaching me aggressively, and shoving a quarter in my hand. I ask him what that’s for, and he makes a face and says it’s my change. Confused, I asked him what the change is for. He says that the fare was $5.85, and I only gave him $6.00. I say that he is wrong, and that I gave him $7.00.
Despite this guy’s aggressive behavior, I ask him to count the money I gave him, because I’m still willing to give him the extra dollar. Of course, it turns out that he has counted incorrectly. He looks up at me sheepishly, and I say that in the future he should count the money properly, and walk away.
This sets him off. He charges at me, yelling and cussing at me that I can keep my dollar. I’ve walked into my building lobby by this time, where Saeeda is waiting for me, and this cab driver comes INTO my building, still yelling and swearing at me. Dangerous though his behavior is, and even though avoidance is the best approach, I lose it the moment he takes a step towards Saeeda.
Placing myself between Saeeda and him, I get in his face and yell at him to get out. But I’ve also managed to lose my temper by this time, and start swearing right back at him. Somewhere along the line we both realize that we’re Pakistani, and the Urdu curse words follow. One part of me is amazed at myself, but another is just waiting for him to touch me. The adrenaline kicks in, tunnel vision kills my perception of my surroundings, and my face is an inch away from his.
Saeeda told me later that it was only through our doorman’s intercession that no physical violence ensued. The doorman managed to push the guy out of our building, and Saeeda somehow managed to get me into our elevator.
I had trouble sleeping that whole night, because I could not believe that cab driver’s actions. If you don’t get tipped appropriately, you can yell, curse, flick off the passengers, whatever. You do NOT leave your car under any circumstance. This guy did it TWICE. Once to shove a quarter in my face, and another to confront me once he realized he had counted incorrectly and I had called him out on it. That he was unstable was obvious, but that was no excuse for his actions. I spent the night kicking myself for not remembering the guy’s cab number or company.
Luckily, our doorman had noted down these details, and I got these from him the next day. The city of Chicago has heard from me, and I fully plan to see this idiot taken off the streets before he causes some serious damage. In the meantime, make sure you memorize that four digit number. You never know when you’re going to need it.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Why you should memorize your cab number
I’ll start with the more innocuous (though no less harrowing) of the two stories that make it imperative that you ALWAYS memorize your cab number when you get in for a ride.
I was wrapping up a weekend trip to Austin, and some friends and I decided to share a cab to the airport. Because there were three of us, and there wasn’t enough room for my backpack, I placed it on the front passenger seat.
The ride to the airport didn’t take long, and pretty soon we were in line to get boarding passes. Which is when I realized that I had never picked up my backpack (which contained my laptop, amongst other valuables) from the cab. The feeling that hit me next was sickening – you know the one. Your head starts spinning, and no sooner does the world come back into focus that your stomach drops through to your groin. Anger hit next – anger for being an idiot and not being able to do something as simple as keeping track of my belongings.
Once I was somewhat more composed, I asked my friends what cab company our taxi was part of. Blank stares.
“Guys was it yellow, white, what?”
Blank stares. We didn’t even remember the color of the taxi, let alone the company name or the cab number. I ran out of the terminal, hoping beyond hope that the cab driver had realized he still had my bag, and had decided to wait curbside. No such luck. Instead, I ran into one of the people that are always yelling at you to move your car because the nation is at a perpetual Code Orange. Thankfully, the person I found was a nice lady who started calling the main taxi dispatch lines to see if a driver had reported the missing backpack. I was then put in touch with the airport lost and found department, which also came up empty. As I began to mentally reconstruct the gigabytes of personal information on my laptop, and whether it was worth taking a later flight so that I could recover my bag, one of my friends grabbed my attention.
“Did you hear that?” he asked. “What?” I replied. “Your name – they’re calling your name on the PA system.”
Breathless, we ran back into the terminal to the airline counter, where sure enough a lady cop, my backpack in her hand, was trying to locate me through the public announcement system. Amazed at my good fortune, I thanked God, and then offered to hug the cop. Then I thought better of it, since as a general rule, you don’t want to be excessively emotionally expressive around people who carry guns.
So the cab driver who had dropped us off turned out to be a good Samaritan, and left my bag with airport security. Still, if I had memorized the four digit, unique cab number in the first place, I could have had taxi dispatch instantly locate the cab and put me in touch with the driver.
So memorize that number next time you get in a cab.
I was wrapping up a weekend trip to Austin, and some friends and I decided to share a cab to the airport. Because there were three of us, and there wasn’t enough room for my backpack, I placed it on the front passenger seat.
The ride to the airport didn’t take long, and pretty soon we were in line to get boarding passes. Which is when I realized that I had never picked up my backpack (which contained my laptop, amongst other valuables) from the cab. The feeling that hit me next was sickening – you know the one. Your head starts spinning, and no sooner does the world come back into focus that your stomach drops through to your groin. Anger hit next – anger for being an idiot and not being able to do something as simple as keeping track of my belongings.
Once I was somewhat more composed, I asked my friends what cab company our taxi was part of. Blank stares.
“Guys was it yellow, white, what?”
Blank stares. We didn’t even remember the color of the taxi, let alone the company name or the cab number. I ran out of the terminal, hoping beyond hope that the cab driver had realized he still had my bag, and had decided to wait curbside. No such luck. Instead, I ran into one of the people that are always yelling at you to move your car because the nation is at a perpetual Code Orange. Thankfully, the person I found was a nice lady who started calling the main taxi dispatch lines to see if a driver had reported the missing backpack. I was then put in touch with the airport lost and found department, which also came up empty. As I began to mentally reconstruct the gigabytes of personal information on my laptop, and whether it was worth taking a later flight so that I could recover my bag, one of my friends grabbed my attention.
“Did you hear that?” he asked. “What?” I replied. “Your name – they’re calling your name on the PA system.”
Breathless, we ran back into the terminal to the airline counter, where sure enough a lady cop, my backpack in her hand, was trying to locate me through the public announcement system. Amazed at my good fortune, I thanked God, and then offered to hug the cop. Then I thought better of it, since as a general rule, you don’t want to be excessively emotionally expressive around people who carry guns.
So the cab driver who had dropped us off turned out to be a good Samaritan, and left my bag with airport security. Still, if I had memorized the four digit, unique cab number in the first place, I could have had taxi dispatch instantly locate the cab and put me in touch with the driver.
So memorize that number next time you get in a cab.
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