You're the cab driver, you tell me!

The BBQ Pit
61

Proper London cabbies, what we used to call black cabbies before that became just too confusing a term to use, are the shit.

Those who drive mini-cabs are often just shit. (Ain’t that great about the English language - the shit means awesome, shit means awful. :D) Black cabs aren’t available (or at least not widely available) in zones 3+ in London and in parts of zone 2.

The last two times I tried to get a minicab, I ended up not getting one because they had no local knowledge whatsoever. I don’t mean ‘not knowing where a newly built estate in a far-off suburb is,’ I mean ‘not knowing where a building in walking distance from the cab office is.’

The first time I was horribly lost, and wanted a cab purely for that reason - I was only about half a mile from my destination but kept going around in circles. I had the name of the pub, the road and the number on the road. The cab firm had no idea where to take me without a postcode. Satnav fail!

The second time, I was taking my shopping home and fell ill on the way. It was about a five minute walk if you weren’t carrying heavy stuff, but I couldn’t do it - I could barely lift the stuff any more, let alone walk around with it and I couldn’t just leave it behind. So I called a taxi firm that was round the corner - literally.

They, too, needed the postcode of where I needed to be collected. I told them that I was on the corner of two specific streets near them, and they said they’d be there in five minutes, but after twenty minutes they still couldn’t find me. I called to ask them why they hadn’t turned up, gave them directions, and they still couldn’t find me. Satnav fail again!

Eventually a street cleaner helped me carry my stuff home and we had a lovely conversation, so it’s not all bad.

A taxi driver expecting you to know the way to your destination/pick-up point - unless it’s a very unusual destination or one that’s so new that it’s not on some maps yet* - is like a taxi driver expecting you to drive the car for them.

*These do exist. I lived in one a few years ago. I always understood that minicab drivers would have trouble finding it, because it wasn’t on the A-Z - it had been built for about five years at that point but still wasn’t mapped, and this was in an urban area (plus the roads were named in a really confusing way - like Straightdope Rd, Straightdope St, Straightdope Crescent, and my road, just called Straightdope). However, those cabbies did at least take my directions and not require postcodes. I have sympathy for them. I have no sympathy for drivers like the one in the OP.

62

Yeah, don’t feel bad. I’ve lived in Chicago for almost 19 years and I didn’t know that. I know it’s a simple system but I’ve never learned it.

63

In defense of cabbies everywhere let me just say, I think it kind of morphed into this situation.

I’ll bet, in these self absorbed days, every other a–hole who gets into the back of a cab thinks he knows the best way to get there. And when the cabbie doesn’t hit that particular route they assume they are being scammed! How many times would you get reamed out before you just started asking people if they have a preferred route?

Which is, slightly different, than asking me where it is, I agree. I don’t like that either. I don’t drive and I’m always being asked, “Is that north of Warncliffe?”, which I do not know, I was relying on you! Very annoying, I agree.

I also met a guy who was forever, especially after drinking, telling the cabbie to, ‘Don’t put the meter on! No, shut the meter off!’ For some unknown reason he thought he was doing cab drivers a favour feeding them some ‘off the meter’ cash, as it were. He never seemed to understand that most of the cabbies just wanted to follow the rules, as laid out, and not risk getting into any trouble. I’ll bet he’s still doing it to this day!

What irks me is when I get into a cab and the drivers window is down, and I’m cold! Yeah, I’m skinny and slight but, damn, if I wanted to be cold I’d have walked! I also hate when the music is playing too loudly or the radio dispatch thing is set at ear melting volume. Turn it down!

64

Like I said, I don’t mind the cabbie asking something like, “I was planning on taking LaSalle to Division, and then up Clybourn. Is that OK?” Gives me an opportunity to select my preferred route if it differs from the cabbie’s choice, and also indicates to me that the driver does know where he’s going.

I had another one this morning. We ran a 5k at the Lincoln Park Zoo, and as we were walking out of the park it started to rain. We didn’t feel like getting wet and cold, so we hailed a cab on southbound Clark at Webster, and gave our address (again, on the 1600 block of N Clybourn). He asked us how to get there. If it had been dry out, we probably would have gotten out, but it wasn’t very far, so I figured I could put up with it for a few minutes). I told him, take North Ave west to Clybourn. He proceeded south on Clark, made the right turn onto LaSalle, and then approached the North Ave intersection in the left lane, preparing to head straight on through the intersection. Forunately, there was nobody in the right-hand lane, so I could tell him to turn right. Same thing as we approached Clybourn. No tip for you!

And I’ve gotten to be a real pain in the ass about asserting my “rights.” Every cab has the “Passenger’s Rights” posted in them, and on more than one occasion I’ve exercised those by asking the driver to get off his cell phone so he can pay attention to his driving, or asking him to turn down the radio.

I’m probably coming off as a real asshole here. I swear to you I really am not. Maybe I’ll make a Chicago Dopefest someday, and you can see how mild-mannered I really am. Just make sure the Dopefest is near the El so I don’t have to take a cab to get there.

65

Culver’s?! Uck. Why not go to an Olive Garden when you’re in Italy, while you’re at it?

It’s all about places like Kopp’s and Leon’s.

That’s the one Lakefront beer that people outside of the greater Milwaukee area tend to know about, because it’s gluten-free.

66

Kopp’s is the best. You can’t find anything like them out here - it’s all tiny scoops of vastly overpriced crap ice cream (with the exception of Ben & Jerry’s, which is vastly overpriced good ice cream). I’d also like to give a shout-out to New Glarus’ Belgian Red, which is quite possibly the best beer ever. I always bring a couple bottles back to Cambridge when I go visit my dad.

67

For any cheeseheads in exile in the DC area, especially in NoVa, I hereby invite you down to Delray for The Dairy Godmother.

68

What’s wrong with Culvers? Damn good burgers they are, for fast food. Almost up there with In ‘N’ Out and Fatburger for me, for regional chains. (I can take or leave their frozen custard–I’m not much of a sweets person.)

69

It’s specifically their… “frozen custard” I’m taking issue with, here, personally.

70

Former cab driver here. I’m not gonna deny that many drivers are stupid/lazy/ignorant … they are. But I will give some explanation.
Driving a cab is a transitional job for many, probably most, drivers in the US, especially for guys who are making their living via flags and central dispatch, which is what ya’ll are talking about here.

Those London guys are professionals who do it for a career (and cost accordingly); in the age of cellphones, guys who drive long-term in the US tend to work on getting regular customers who deal directly with them. When you flag down a cab on the street or call central dispatch, odds are much better you’re getting the immigrant, or the guy who just moved here from Cleveland, or the guy who just got laid off his job and is doing this out of desperation, or the guy who is driving his brother’s cab for a few hours to make a couple quick bucks.

This.
QFT.
A-fucking-MEN.

I was accused by fares of taking them for a ride any number of times. Never once was it true.
(Which is not to say I never ever did it … just never when I was accused of it…)

In some cities, depending on the rules and the system there, he could have been.

Even more important than following the rules: jackasses like that are the kind that will tell you they “know” the meter would run them … and they’re wrong. I had no problem going off-meter, provided I got to decide what the fare was gonna be.

But then the next guy is gonna bitch that he doesn’t want to smell the smoke from the cigarette the driver just finished smoking…

You, sir, are observant.

Many drivers regard $5 fares as a waste of their time (for obvious reasons, the job tends to attract the lazy), and prefer to hold out for the big one.

71

I work at a bar that has a circle of cab-driving regulars…

The cab drivers in question in this thread may just be drunk.

:eek:

72

Win!

Since I live in South London (or, as the black cab drivers know it, “no man’s land”) I usually take minicabs. The reliable ones all have GPS these days. The ones that don’t have GPS often don’t have other features either…like two working headlights or functional brakes.

73

Richardson’s, but not the one in the furniture store.
/off-topic

The closest I’ve come to this was a car service guy asking for routes around some bridge construction. Understandable, as the bridge had only been out for a week or so.

I do run into cabbies who are irritable when they hear where I want to go, and often their tip is determined off of how much grumbling they do about have to drive into Lynn (I live in a decent area, but not three blocks away from place you don’t want go during the day). Otherwise, when I’m travelling and taking a cab it’s a business trip, and I only care about time, not route.

74

A few years ago I flew into Newark airport to visit Crusoe who was working in Manhattan at the time. I got off the plane at about 1am, got through Customs, and joined the queue at the taxi rank. In due course, I got into a cab, and straight into The Ride From Hell.

My driver was an easily annoyed middle-aged Asian guy who didn’t appear to speak or understand much English. I gave him the name and address of my hotel and we set off. Straight away, Cabbie makes a call on his mobile, and starts chatting away in a language unknown to me. This bothers me, but I elect not to say anything, not knowing whether that’s legal here or not.

His phone call continues as I notice that we seem to be heading further and further into surburbia. Eventually, we drive in the opposite direction to several signs saying “Manhattan”, and then I feel I must speak:

“Um, excuse me, sorry to interrupt your phone call but…”
**Cab driver: **“SHUT UP!”

I shut up (I am, at the time, in my mid-20s, out of Europe for the first time, and far too English to make a scene), and we proceed deeper and deeper into badly lit deserted streets. Eventually, he turns off into what looks like a industrial estate. I can’t help feeling we may have gone wrong somwehere.

**Me: **Where are we going?
**Him: **Shut up!
**Me: **It’s just I think Manhattan…

He pulls over, and parks the car in a darkened alley, turns to me and barks:

“WAIT!”

before getting out, and locking the doors behind him.

Now, you may be wondering why I haven’t by now called the police, or Crusoe, or in some way made some sort of a scene. I refer you again to the fact that I’m English. Plus, I kept thinking that there must be a reasonable explanation for all this. Cab drivers can’t make a habit of kidnapping tourists straight off the plane. I would’ve heard about it. It would have been in my Lonely Planet guide, or something.

Cabbie disappears into a nearby house, and I wait, as I was told. I don’t have much choice, after all, the car is locked and the area deserted. After a few minutes, cabbie comes back and off we go again. See, I tell myself, he was just getting directions, nothing to worry about.

To my short-lived relief, we get back on the freeway. However we still seem to be heading determinedly away from any signs of civilisation, and consistently ignoring any signs for Manhattan. Cabbie is back on his mobile, and has elected to ignore my attempts to point this out to him.

By now my imagination is running away with me. What if he wasn’t getting directions in that house? What if that house wasn’t a house at all, but a prison for polite English tourists who’d been kidnapped straight off the plane? What if he had taken me there with the intention of selling me into the white slave trade, but they were full, so he was taking me to the next one? What if this kind of thing happens all the time, and the only reason it wasn’t in the Lonely Planet guide was because no-one ever escaped to tell the tale?!

I stare miserably out of the window, wondering if I’ll surive if I open the door and roll out into the freeway. Probably not, I decide. I call Crusoe instead:

Me (whispering, because if my cab driver isn’t a slave trader I don’t want to offend him): Hi honey, it’s me. Yes, I landed about an hour ago. Yes, the flight was fine, thanks. Well, I’m in cab, yes, but the thing is…"

I tell him the story. Crusoe is a remarkable calm and sane individual, I think. He’ll tell me this is all perfectly normal and then I can calm down and stop worrying…

**Crusoe **(urgently): Ok sweetheart, in the driver’s cab there’ll be a licence and badge number. Tell me the number please.
Me (after a thorough visual search): There isn’t one.
Crusoe: What do you mean there isn’t one? There has to be one. All licenced cabs have to have…Oh my god, you got in an unlicenced cab. WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING???
**Me **(starting to cry): I didn’t! I went to the taxi rank and got one from there, how the hell was i supposed to know? Oh god, I’m going to get raped and killed and murdered and sold into the white slave trade, aren’t I?!
**Crusoe: **No, sweetheart, calm down, you’ll be ok, I won’t let that happen. Tell the driver that you’re meeting me at the hotel and if you’re not here in 15 minutes I’m calling the police, ok?
Me: Ok…

Crusoe:…Did you tell him?
Me: Uh-huh.
Crusoe: And what did he say?
**Me: **“Shut up.”

Anyway, eventually we made it to Manhattan, and some time after that, to the right hotel (which was a very large corporate one right next to Ground Zero, so not, one would have thought, hard to find). Judging by the driver’s utter confusion once we finally got to Manhattan, I suspect he wasn’t a white slaver, just a really bad cab driver who knew even less about the local area than I did, and who’s lack of English meant that he couldn’t read the road signs. I was still completely hysterical by the time I got there though.

The next day, I took a cab driven by an obese Iranian-American who stank, drove like a lunatic, told me he’d marry me if he didn’t already have a wife and three girlfriends, and got me to exactly where I wanted to be with no bother. It was wonderful. :smiley:

75

The brats and cheese, too.

76

I’m one of those hicks from Indiana spoken about upthread. I have been in a cab precisely two times in the last 50 years.

First time was in Minneapolis at about 3am. Flight was late, airport was closed, and 15 middle eastern men were yelling and arguing in their native language about who was to take which fare. At that moment, a middle aged white woman taxi driver pointed to me and said, “Where would you like to go?”. I could not have been more relieved.

Second time was in our beloved Chicago. I was traveling to Lombard for a job interview. Arrived at O’Hare, got in queue at the taxi stand, and was directed to a cab. I innocently thought that the cab drivers knew the city like the back of their hand. Told the driver where I wanted to go and off we go. When we get close to the interstate, it becomes obvious that he doesn’t have a fricken clue where he is going. He’s calling someone for directions to Lombard! By then we’re on the interstate and it’s not like I can make him pull over. I had not been to the office before but I had a general idea where Lombard was by looking at a map before my departure.

Since this is only my second cab ride, I calmed myself by thinking that if he didn’t know where he was going, at least he had someone to call. At that moment, I looked in the rear view mirror and the bastard was falling asleep at the wheel!!!

Rather than startling him or pissing him off (remember, I’m on the interstate), I start making small talk to keep his ass awake while he’s taking me to my destination. I have never been so scared in my life.

So I’ll stick with my hick roots where I can drive myself wherever I want to go, thankyouverymuch.