Taxi!

I’m not one to make cool entries or exits. I know one when I see it, but I don’t think I have the ego to pull them off. Sometimes I do something that seems like a great idea at the time, or I lash out to someone in a way that is really witty, but also mean, and then I feel bad about it for the rest of the day.

Yes, I was talkin' to you.

Case in point: The other day, I was going to take a taxi home. I walked to the front of the line, and stepped inside the cab. I told the driver our address, and he turned around and asked me, “Where is it?”

I got out of the car, and told him that if he didn’t know, I’d ride with somebody who did know.

Walked to the next car, opened the door and asked the driver if he knew where my street was.

He said no.

At this point, I’m not thinking anymore. I told the man he didn’t get the job and closed the door. Walked to the next car. Same thing. Next car. Same. Next car. Next. Next. Next. Next.

Opened the door of the tenth car – and by this point I’ve walked a good 50 meters, right – and asked the driver whether he knew where my street was. He knew the name of the neighborhood so I jumped in and rode home. With style, I’d like to think, but can’t be sure. At least one of the drivers flipped me off.

And I keep thinking of the guy in Car Number Seven. He had probably watched me walk from car to car to car, so when I opened his door, he knew something was up. And he really tried. He scratched his head, massaged his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. But he still couldn’t tell me where my street was. When I had then gone to Car Number Nine, Seven got out of his car, smiled and yelled, “now I know!”

Sorry, buddy.

4 thoughts on “Taxi!

  1. I think it’s interesting that you started telling me this story with an: "you’re not going to be proud of what I did today." Rightly so. I feel so bad for number seven! I would have run back there :)

  2. And your sympathetic view, Jessica is interesting, and understandable, but at the end of the day, these guys sit in their cars all day, drive around all day, and their JOB is to know where things are, and take people there.

    Interestingly, in China the taxi driver licenses are numbered chronologically, so as soon as you get in the cab (or look in the window), you have a pretty good idea whether or not your guy has been driving for awhile and is likely to know your destination, or two weeks previously was driving a tractor (or more likely a bullock) in Anhui Province. Low number good; high number, you’d better be able to give directions.

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