What’s the consensus for when you’re cabbing it by yourself? I always feel a little arrogant if I’m chilling in the back while he drives so usually hop in the front with the driver, unless I really don’t want to talk to anyone.
Dear Generic Metropolitan Taxi Driver,
I know that your brown skin entitles you to make fun of white-collar assholes such as myself, but it’s really people like you that force me to call my private car service more often. I honestly don’t want to do that since I do want to support the “little guy.” Sure, you’ve saved my ass many times stumbling out of nightclubs when I need a fast escape from the dirty broad who I pissed off at the bar. Other times, you’ve graced me with your presence just in time as I was getting a young honey to follow me back to the hotel. You understand my situation. We’re both lonely bastards in a big, lonely city and we all need a little lovin’ sometimes. I write this, however, because I am finally fed up with your bullshit.
First, your car smells of shit and piss. Either it was your previous passengers or you yourself that smells like the inside of a Rhino’s asshole. The air freshener hanging from your rear view mirror quit working in 1989. Please buy a new one. I’ve tipped you enough times that you can afford a $0.99 pine scented air freshener from Walgreen’s. While you’re at it, get the fucking car cleaned. The air freshener is one thing but that piss isn’t going to flush itself away.
Secondly, when I decide to pay by credit card, do not respond by telling me your fucking machine doesn’t work today. Get your manual card slider out ya’ shit-for-brains. If you don’t have one, call it in. Don’t have a phone? No problem, you can use mine. Shit, I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to process my fucking card. If you still refuse and force me to find an ATM, you will turn off the fucking meter and I will be deducting the ATM transaction fee from your tip, you slimy bastard.
Thirdly, get out of the car at the beginning and the end of the trip to load my fucking Tumi into the trunk. I don’t care if you weigh 350 lbs or there is on-coming traffic on the driver’s side of the car. Get your ass out, risk your life if you have to, and use a little elbow grease to get my stuff into the trunk of your rat-infested shit-mobile.
Fourthly, invest in a hand vacuum. It will do wonders when you suck up all the crumbs sitting on your oversize belly and in the passenger seat from all the fast-food you’ve stuffed your face with over the past 24 hours. You might even need to get out of your car once in awhile and take a potty break. Or wait, was that the shit & piss smell from before? Either way, get the vacuum.
Fifthly, do not grumble and moan when I am with 2 or 3 other passengers and one of us has to subject ourselves to sitting next to your pathetic existence in the front passenger seat. Move your fuckin’ envelopes, receipts, and bills outta the way; we’re paying you and we’re sitting down as comfortably as possible.
Sixthly, don’t try to jack the meter. I know how much the fare is and when you “click” an extra person fee into the meter, your tip just went to the titty bar I told you to take me to. There’s a reason why you’re driving my ass from the Four Seasons and it’s because I can read the fares posted in the back of your car. Maybe you should learn how to count to 5 in English so you can figure that one out.
Seventhly (yes, seventhly), when it’s 105 degrees outside turn on your god damn air conditioner. I don’t care if it robs your precious shit-mobile of 5 horse power. Maybe if you’d quit stepping on the gas and jamming on the breaks at the stop lights you’d get your gas mileage back. Did you ever think of that one?
Lastly, when I call ahead and you’re notified to show up at a specific time and you do not show, do not be mad or surprised that I have left and called my private car service. Like I have time to spare waiting for your garbage can on four wheels to arrive when I could be at the airport in the first class lounge munching crackers and brie cheese.
I loved you cabbie… I really did. But now, I hate you. Clean up your act and do something with your filthy self. Improve your shitty service.
I don’t know how it is in Canada, but the vast majority of NYC taxi drivers really don’t want you in the front seat. It’s not like they’re going to hang up their stolen cell phone and talk to you anyway.
^Yup. Nor can you understand them anyway.
I always hop in the back.
depends on the city… in Rio i just jump in the front seat with a beer in my hand.
I’ve always lived in places where you drive wherever you want to go. I’ve probably taken a cab less than half a dozen times in my entire life. The few times I have I always rode in the back seat.
I must be in a friendly city… when I first started cabbing places I used the back, but every single one of them would strike up a conversation so I guess I just got trained to ride shotgun
I find it super weird you want to sit up front with the cabbie.
Only conclusion here is that CFAvsMBA has a lot of free time and likes to write
also depends on the car… the NYC taxis typically have those bench seats with the plexi glass and sitting up there is kinda awkard because noone does it…
with the sub-compact cabs in brazil, when i jump in the front bucket seat… i feel like im in the game GTA
Only time I sit in the front is if the back seat already has people in it and I’m travelling with a group
front seat in Australia, any other country I would always sit in the back. It’s seen as a bit elitist to sit in the back of a cab in Australia for some reason.
Canada and Australia must be pretty similar as “elitist” is the perfect word to describe how I feel in the back
as MBAvsCFA would say:
Back -> BSD
Front -> LSD
In NY, it’s a safety issue for the taxi driver, as they might pick up sketchy passengers. There is even a front seat/back seat dividing wall that prevents you from reaching in an strangling the driver. I suppose it also adds a bit of privacy, in case you don’t want to talk to the taxi driver.
Stormy would complain that taxis don’t stop for him due to his race.