Why I Hate Cab Drivers

Let it be known that I have major issues with cab drivers. Not ALL cab drivers, but about 75% of them, especially when they’re rude, try to charge me $12 to go less than a mile, and throw tantrums when I try to pay with a credit card even though I can SEE their credit card swiper sitting right on the passenger seat. I’ve had some very shady-slash-hilarious incidences with cabbies in my life (especially one involving the Brookhaven Kroger), but Saturday night in Miami trumped them all.

I was staying with my cousin and his wife in Tampa this past weekend, and Saturday, we drove down to Miami to stay with my aunt and uncle. My BFF Cory and some other friends from Delaware/Philly were coincidentally in South Beach, so, of course I had to meet them out. My cousin dropped me off at Barton G and I planned on cabbing it back to the house that night or the next morning. Around 2 a.m., I got totally lame and decided to take my not-drunk ass back to my aunt and uncle’s, so, I hopped in a cab. I was prepared to shell out some cash to get back, but I was thinking around $40. $50 max.

The douche of a driver “took the long way” back and was not friendly at all. Shocker. And, of course he didn’t take credit cards (when is everyone going to GET WITH IT?!), so I had to be taken to an ATM, which is always a great place to get mugged or knifed in a metro area at 2:30 a.m., so I was excited about that. When we finally pulled up to the house, the meter read something around $53. I handed him all my cash (almost exact) and he gladly took it and counted it with no mention of me owing him any more. ALSO, keep in mind, he was playing the “me speak very little English” card. Even though he was an a-hole, I still wanted to tip him because he had driven me all the way out there, so I told him I was going to run in the house and see if I had any extra cash.  He still didn’t seem to be comprehending, so I figured we were all set.

I went in, searched through my bags and found no cash, so I got into pajamas and prepared to hit the sack. I figured the dude was long gone.

Then the doorbell rang.

Nope, it wasn’t the cab driver.

It was a cop.

Let it be known that I ALSO have had issues with cops, so when I see one, I immediately think I’m getting cuffed and taken to jail. It didn’t help my anxiety that the doorbell had woken up my aunt and cousin’s wife and they came rushing to the door, and I also was wearing a thin tank top with no bra. Arrested for indecent exposure in my own home? It would only happen to me.

The cop explained that the cab driver had called him because I hadn’t paid him in full.

You. Have. Got. To be. Kidding me.

And that “non-English speaking” mother F’er was sitting right outside the house, running his meter the entire time.

My cousin’s wife, Ashli, sprung into action and took over because truth be told, I was stunned. And inappropriately dressed. And did not want to face this jackass cabbie for fear of getting arrested for battery.

His meter now read $73 and we had to pay him to settle the dispute. For real. Ashli and my aunt took care of the cash and got his personal and company information, which apparently scared him a bit. And just for the record, when he spoke to Ashli, he was speaking perfectly clear English. Of course he was.

I’d say the cab driver won this one. He got an extra $20 while I got all shook up and my family had to ensue police-involved drama at 3 a.m.

But, he’ll get what’s coming to him.

It’s called car-ma.


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One Response to “Why I Hate Cab Drivers”

  1. Meredith says:

    Remind me to regale you with some of my cab stories some time. I’ve got some great ones … One from this last Saturday actually.