I’ve vented about this before. Taxis in Boston are the worst.
Last night was the perfect storm of awfulness + ridiculousness.
The Captain and I went to dinner downtown and attempted to take the subway back to his house. Only to realize the Sox game had just ended and therefore, every train was packed with people. How packed? As my friend Jess once said, “What is this, India?”
Ok, so the T was out. Next option, a taxi.
After hanging out on the corner hailing numerous occupied cabs (the Boston cabbies lack the courtesy to abide by any kind of light system, so you never know until they drive by if there’s anyone in the cab), we snagged one. Huzzah! [This was a success compared to two weekends ago, when we attempted to grab a cab at 1:30 am. After telling the cabbies our destination, two of them just drove off, not satisfied with the fare they’d receive from our trip.]
And then it went downhill. Fast.
1.) As soon as we told the cabbie our destination, he responded with, “Aww shit, I just came from there!”
2.) He seemed puzzled by the address, but seemed to know where he was going. That is, until he drove us in a circle.
3.) Then he passed back his GPS and told us to program in the address. Umm, try 666 Trouble St., because that’s where we were headed.
4.) The Haitian news radio was full of static, yet blasting at nearly full volume.
5.) As our cabbie was alternately slamming the gas, then slamming the brake, the Captain and I exchanged skeptical glances.
[here’s the game changer]
6.) The cabbie saw a blonde woman hailing a cab and yelled out, “Where you going? South Boston? Get in!” And so this woman was in the passenger’s seat, cabbin it with us.
7.) At this point, I was so annoyed with the entire experience I debated a jump-and-roll at the next stop light.
8.) The woman, obviously drunk from the Sox game, made small talk with the cabbie. When they exchanged names, she said, “Bernard? That’s a good, strong name.” When she said the Haitian language sounded like gibberish to her, oh how he laughed. When they shared a common love of music and dancing, he changed the station to a hip-hop station, turned up the volume, and started rapping/singing along, while simultaneously pumping the brakes to the beat of the music as she yelled out, “YEAH! You got a new job! DJ Bernard, that’s what I’m gonna call you!”
9.) At this point, the woman had looked back a few times at me with a shrug and an “I have no idea what is happening” smirk. Bernard-the-cabbie had looked back at the Captain a few times with a “YEAH! I’m gonna nail her!” smirk. I looked at the Captain through a sea of tears, which were soaking my cheeks from laughing so hard at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.
10.) As we arrived at our destination, we attempted to pay with the credit card machine, but it was conveniently broken (sidebar: cabbies often say their credit machines are ’broken’ so they get fares in cash rather than in credit, which takes 10-15% off their fare to pay the credit card company). As the Captain asked to be driven to an ATM, the blonde woman said, “No, no, it’s cool. I’m just a few blocks from here and I have cash. Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you covered.”
And so, they sped off leaving us on the sidewalk, bent at the knees trying to recover from laughter.
No comments:
Post a Comment