Throw this Anvil in front of a speeding cab-some of these guys really need to hit the ditch and get the hell off the road.
I recently had the displeasure of enduring a ride with a particularly caustic driver. He was the type of cabbie that demands cash up front, that asks $50 for a $30 ride; the type that doesn’t take plastic-but sports a shiny VISA sticker on his rear window. He’s the kind of cabbie that-on a busy Friday night-gets really pissy about his career choice.
He assumes you’re not going to pay your fare. He’s been screwed before. He’s become so jaded that he thinks your ride is going to be a nightmarish ethics lesson about the degenerate pigs who vomit in the back seat and skip out on cab fares.
He’s the cabbie that turns a normally affordable, enjoyable cab ride into a distressing extortion run of scrutiny and mistrust, with a side of shit-eating guilt.
Cabbies provide a service; they aren’t doing us a favour by picking us up. A cab-ride isn’t a forum for back-handed threats to dissuade us from pulling a cab-’n-dash. In fact, a bitching and moaning cabbie runs an even greater risk that drunken post-secondary elitist fares will scoot ass before they pay a dime.
So Cabbie: save your Friday night work woes for the wife and kids-we pay good money not to listen to that shit. In the meantime, run your Orwellian rear-view mirror camera until your balls turn blue-just shut up and get me to the bar.