Saturday, April 02, 2005
New York Cab Nightmare
I’m on my way home from New York. I flew into LaGuardia but I’m flying out of Newark. Its raining, so I decided I would give myself a little extra time. I got up this morning at 6:30 am, which is 4:30 am to my body, so I would have plenty of time to pack, shower, and so on. I went down to the lobby and caught a cab. The doorman put my suitcase into the trunk. First mistake. I was in for an interesting trip.
We got as far as Lincoln Tunnel when the cab got a flat. I felt a little bad for the guy because of the rain. Its cold and nasty. He tells me, with a thick accent, “two minute. Be fix in two minute.” I waited about five and then asked him to call me a new car. He insists that it will just be a minute of two more. The cops came over; tell him to back up out of traffic. He obliges and they call a tow truck company. I asked him to shut off the meter. He said no. After another three or four minutes he did it. The meter read $6.20.
The two minutes became, ten, then 20, then 30. Finally he and the tow truck manage to get the spare on and we’re off again. We went through the tollbooth and I’m thinking, “Right, good, back on track.” Second mistake. He turned on his meter.
On the turnpike he missed the exit to the airport entirely. At this point he slowed down to 15 miles an hour in a torrential downpour. Cars are swerving around him with blaring horns. New Yorkers are well known for horn honking at random times, but these people had a point. We’re a great big yellow hazard. He then decided to cross the median where it is clearly posted that you’re not supposed to. He pulled in front of a semi that was driving at least 55 on slick streets. The semi had to punch his brakes hard—more blaring of horns. This guy ends up doing this across three different sets of traffic and pulls onto a tiny off ramp that is posted “Do Not Enter”. Third mistake.
He ends up BACK at the tollbooths, pulls a u-turn, cuts off a hearse—which, of course started blaring its horn.
At this point I’m starting to worry. He keeps slowing down trying to get his bearings. Bad sign…he turns off the meter at about $28. This man was muttering to himself and started cursing.
Finally we find our way to exit 14—the way to the airport. We drove down to the tollbooth and he stops dead. Another car was behind us…horn blaring. At this point he asked me, “Are we good? Is this right?” Of course my first thought was, “Are you kidding me???” I said to him, “You’re the driver.” We both noticed a sign to the airport and we headed off. Now bear in mind. The drive time to the Newark airport in the early hours of a Saturday morning (light traffic) shouldn’t take much more than 40 minutes. We were pushing 90 minutes at this point. I was thinking, “Ok, this fiasco has ended.” Fourth mistake.
We made it to the airport and he asked which airline. I told him that it was United. He asked, “US Airways?” “No United.” “Which Terminal?” “I don’t know.” “Which terminal?” “I DON’T KNOW” “Terminal C?” “I don’t know.” “Terminal B?” “I don’t know” “Terminal A?” I suddenly see a sign. “Yes, terminal A.”
We got to the terminal and I asked him, “How much.” Fifth mistake.
“I’ll take $65.00.” I am SO tempted to tell to take a long walk off a short pier. He has nearly killed me half a dozen times, got me lost, made me late. But wait….my bag is being held hostage in the trunk and I have a plane to catch. I sighed, fished the money out of my wallet—no tip—and ask for a receipt.
“The meter has been off for a long time. I can’t give you one.” I had just about had it.
I got out of the car, got my bag and went to the United kiosks. My luck has changed—my terrible middle seat in the back of the plane is replaced with an exit row with extra leg room (thank you elite status) and here I sit in the terminal, just a few minutes before boarding pecking away at my keyboard.
We got as far as Lincoln Tunnel when the cab got a flat. I felt a little bad for the guy because of the rain. Its cold and nasty. He tells me, with a thick accent, “two minute. Be fix in two minute.” I waited about five and then asked him to call me a new car. He insists that it will just be a minute of two more. The cops came over; tell him to back up out of traffic. He obliges and they call a tow truck company. I asked him to shut off the meter. He said no. After another three or four minutes he did it. The meter read $6.20.
The two minutes became, ten, then 20, then 30. Finally he and the tow truck manage to get the spare on and we’re off again. We went through the tollbooth and I’m thinking, “Right, good, back on track.” Second mistake. He turned on his meter.
On the turnpike he missed the exit to the airport entirely. At this point he slowed down to 15 miles an hour in a torrential downpour. Cars are swerving around him with blaring horns. New Yorkers are well known for horn honking at random times, but these people had a point. We’re a great big yellow hazard. He then decided to cross the median where it is clearly posted that you’re not supposed to. He pulled in front of a semi that was driving at least 55 on slick streets. The semi had to punch his brakes hard—more blaring of horns. This guy ends up doing this across three different sets of traffic and pulls onto a tiny off ramp that is posted “Do Not Enter”. Third mistake.
He ends up BACK at the tollbooths, pulls a u-turn, cuts off a hearse—which, of course started blaring its horn.
At this point I’m starting to worry. He keeps slowing down trying to get his bearings. Bad sign…he turns off the meter at about $28. This man was muttering to himself and started cursing.
Finally we find our way to exit 14—the way to the airport. We drove down to the tollbooth and he stops dead. Another car was behind us…horn blaring. At this point he asked me, “Are we good? Is this right?” Of course my first thought was, “Are you kidding me???” I said to him, “You’re the driver.” We both noticed a sign to the airport and we headed off. Now bear in mind. The drive time to the Newark airport in the early hours of a Saturday morning (light traffic) shouldn’t take much more than 40 minutes. We were pushing 90 minutes at this point. I was thinking, “Ok, this fiasco has ended.” Fourth mistake.
We made it to the airport and he asked which airline. I told him that it was United. He asked, “US Airways?” “No United.” “Which Terminal?” “I don’t know.” “Which terminal?” “I DON’T KNOW” “Terminal C?” “I don’t know.” “Terminal B?” “I don’t know” “Terminal A?” I suddenly see a sign. “Yes, terminal A.”
We got to the terminal and I asked him, “How much.” Fifth mistake.
“I’ll take $65.00.” I am SO tempted to tell to take a long walk off a short pier. He has nearly killed me half a dozen times, got me lost, made me late. But wait….my bag is being held hostage in the trunk and I have a plane to catch. I sighed, fished the money out of my wallet—no tip—and ask for a receipt.
“The meter has been off for a long time. I can’t give you one.” I had just about had it.
I got out of the car, got my bag and went to the United kiosks. My luck has changed—my terrible middle seat in the back of the plane is replaced with an exit row with extra leg room (thank you elite status) and here I sit in the terminal, just a few minutes before boarding pecking away at my keyboard.
