After returning from new york last night, I have decided to become a red sox fan. Not because I like Boston or even baseball for that matter, but for the sheer hatred of New York Cabs.
After exiting Penn Station, I was greeted by a cab liason. He instructed me that he had a cab waiting just down the block (thus avoiding the long cab line) that would get me to my hotel for $12.50. Silly me, fell hook line and sinker and paid him as he loaded my bag into the cab. A block later I was in the cab realizing the liason had no affilition with the cabbie and I was out the money. When I explained the situation to the cabbie, he tried to kick me out of the cab.
After realizing there are two Park avenues (north vs south) and that I was at the wrong one a few minutes before my meeting, I dared try the cab experience again (this time keeping a sharp eye out for any so called liasons). I found one on my own, only to discover it was his second day on the job, and probably third in the country. When he started asking me for directions, I knew my bad cab luck was still hanging around my neck. Thankfully, we found the place.
In true cabbie fashion, the third gentlemen educated me to the versatility to the F word. Did you ever watch the smurfs? If so, remember how every third word was smurf, smurfing, smurfer, muthasmurfer, smurf you, you muthasmurfing smurf? Well, it was like that, except for the fact that he wasn't dropping smurf bombs, rather the F-word.
Cabbie number four was busy talking on his cell phone the entire time. Me managed to run several people off the road, scared native new yorkers out of the cross walks, re-ended another cab, then drove off before I could grab my bag out of his open trunk. For once, rush hour was a blessing and I caught up on foot to grab the bag, but failed to shut the trunk. A block later, NYPD pulled the cabbie over for driving with his trunk open. At least there was some form of instant karma.
Now I am off to Germany and shudder to think what the cabbies there will be like.