...You cuss out a taxi driver using every single profanity in the book. A young, tiny woman struggling with a suitcase bigger than herself swearing at an incompetent taxi driver? Welcome to New York. Indeed.
I am moving from the Upper East Side to Hoboken. As I have no furniture and no car, I decided that what I would do is pack a couple of suitcases, drop the loads off at Hoboken, then return to the Upper East Side, repack more stuff, and make another trip, and I would do this as many times as necessary to transfer all my sh*t. Pack, transfer, repeat. Except, because I refused to ask for help and wanted to save money, it was more like: pack, struggle with luggage TO public transport, struggle with luggage ON public transport, struggle with luggage FROM public transport, transfer, repeat. And once, I got caught in a HUGE storm. (Remember that one that came for 10 minutes recently, with heavy rain and heavy wind? I was that soaking idiot walking along Washington St. in Hoboken pulling my huge suitcase along and stoppng periodically to make sure the rain didn't wash my contacts out of my eyes. That was two days ago, and my sneakers are STILL soaked.)
After a couple of trips back and forth, I decided that the money spent on using a taxi would be worth saving my sanity. So, I hailed a cab with one ENORMOUS suitcase, got in and requested to go to 41st and 6th (to drop my bag off at work before rehearsal. Oh, did I mention that all the while I'm packing, transferring, and repeating, I'm also in rehearsals for a new musical and pulling shifts at Pop Tarts World?). The driver -- I think he was Indian, I couldn't quite place his accent -- said to me in a way I couldn't really understand that he wasn't going to drop me off at 41st and 6th but 43rd and 5th because he couldn't make some sort of turn. Or, whatever it was he said, he basically told me he wasn't taking me to my requested destination, and to me that was obvious code for "I can't be bothered to drop you off at the doorstep." His attitude was abrasive from the start, but at this point, I just said, "okay" and let him drive.
The driver drove quickly and unsteadily enough to make me a little nervous and anxious and he was on the phone the entire time, which always unnerves me. I was already pretty riled up when we got to 43rd street, but was keeping my mouth shut. I just wanted to get out of the cab. He then stopped abruptly behind a car at a traffic light in a one-lane street and immediately got out to get my bag from the trunk. It was as if he couldn't wait to get me out of the car. I thought it bizarre that he had stopped in the middle of the street, because surely the traffic light was about to turn green and we'd be stuck in the middle of the street waiting for my credit card payment to go through. Which is exactly what happened. The driver got back into the taxi, I had barely gotten my card out of my wallet, when the light turned green and the car behind us started honking profusely. WELL, that was it. I saw RED. I never really knew what it was like to "see red" until that moment. I believe that, in that moment, I became angrier than I had ever been in my entire life. And here's what happened.
Celia (through gritted teeth): We have to pull over so this car can get past.
Driver (yelling): Bag is on the street! What you want me to do??
Celia (getting redder by the second): SO. GO. AND. GET. IT.
The taxi driver sits in the taxi, flustered and yelling but refusing to move, while the car behind them continues to honk. Celia completely loses her rag and yells: WHY THE FUCK DID YOU STOP HERE?? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T FUCKING BE BOTHERED TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB PROPERLY???!!! MY FUCKING SUITCASE IS ON THE FUCKING STREET I GUESS I"LL HAVE TO FUCKING GET OUT AND GET IT YOU'RE SO FUCKING RUDE I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW FUCKING RUDE YOU ARE THIS IS YOUR FUCKING JOB I'M SO FUCKING ANGRY THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT!!!
Celia stomps out of the car and heaves her huge suitcase back in the car, all the time continuing to utter despicable profanities. She slams the door and is shaking. Her heart is racing and she can barely see straight or control her hands as she attempts to swipe her credit card.
Celia: I'M NOT FUCKING LEAVING YOU A FUCKING TIP.
Driver (a little perturbed at this woman unhinged): Okay. Sorry. Don't leave tip.
As she swipes her card, she can't figure out how to not leave a tip. She is still shaking and short of breath and can't focus her eyes.
Celia: WELL IT LOOKS LIKE I HAVE TO LEAVE A FUCKING TIP.
She leaves a tip, the payment goes through, and she heaves her suitcase out of the car still cussing out the driver who has now become silent.
Celia: WE ALL HAVE A FUCKING JOB TO DO WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS YOUR FUCKING JOB DON'T EVER FUCKING DO THIS TO ANYONE ELSE AGAIN YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE FUCK YOU I'M SO FUCKING ANGRY YOU'RE FUCKING RIDICULOUS ETC ETC ETC.
She slams the door.
End scene.
I have since recounted that story to a handful of people and have gotten the same response: "I can't believe you even paid him." Yeah. I can't believe it either. I actually heaved my suitcase BACK into the car to pay him AND I ended up leaving a tip anyway! Oh boy, was I mad.
You know, I understand that people sometimes can't be bothered to do their jobs. However, while I'm out here striving for my dreams, I have done my share of customer service in retails shops, and there have been times that the last thing I wanted to do was put on a huge smile and say chirpily, "Hi there, welcome!" But that's my job, and I do it because the customer always comes first. I don't know if that taxi driver thought I was crazy or if I perhaps made him see the error of his ways. I don't really care. I'm a New Yorker now, I've been through the official initiation, of course I don't care. The polite Brit has been driven (sorry) out of me. Don't fuck with a New Yorker. Especially when she's a tiny woman with a huge suitcase and the stresses of rehearsals, work, moving, and auditions adding to the load. You just might get cussed out.
copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin
