During my entire ridiculous life, I can only remember being inside three taxis, or cabs, or whatever you choose to call ’em. Oh, I should’ve summoned dozens of the things during an earlier, more irresponsible bar-hopping era. But you know how that goes…
Believe it or not, I’ve been in far more limos than cabs. Back during my high-flying record weasel days I rode in limousines on a semi-regular basis. And now that I’m removed from all that craziness, I find it hard to believe it ever really happened.
Anyway, when I was a kid my parents, my brother, and I were in Washington D.C., and took a cab from our hotel… to somewhere. I can’t remember. But the driver was a complete maniac.
You know those car seats for little kids, with a steering wheel attached? And you know how the confined kid always grasps the wheel and violently whips it from side to side? That’s how our driver was doing it. He was constantly in and out of traffic, tailgating, rocketing down the shoulder(!), and just generally scaring the living shit out of us.
But he got us to our destination in record time, despite near-gridlock traffic. You certainly couldn’t question the outcome, it was the execution that almost turned my rectum to stone.
I think that was my first exposure to taxis, and it might have something to do with my lack of cab experience during the years that followed. I was certain we were all gonna die, as a result of fire and trauma.
In New York City, on one of those record weasel junkets, a bunch of us shared a cab to some ludicrous hipster bar across town. Again, the details are a little hazy…
But our driver smelled horrible, I remember that part clearly. The car was like an August crotch, along with afternotes of recent sex. The driver could barely speak English, and was from some country… I don’t know, where bathing is apparently taboo? The dude’s pits were alive with bacterial activity.
All of us were trying to use our shirts as makeshift filters, and just sat there with tears in our eyes, while “music” that sounded like people banging pie pans blared from the speakers. The whole ride was nothing short of excruciating.
And, of course, we continued to smell it deep into the night. I think the funk adhered itself to our nose hairs or something.
My third exposure to the world of cabs was in Georgia. When Toney and I were first married we only had one car, and once had to call a taxi when it was in the shop. It’s a long story…
But the thing showed up at our house just thirty minutes late, a beat-to-hell station wagon with bad shocks, and hand-painted words on the doors: Shitty’s Taxi and CorriEr Service. Something along those lines.
The driver was a big ol’ Baby Huey hick, with a giant rub, or dip, or whatever it’s called, in his bottom lip. But, as these things often go, he was really nice and helpful, and went above and beyond the call of duty. And earned a large tip for his efforts.
When you’re in need of human kindness, I’ve found, big Baby Huey hicks are usually a good bet.
And that’s my history with cabs. Do you have anything to share on this subject? Have you had any especially memorable rides in a taxi? If so, tell us about it, won’t you?
And I’ll see you guys again tomorrow.
Have a great day!
I am the winner!
UNOOOOOOOO
Drats, Lee Harvey beat me to the punch
Taxis? I practically lived in them until I moved to the burbs. I can clearly remember fighting with my siblings over who would get to sit in the jumper seats on those big ass old fashioned taxis. I’ve encountered the smelly “August Crotch” drivers (classic, Jeff!) and the clueless dicks (‘Where is this Grand Terminal you speak of?”) along with the typical Archie Bunker stereotypical driver (“Come on, Toots! The Meter’s running!”) One evening, 2 friends and I hailed a cab downtown to go somewhere in the 50s – the destination isn’t important. But the summabeech clearly thought we were a bunch of tourists and proceeded to go AROUND Rockefeller Center. My friend told us to get out of the car, threw maybe two bucks at the driver (The ride was let’s say $8) and told him he wasn’t getting a dime more for ripping people off. Well, you ca imagine the screaming match that ensued.
Other than that, nothing really memorable, but let me chew on this awhile. More memories may surface.
There is only one cab company around here and most of the taxis are 30 year old Chevys although they have upgraded some to 25 year old Dodge mini-vans. They all smell the same…sorta like bad BO and sadness. For a while I had to take a cab home from work every night and had a deal with the same driver to pick me up right at 6 pm. It was cheap for the week but he wore some knockoff cologne (Our version of Hugo!) that actually smelled like corn boiled in formaldehyde.
The buses are a lot worse…now there is a scene right out of a John Carpenter movie.
Top Ten! The few cabs that I have had to use, nothing of note has taken place. Whew!
Good Afternoon Surf Reporters….
Most memorable taxi ride was the year my Dad won a trip to Bermuda. We were to cruise from NYC to Bermuda and back.
We arrived at the Newark airport and USAirways had lost our luggage. They told us the next flight in had out bags, and would be arriving in 20 minutes. 20 minutes later, still no luggage.
The ship was leaving dock at 2 o’clock and it was now 1:15 and we had to be in Manhattan stat. The cruise would start with or without us.
So Dad hooked up with a hack and told him if we couldn’t be dockside within 45 minutes we might as well get back on the plane and go back home.
This guy was like the maniac described by JK above. Screaming down the highway, hitting speeds well near 100 mph. As we were going through the Lincoln tunnel (or was it Holland tunnel?) the car blew up it’s radiator. Steam spewing everywhere and we barely made out of the tunnel.
Hailed down another cab and we still had 20 some blocks to go with clock ticking down to no time left.
But we made it. It was just like that commercial were the people literally jump on to the boat as it’s pulling away.
My entire life I was always told to NEVER take a cab so I always assumed you would experience spontaneous combustion or other such pleasantries when entering the rear seat.
I have been in limos (overrated) & of course other people’s cars, but never a taxi.
Hmmm….perhaps that is something to put on a bucket list?
Now that I am thinking further on the subject, I do remember loving that old HBO series ‘Taxicab Confessions’. I especially liked when the dirrrty people would get it on in the back with the white guy driver (HBO employee) fixing the rear view mirror to get a better shot of the woman’s ass going up & down while her head was knocking the roof.
One strange aspect of that show was several times during the NYC runs there was a little person driver. (I say Little Person because Matt Rolloff will kick my ass if I say midget or dwarf.) The poor guy was sitting on what looked like stacks of telephone books covered with a blanket & when people would get it on he’d strain & strain but could never quite get the eyes to meet the mirror. I didn’t know whether to watch him or the passengers in the back.
Taxis are a freakin crap shoot. Either you get the best or the worst. I had both in one night.
On the way TO the ahem ballet, while only 1 sheet to the wind, I made a joke about the plastic car seats and how we better make sure we get the same cab going back since this one was barf proof. The surly prick quite humorlessly replied “anybody pukes in my cab I kick their teeth in”. WTF I was joking… no tip. suck on it ya lifeless bastard.
On the way FROM the ballet with beer thrusters fully deployed I sat in the back and issued commands like Captain Pickard. And he drove just like I asked him…
– Heading North – warp factor six – ENGAGE
– ALL STOP
– impulse engines set to dead slow – make it so number 1
– raise shields number 1 (he put all the power windows up)
– EMERGENCY WARP – ENGAGE
– ALL STOP
– ALL ENGINES FULL REVERSE
– ALL STOP
– HEADING FULL TO STARBOARD – WARP 8 – ENGAGE.
– ALL STOP
– HARD PORT – EMERGENCY WARP – ENGAGE
…and so it continued until we got home- I was the drunkest but I had to drag my buddies out of the car because they couldn’t breathe from laughing – no seat-belts and lots of booze = fun ride. $20 tip for a $10 ride. The guy even said Aye Captain after each command.
why is the lady in the Bunker Cam buying FOUR different kinds of coffee?
Melissa, if you’ve never been in a cab yourself, please rest assured that taxicab confessions is exactly what it is like 80% of the time – rampant drunken sex at least 8 times out of 10… that’s why they are so icky inside.
They had to ban black lights in cabs as decoration because the glow from all the “fluids” would blind the driver’s night vision.
Folks, am I right?
I know why it smells like crotch and sex. It’s because of all the crotches exposed during all the sex that happens in the cab.
If you have taken a cab ride in Monterey, California in the past 10 years you may have come into contact with my sexual refuse, and I guarantee you have come into contact with somebody’s sexual residue.
I was in a cab once with a driver who called himself “Papa Smurf” everyone knew the guy. People would request that he pick them up. He had a big white beard and wore a red stocking cap. He would drive through the seedy neighborhoods in case you wanted to pick up a hooker. Or drive extra slow if it looked like you were trying to gets some action in the back seat. I had a hand drawn picture of Papa Smurf (the cartoon) going at it dik-to-mouth style on Girl Smurf (or whatever her name was) right under the meter.
Smurfette
He had the picture of the smurf-on-smurf action, not me. It was under the cab drivers meter for all to see.
Smelled like bad b-o and sadness.
Awesome.
Oh, wouldn’t you like to know what went on in those taxi rides in San Diego, Waikiki, Seattle, Subic Bay, Bangkok, Singapore, Perth, Hong Kong, Tokyo and Vancouver. Nothing I tell you, absolutely nothing. You try sharing a ride with three or four other sailors. Wait, I didn’t ride in a cab in Perth and I don’t kiss and tell!
he he
he said kok
I tried to avoid cabs while in NYC – too scary. Stuck with car service whenever possible.
Last time I took a cab home (drunk, natch), the cabbie started asking me nasty sex questions. Told him to stop about about a block from my house, and just walked away, didn’t pay. Wish I had been sober enough to get his cab number too.
We were in a taxi once in Chicago and he was taking across town to Northerly Islands for a concert. He wasn’t paying attention and nearly gave us whiplash when he screeched the taxi to a halt to avoid hitting a BMW. Then we got stuck in traffic so we got out and walked the rest of the way.
Recently we went up to the city to see a movie and unknowingly parked 10 blocks away, when the theatre had a free lot. After the movie it was raining so we were tried to get a taxi. One flew by us, and slammed on the breaks so hard he skidded 5 or 6 feet before coming to a halt sideways in the middle of the road. We got a ride though, and probably laughed the whole 10 blocks to our car.
I always said that if a taxi driver caused a 10 car pile up and lived through it, he’d still be under the pile driving somewhere.
I hate the no edit option on here…taking US*, and we were TRYING to get a taxi.
“But our driver smelled horrible, I remember that part clearly. The car was like an August crotch, along with afternotes of recent sex. The driver could barely speak English, and was from some country… I don’t know, where bathing is apparently taboo? The dude’s pits were alive with bacterial activity.”
This whole paragraph made me want to take a shower. lol
I only had one cab ride my life because my dad always insisted on driving everywhere himself. I can remember being scared shitless many, many times as he flew down the crowded DC metro streets in our beat-up k-car, apparently out to prove to all the city drivers that he could be a bigger ass than they could be.
But I digress. The one time in my life I took a cab it was the good kind of a ride. About 3 years ago I landed in La Guardia airport at around 11:00 pm. I have been to JFK enough times, but never to La Guardia. I was already sweating bullets because my connecting flight was leaving in 25 minutes or simething like that. I got off the plane and asked the nearest employee where my gate was. He very kindly told me it was in the next terminal and said I could make it if I hurried. Well I walked out od the terminal and had no freakin’ clue where the next terminal was. I thought I could make it out but htere was no sidewalk. I would have to cross a runway, or 8 lane highway or some other such nonsense that I could barely see, let alone safely navigate acroos. There was an enterprising cabbie right there who asked where I was going, and when I told him he yelled, “Come on!” and practically dragged me into his cab. He drove like hell, all the while turning around to tell me what to say to the security guards so I would get through the checkpoint faster. He finally slammed on the brakes and told me it would be $28. This was maybe a 7 minute ride. II threw two twenties at the guy and ran for it. I calmly told the security guys what the cabbie told me, and they did indeed get me through quickly. I made the flight, but just barely!
I don’t know if the guy screwed me on the fare, but I really don’t care. It was worth every penny of the $40 I spent to make the connection.
This just in…Belden, North Dakota…Retired carriage spring make, Clifford Munson Jr., has twelve t-shirts that all say..”Call Me Jim”. He wears them year round inspite of the cold and when asked why, the confused Munson replied…”My Dad started the tradition and besides, thirteen is an unlucky number.”
“Jim” owns the only taxi cab in Belden and has used it twice to pick up Millie Miller from Bruce’s Tavern on Thursdays after bingo night at the volunteer fire department’s barn.
The t-shirt he plans to be buried in was given to him by his grandfather, “Jim”, and was signed by the original Betty Boop. She left it at Mr. Kuhn’s , “Gas and Go”, in exchange for a free fill up and lube, while on her way to somewhere in Wisconsin.
“spring maker”…CRAP!!
i take a cab all the time. whenever we plan to go get drunk we leave home in a cab. that way we cannot later convince ourselves that we are sober enough to drive later. my most memorable cab horror was calling the driver sir all the way home and when we got out of the car my bf told me it was a woman. he was laughing so hard at me.
now i have a cab driver named cab man troy and he will always come get us. For the Superbowl we ran out of beer and we called him to deliver and he charged us a shit ton of money so screw troy.
Excellent update! Can’t remember any bad taxi rides. Haven’t been in many really. So..I got nuttin. Just enjoying everyone else’s stories!
The last time I took a cab was to get home from the airport after a two week vacation. I was sitting in the front seat, as the rest of my family had the backseat occupied. The driver was sporting teeth that pointed in every direction imaginable. Actually, I had never imagined some of those directions previous to this taxi ride. I remember wondering how he could eat with teeth sprouting out of his gums in every orientation. I gave him an extra-big tip out of sincere sympathy for his dental situation.
Pretty sure I’ll never take a cab again.
I don’t recall ever being in an in-service cab. I have watched a few cabs being assembled though. (STAP is a short drive away). Rode the bus often until the latter part of high school when the old drivers license ensured I wouldn’t need to sit in a cab or bus again.
I’ve taken a 1000 cab rides, but the WORST was in Boston . The driver took a short cut through a CONSTRUCTION SITE!!!! I hadn’t noticed that the trunk flew open and my suitcase fell out. We got to the airport and VIOLA, no luggage. We had to backtrack to find my bag run over and buried in the mud. The dude tried to charge me extra miles!!!!! Needless to say, I missed the last flight home and ended up at an airport 200 miles from home just to get into the correct state. Had to rent a car for the last 200miles, and DAMN, a one-way rent is expensive
i take cabs all the time when I travel. Took 2 Saturday in dallas.
Scariest was in caracas. From downtown we wanted to go to the beach but he heard aeropuerto.
Va a la playa?
Aeropuerto?
La playa?
Aeropuerto?
Fine aeropuerto.
On the way we saw a knife fight, we went in reverse on the highway, good times.
Sidney…you back from the wilds. I need a beer report.
t-storm. hope you got yourself out of that mess in Denton ok and I’ll be in Cincy soon. I get in on the 19th and fly out on the 31st. Captain Jacks in Loveland and a ball game at Riverfront…or whatever they call it now? One at a time though. I really like Laura at Captain Jacks so I won’t be rushed. Fuck it…let’s steal a cab. We’ll go anywhere we want and picK up people along the way. How friggin’ cool is that? Driving around with strangers who give us money. I love this fucking country.
dallas was awesome.
I’m in cincy till the 18th, dagnabbit.
This just in….Nineteen year old Jimmy Snellson of Perrysburg Ohio admits that his twice daily masterbating has become…”just ruotine”. Since the area girls have labeled him as a ,”Weirdo”, he has not had contact with females of any age. His father owns the local cab company and Jimmy has repeatedly asked the area ladies if they have ever been in the back seat of a cab.
I have two memorable cab rides, both from the same trip to Boston.
My boss (cool guy) and I were working on a project at a now-defunct Sprint facility which happened to be located across the street from Fenway Park. We were in town for a week, staying at a hotel, and we’d cab it to and from the site. We’d typically tell the driver to head for Fenway, then have him drop us off down the street.
One trip we got a driver who seemed to be fresh off the boat from Africa. He went the wrong way, and eventually dropped us off at some street corner where there were some trees and benches. We tried to tell him this was the wrong place, but he kept waving at the trees, saying “the park! The Fenway!”
Another trip we got a driver who was the stereotypical Ugly New Yorker from Central Casting (yes, this happened in Boston). When we got in he flicked his cigarette out the window of the “no smoking” cab. He cut through some parking lots and generally drove like a lunatic, delivering a firehose of profanity to his fellow motorists. When somebody cut him off, he stuck his head out the window and screamed “YOU FUCKIN PRICK!” at the top of his lungs.
Good times.
.
I’ve been in way too many taxi cabs for my own good. I’ve also come across some of those unscrupulous drivers that Madz1962 mentioned, who are looking to make a buck or three on what they think is an unsuspecting tourist. It’s always fun when you end up giving the driver directions…
The strangest cab ride I ever had was in Liverpool. I was there a coupla years ago for a Paul McCartney concert, and I called a cab to take me to the show. After exchanging some small talk with the driver, I noticed that he had decorated the front of the cab with a few photos of himself posing with another man. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the other man in the photo was none other than Gary Numan, of “Cars” fame.
I asked the driver about the photos, and he was thrilled that I recognized Mr. Numan. Turns out that he’d been a fan his whole life, and they’d managed to become friends over the years. He spent the rest of the cab ride filling me in on what Gary had been up to since the 1980s.
At the end of the trip, the driver told me how much he appreciated chatting with a fellow music fan, and would not take any money for the fare. Of course, I gave him a more than adequate tip to make up for it.
And that’s my most memorable ride in a taxi cab.
I love Gary Numan.
The cab company in my current town has a program where they will take you from any bar in town to any residential address in town for only $2.
I always say, “Take me to Alabamie” And they always say, “You’ll be dead by then.” Seriously? Dead? Can’t you get me there alive?” But it’s almost always a terrorist. Fuck me skipping. A Terrorist. Listen towel – head, I have no respect for you. I wanna get home. Alive. And I hate your guts. Fuck off. You make your girl’s wear beekeepers outfits. Absurd. I’m sure some of them are fuckable. I’ve seen some. Hotties that were Iranian before I got to them. Fuckable indeed. I’ve no use for you fuckoffs! Go fuck yourselves! Yum! I love to plow those muslim babes. Woo Hoo! Death to Sadam! Death to Mohomad! Death to everyone but me!
I just spent another $138.90 at your goddam Amazon link. I bought a Renunion Blues ebony, leather gig bag bag for my trumpet and I don’t even have a gig. I bought it to get my trumpet back to Cincy with me and look cool in all the airpots. Hey…chicks dig me anyway and this thing is a fucking babe magnet besides. I went with the black leather insted of ‘chestnut’. That’s a third trumpet player’s color and fuck those loser. Most of them I have known are now cab drivers.
dto, I think you put way too much stock in the trumpet pussy world. I might be wrong. But I’ve had my share of pussy, and I’ve never claimed to be an accomplished trumpet player. So I don’t know man, maybe you should change your angle? I always claim to be an expert kazoo player. And I’ve always gotten in those guts! Just trying to help! I’m a kazoo master!
Jason
Who the fuck ever said I can’t play the kazoo? I have a Izzy Kadetz silver plated” Pro Model” I wear on a Mr. T style gold chain whenever I’m out of town. And once they find out about my ability with a penny whistle…damn man…a trumpet players talents go deep.
dto,
You a’int got shit on me when in comes to the kazoo. I learned three songs at once: ABC’s, Bahh-Bahh Black Sheep, and Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Never mind that they’re all the same tune. I know all three by heart. I’ve been getting in those guts since 1996 and they’ve all been cute. I even had a blonde or two!
Alos…there’s a difference between “pussy”.. and trumpet player chicks. Honest.
were those kazoos circumsized?
I’m sure the word alos means something somewhere.
Jason…As far as your library of tunes goes…you know any Mr. Rogers tunes?
@dto- Nope, we leave the 13th. Should be back home in Saint Louis the 23rd…or so. A little wiser, with many less brain cells. Which I cannot afford to lose, but whatever.
I forgot to mention the most memorable cab ride I ever had. It was in New York City, mid 70’s. This cabbie named Travis picked us up, and wouldn’t stop talking about what a shit hole New York was. The friggin cab smelled like Drano and sweaty boobs. Saw him on the news a few months later. Turned out he was some kind of hero for jackin up some pimp. Wait…???
Stupid acid flashbacks!!!… never mind.
Back when I didn’t have a car I had to take a bus to work. 2 buses actually — I had to make a connection at the bus terminal. The taxi angle comes in when I’d miss my connection and have to get a cab from the terminal to the mall where I worked. I was generally grateful to at least have some way to get to work on time, but I would usually gripe to myself that the cabfare meant that I was working the first hour for free.
If weather was bad or I’d missed the last bus I’d get a cab home. The only problem with this was when companies were short on cabs and the dispatcher would ask “Do ya mind sharin’ ?” I don’t have any bad stories about cabdrivers but I’ve got stories about people with whom I had to share a cab. The good ( cute girls), the bad ( people who wanted to make “just a couple of stops” along the way ) and the ugly ( junkies looking to score ” I know Jimmy’s house is along here somewhere” )
We took a family trip to Wrigley Field when I was a kid. After the game ended, everybody streamed out onto the streets. People. Everywhere.
We, looking like the tourists we were, kinda stood on a corner and generally pissed people off by getting in their way. One guy in a big-ass SUV, stopped by the bumper-to-bumper traffic, rolled down his window and yelled to us across the street:
“Hey, you want me to call you a cab?”
The absurdity of this struck me almost immediately. There’s 35,000 people out here and somebody’s gonna call US a cab? How’s that going to work? But before I could respond, my dad answered for us.
“Sure! That’d be great! Thank you so much!”
The SUV guy started laughing and yelled back:
“You’re a cab! BAHAHAHAHAHA!”
This pissed my dad off mightily, and he employed the use of both middle fingers and several four-letter words to express his displeasure.
And thus, a family legend was born.