Confessions of a Taxi Lover
I have excellent experience with getting black out drunk and waking up to an unfamiliar wall in a strange room. 9 time out 10, this room happens to be a friends, and it takes all of 20 seconds for reality to hit, and the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place as to what I had done the night before. I like my liquor clear and in large quantities. Give me a bottle of Grey Goose and some soda water, and we’ll be buddies.
With that being said, about a couple years ago, I discovered the wonderful world of Taxis. I could go out, get completely drunk, and then simply cab it home. No awkward nights on a love seat in a random living room, no messy guest bedrooms, no unfamiliar bed- it was magical. I think I avoided this for most of my underage life, in fear of being caught for underage drinking (Try leaving a bar with x’s on your hands, and stumbling into a cab- it’s not as fun as it sounds), as well as over drafting my account. I have been drinking for an almost solid 10 years. Not to worry, I peaked with the crazy quite some time ago, but I have pretty decent knowledge on living as a lush.
So when I began taking cabs, I instantly fell in love with the idea of climbing into the backseat and being taken home. It reminds me of a big city, and a life I would love to lead. Sadly, I am very talkative and flirtatious drunk, so I also wanted to know everything about my drivers. I began developing relationships with them, riding shotgun, and to the day I think I have every cab company’s number in Nashville stored in my phone. Even those really nice luxurious cabs- the ones that resemble a chauffeur service.
As I have written about before, back in December, my go-to favorite cabby shoved his toungue in my mouth, and since then I have been very weary of little white vans. I have also compiled a list of rules for myself when it comes to taking a cab, and whilst riding in a cab:
1. In order to take a cab, you must:
-A. Have no other options. If a friend offers a ride, take it. If a friend of a friend offers a ride, you may accept that as well. If a stranger offers a ride, make sure your cell phone is charged, you are able to have a firm grip on your mase at all times, and lastly, look at his shoes (You can tell a lot about a stranger by their shoes).
-B. You must drunk. Not tipsy, not a “couple drinks in,” but certifiably drunk. I need to hear slurring and/or embarrassing stories. Then you may pay to go home.
-C. You must have a impending deadline, i.e. “Omg, work starts in 25 minutes, and I am still passed out drunk 5 miles from the Yar, shit shit shit!” or a complete disaster like my personal favorite, “Why am I in Franklin? Wait, my car isn’t here?? It’s Wednesday!?!?”
1a. Once you meet these qualifications, you may call one of the 10 cabbies in your phone, avoiding the one’s you know on a first name basis, and have their personal cell number.
2. Once in the cab, you must follow proper lush cab passenger etiquette:
-A. Your name is Tina, Teresa, Tabetha, Tracy, or Taylor. You are never, ever Tyler. Your last name can be whatever you want it to be.
-B. Since you are lying about your name, you may only pay in cash or gift card. Actually, I have never seen a cab company offer gift cards, which inspires me to propose that idea. I would love to wake up on Christmas morning and open a gift with a $50 credit to Yellow Cabs. Wait, I am off subject. Cash only.
-C. Make eye contact on entering the cab. Do not engage in serious conversation with the driver. You do not need to know where he is from, if he is married, his possible children’s names, his religion, his political stance, his best friend’s baby momma drama, his favorite hobby, or ask to see his/her vagina. These are all things I have asked, or have witnessed. Kacey, Sequelen’s vag is all yours. Anyways, no matter how meaningful you may think the conversation is, it’s not. Be polite, answer questions, but keep the conversation to a minimum. Use a cell phone as a prop. If you are like me, and love to lie about little things to strangers, have a complete conversation with no one on your cell. Make it juicy to make it more fun. I really like “She only slept with that midget once, and she is pregnant! (pause) Yeah, I know, cocaine. But I thought that about her husband, too. (pause) Man, she is the craziest Mormon I have ever met.”
If it’s morning, bring a book or a file. Look very serious about what you are studying, and answer questions in a mumble. It makes you sound legitimately busy.
-D. Last but not least, you may never, ever, ever sit in the front seat. If you are in a full cab with friends, it’s still not allowed. Put the ugliest girl or a guy in the front seat. The driver is not your besty, you don’t need to find a radio station, and you don’t need to write “Tip [redacted]! Give him all UR $$$ SRSLY!! He’s so gr8!!” on every day of the flip calendar until May 2010. Sit in the back, and avoid eye contact.
2a. Once you have arrived at your destination, you may make eye contact, pay your fare, wish him a goodnight/ good morning, and run to safety.
These are my rules. They have worked very well for me since being accosted by my Go-To. Sadly, this morning my cabby looked all too familiar. I couldn’t place him, and I wasn’t about to ask how I knew him. I was following the rules. He started asking me questions about my night, and I pulled out my prop and began to look busy. It hit me a mile from work that he was my cab driver on Halloween. I actually still have his number in my phone.
I called him over 20 times in the span of 30 minutes on October 31, 2008. I am pretty sure he hated me. He was our ride from Big Red to 12th and Porter, and true to my old form, I sat in the front, and talked about his family, his time in America, and his religion. He offered to be the go-to for the evening, so I took down his cell. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. We were blacked out by the first 13 minutes of entering the venue. The last thing I remember is stumbling outside, finding my way to a bench, and calling him.
He would pick up, and I would slur, “Wheyareyouuu?” Then he would tell me he was stuck at the red light up the street, and I would turn and see him in the traffic, and slur “Okayseeyouinnaminna,” hang up, wait thirty seconds, hit redial and repeat the entire conversation.
This is just one of the many stories I have with drivers. In Las Vegas, Kellie and I were in a Confession Cab. Kellie reminded me of this last night, actually. He read our palms at a stop light and said that I would be very successful- I probably wouldn’t get married or have kids, but I would be very rich. When he read Kell’s, he informed her to “Stay in school.” She wouldn’t be as successful, but she would have 4 kids.
Then he asked us to kiss, and we got out of the cab.
