Last night was another to add to my growing list of DC experiences I don't wish to duplicate.
For my mother's birthday, I went with my parents to Makoto (an unparalleled dining experience, more on that later). My attendance was meant to be a surprise, so I took a cab from Cleveland Park to meet them at the restaurant, which is right on MacArthur Blvd.
After several failed attempts to hail down a taxi (do I smell, or something?), I finally managed to catch one cabbie's attention. Grateful to be on my way, I get in and tell him my destination. He looks back and says, "Ok. So, my car has been making some funny noises. I don't know if we'll get there. But we'll try!" The story just goes downhill from here.
The car is obviously in very poor condition; it keeps sputtering and coughing. We do a lot of lurching back and forth (all the while never moving over 30 mph), I gulp and buckle my seatbelt. Please, God. Get to me dinner alive.
The whole time he's talking, like he's trying to remember the directions. And then I realize he's asking me how to get there. Oh dear God. I say, as calmly as possibly, that I do not know how to get there. BECAUSE I'M NOT A CAB DRIVER. According to MapQuest.com, the drive should have only taken 12 minutes. It takes closer to 20, thanks to a strange, convoluted route through various residential neighborhoods and the AU campus. There was much creaking of the cab and even more clutching of the handrail.
We finally make it to MacArthur Blvd, and he turns to me again. Which I know, before he opens his mouth, can't be good. "Ok, you help me look for the place now." He continues to stop at the corner of every other block, asking me to read the numbers off the sides of buildings.
Dear God.
We finally get there, thankfully still alive and kicking. I pay, and wait for him to give me change which involved a quarter. He looks at me dumbfounded; the ass just rounded up the dollar. I know it's only 25 cents, but come on! This is a business! You make change!
After briefly asking for my quarter, I give up, mumble thanks, and step out of the cab. He calls out to me through the window, "Here! A quarter!"
I say, "Keep it," and hurry into the restaurant. There's your 25 cent tip, you assclown.
1 comments:
That's even better than one we had Friday who said nothing the whole time, even when asked, whose cab smelled like pot, and who slapped my friend's hand when he tried turning on the radio.
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