The worst taxi ride ever. That’s how I can sum it up, in a way that people can understand. By the end of it, I was so stressed out I could barely muster up the strength to speak. I called 30 mins early, you know.. to be on the ‘safe side’ just in case. Because I did NOT want to be late. Guess what. I WAS late. Very late. The best I could do was re live the night and tell the tale in stages, numbered stages. and no I do not have an OCD.
The automated service. Clever? I think not.
‘Your taxi is outside, Please Look for a red Peugot 206’
My taxi was outside. Never, oh but it was a peugot 206 which I did discover 30 minutes later, when the driver really did arrive outside, after a painfull conversation trying to explain the fairly simple 2 minute ‘up the road route’ he had to take. WELLDONE.
When I did step outside, and take in that fresh air, on the main road. He was NOT outside. I’d say 12/13 houses down. Easy You say?
firstly. I am a paying customer.
secondly. I was wearing very high heels (you women will understand)
Despite this, he would not drive to me, even though he had to do this anyway in order to get to where I was going.
inability to be polite. That is all.
You have a satnav. I have given you the postcode. PLEASE dont ask where abouts it is.
‘Yes just turn left here’ (I had to give directions, despite automated satnav)
did he turn left? No. He did not.
The price. but I didnt expect it to be the primark of taxi prices anyway. I was fully prepared for that overpriced fair, which you delude yourself to be reasonable.
and Now number seven.
In the last few moments in that taxi, I passed over the money. Your final words. ‘I need five more pence’
I get out.
You lean out.
‘Can you roll down the window’
THAT IS ALL.