Dear Cab Driver(s),
Hi. And welcome to America. I'd like to teach you a popular American phrase that you might want to get acquainted with:
"Three strikes and you're out"
Normally this phrase is used in reference to a popular American sport by the name of baseball-- you might have heard of it in whatever sand dune you just crawled out of to come here. But sometimes it's used to describe a situation where one person has given another more than enough chances to prove their worthiness, loyalty, friendship, competence, etc, and it just didn't work out.
As is the case here.
Usually when I travel throughout the city, I will opt to take the train or walk to my destinations, but on the rarest of rare occasions, I recognize that I live in an area with limited public transportation options and that it would be easier and faster to take a cab. Unfortunately you have proven me wrong time and again. So I am officially done with you for the following reasons:
First, last Thanksgiving, when I was trying to get to THROOP Avenue between Van Buren and Greene, you took me to Winthrop Avenue and then had the nerve to ask me, "Wait- you said Throop?"
Yes, muthafucka. I said Throop.
Then two Saturdays ago, EVEN WITH THE GPS SYSTEM IN YOUR CAR, you drove in the wrong direction as I tried to take N to her friend's birthday party in Carroll Gardens. I mean the damn machine both shows and tells you where to go in a clear voice and with bright colors. How did you mess that up? My understanding is that in order for a GPS system to work properly, you have to actually LISTEN TO IT...correct me if I'm wrong...
And now last night.
Granted Lani did give me the wrong cross streets; I will own up to that. But, when I showed up to the dispatch office and asked to be taken to Lefferts between Rogers and Bedford, you, as a PROFESSIONAL DRIVER whose job it is to know the city and how to get around it, should have known how to get there, because even though the address was actually between Bedford and Washington, Lefferts still exists between Bedford and Rogers. You should not have taken me to Williamsburg. Your first clue that this address was NOT in Williamsburg is the fact that Rogers Avenue ENDED before we even got to Bed-Stuy.
And you asking me how to get there was more than frustrating. Excuse me if I'm being naive, but is it really too much to ask for you to know how to do your job?
AND you and your dispatcher telling me that the directions I finally got from the person whose home it was was wrong because Lefferts was down by Atlantic Avenue did not help my mood. Nor was your suggestion that perhaps I was looking for the Lefferts over by Jamaica. Queens.
I know when I left your cab two blocks before my actual destination without leaving you a tip, you must have talked much shit about me and decided that the rumor that black people don't tip is in fact a reality, but frankly, you were a terrible cab driver. And your dispatcher was a moron. And telling me that he was new on the job and that you had only been in the country three months did not do anything to calm the urge I had to stab you in the neck and take the bus home.
Lucky for both of us, Jack was on the phone with me diffusing the whole situation. Otherwise we would've both ended up a statistic.
This letter serves to officially terminate our professional relationship. I mean, I don't know, maybe it's my fault for thinking I could sit back and text my friends while in the cab instead of being your navigator. Maybe it's me. Either way, from now on, I'm using the Mexicans over on Church and Chester. At the very least I will be able to communicate with them in both languages, and hopefully they've been in this country, state, city, borough for at least a year.
The Jaded NYer
*smooches...thinking that sign over by Ellis Island needs to come down already*
PS- that crazy attempt you made to slip me your card with my change was laughable, but sorry if I hurt your feelings when I told you so...