Mini Cabs From HellWe've all taken a dodgy cab in our time. One guy asked me to give him a back-rub in exchange for letting me off the fare. I was like, "here's the cash mate." Another chappy claimed to be Paddy Patel - a child actor from UK TV series Tuckers Luck - he drove like a speed freak and regaled me with stories that "playing a black Irish boy. England wasn't ready for it." So go on - tell us your worst and we'll tell the world.
[edit: for those confused by the term mini-cab, London has two sorts of taxis: highly regulated, licensed and salt-of-the-earth black cabs that you see in films and a whole bunch of unlicensed, uninsured, random cars driven by nutters who aren't supposed to pick up from the street (you have to phone for them). They are universally rubbish]
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rob, Wed 26 May 2004, 21:44)
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I was trying to get home from the Harehills part of Leeds........ My cab arrives and I state the address. Rather than drive off, the guy remains parked in the middle of the road. After much protestation, he turns around slowly, handing me a piece of paper and simply says "read". So, slightly puzzled I read it, and try to hand it back, but the fella says "READ!!!" again, emphasising with his hands that he wants me to read the words out loud. By now I realise that this bloke probably doesn't speak much english, so wanting to get home, I indulge him and read out:
"To whom it may concern. I, Mr so and so of something cabs, state that the driver, Mr blah blah of x address is a competent driver and of sound personal reputation. I have known Mr blah blah for a considerable period of time, and he has my complete trust. However, if you should have any complaints with regard to Mr blah blah's conduct please contact me on the following number. Sincerely Mr so and so"
Upon hearing his employers name, Mr blah blah smiles lazily, takes back the paper and starts driving. By now I am pooing my pants, as I'm doing high speeds with some fella whose had so many complaints that he needs a 'sanity note' from his employer, and after a couple of minutes has sparked up the biggest aromatic ciggarette I'd seen since 6th form. The strange thing was, despite his apprently poor english, he knew exactly the best way to get to my house (without me repeating my address once) no messing, and we were there in no time. The real clincher though was just as we pull up to my place, he says (with a smirk) in the broadest leeds/bradford accent "alright mate, thats £8.50, god I'm knackered I've been on since 5, thanks alot pal see ya!". Bastard.
(, Fri 28 May 2004, 13:34, Reply)
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