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]
(
rob, Wed 26 May 2004, 21:44)
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Everyone pales in comparisonto my all time "cab from hell" story.
One night, my gf and I were driving to a party, and pulled in to get some petrol. I went in to pay, and there was this fucking massive cabbie grabbing a 1.25L bottle of coke out from the fridge. This guy was about 6 foot 4, and would have weighed about 160kg. He was wearing the largest cab company shirt available, and I swear, his nipple was hanging out the bottom on one side. He had the longest greasiest hair i've ever seen and I could smell him from the other side of the shop. Anyway, he pulls this bottle of coke out of the fridge, and puts it into his mouth and twists the top off, spits it on the floor and proceeds to scull the entire bottle. He turns to walk to the counter, and it's only then that i realise:
He's only got one fucking arm!
So anyway, we're out for dinner a couple of weeks later, and we're heading back to a mates house for more drinks (not that we needed them). Whose cab should we step into? You guessed it. My gf and i get in the back, and as soon as the door closes, the smell hits us; putrid. Too late to get out, we're trapped. Anyway he sets off and once the cab is in motion, he reaches across to the glove box with his ONLY ARM and pulls out a bottle in a brown paper bag; clearly Jim Beam. Apparently coke wasn't gonna cut it that night...He takes a big swig, politely offers me and gf some, and then puts it back. He then turns the radio up as loud as it can go and we end up having to listen to fucking Tupac for the rest of the trip. It's at about this point that he stops steering with his knee and puts his one hand back on the wheel...which is probably a good thing too, because whenever I drive at 160km/hr in an 80km/hr zone, i like to have at least hand on the wheel. Anyway, we've got to where we needed to go without dying somehow, despite him running all but one of the red lights that we had ("bloody red light cameras"), and we get to out destination, and I pay, and he refuses to give me the change, on account of him getting us there faster than any other cab could have...
..I've spoken to other cabbies since, and they all say that if women catch his cab alone, he'll put the hard yards on them, and if they're in the front seat, he'll try and feel them up (with his only arm)...
(, Thu 27 May 2004, 10:29, Reply)
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