At the Mercy of Strangers

Taxi Rules:

1. Driver speaks no English.
2. Driver just got here two days ago from someplace like Segal.
3. Driver hates you. – unknown

There is nothing that compares to the feeling of being recklessly driven by a taxi driver. Ethel and I subjected ourselves to this as infrequently as possible during our adventure in Vegas. We felt we could justify eating whatever we felt like eating after walking mile after mile to our destinations. For instance, we treated ourselves to a fabulous Mexican lunch at the Venetian after walking extensively down “the strip” and throughout the shops that line the faux streets inside the luxury establishment while gazing up at the eternally blue sky painted upon the ceiling. Of course we couldn’t forgo an opportunity to sip on mojitos, either. Another case in point was the day that we HAD to have Asian food from P.F. Chang’s. We “just knew” we weren’t that far from it….we had passed it on the way to the Riviera on our mini-bus from the airport for goodness sake. Four and ½ miles later we finally reached our destination…hot, sweaty, and famished! Again, we rewarded ourselves with a delicious lunch of MuShu Chicken and another round of mojitos (Asian Pear flavored this time). Knowing that even though we had indulged and probably would benefit from more walking, we were unwilling to walk back to the Riviera. Shortly after being seated, we asked our waiter about getting a taxi at the conclusion of our meal. He said that the hostess would call or hail one. Guess what…this was complete junk! The hostess said it would take ½ an hour for her to call. COUGH – lazy and unwilling to help –COUGH! We could also walk across the street to a place called Terrible’s (the name speaks for itself) and get on the taxi line there. We didn’t find anyone at the valet stand so we went inside to see if we were missing something. Nothing but white trash gamblers in there. We exited. As we were strolling back to the valet area, we saw two fine-looking youth (bah, hah) walking around with open bottles (obviously not against the law in Vegas as we saw this a lot). Then, one of the upstanding individuals threw the empty bottle on the ground, shattering it. I was filled with such a feeling of contentment! I felt a bit more secure about being there when I realized that the whole place must be under heavy surveillance because as the two yutes (tee hee) approached the front door, they were immediately stopped because of the bottle incident. Ethel finally found the valet dude and was able to get him to go out into the traffic to hail a cab. While waiting, we observed two middle-aged men waiting in the area as well. We overheard them saying that they were going to the Riviera, too. Yay. I knew right then and there that we were somehow going to end up in a cab with them. The one guy was either really stupid or an incredible braggart because at one point he had a huge wad of cash visibly exposed for all to see….he even had a $100 bill on the outside. Duh! Even a small-town girl like myself knew this was the dumbest move ever! The lazy valet only ended up hailing one cab, knowing that we were going to the same place, forcing our premonition to become true. Thus began the first taxi ride of the trip. Tons of fun. Since Ethel had spoken to the valet (something she hates to do), I took the seat in the middle of the backseat, placing me next to one of the “high rollers”. The cabbie was interested in making chit chat. His driving skills weren’t too bad which was wonderful because it kept me from making any contact with “high roller”. As the passenger in the front seat was rambling on about himself I gazed straight out the front window. It was then that I saw it…the mini camera with the red light next to the word “REC”. OH MY GOSH! He was filming us! All I could think about was the times I had watched Taxicab Confessions on HBO with Luscious. EWE! I knew I wasn’t giving him anything worth broadcasting and the freaky men had better not have any ideas either!!! As the ride seemed to get longer and longer, seeming longer than the 4 + mile walk to Chang’s, it was suddenly my turn to face the questions of the driver. He wanted to know what I did for a living. Disappointing him by only being a teacher and not some kind of fiend that would find him any fortune with Confessions, he had to give his two cents about No Child Left Behind. Oh what a commentary! “Thinking is wrong!” BLAH BLAH BLAH! I was thankful for that ride to be over. However, I soon learned that this was one of the tame rides!

At this moment, I cannot remember many details about the driver from our second taxi extravaganza. It was on our last day and we had the taxi take us to New York, New York. We were a bit pressed for time so we knew that there was no time for walking. Actually, as I type, this ride’s details are coming back to me. I must have tried to repress the vulgarity of this moron. This guy took us “another way to avoid the traffic accident” (ie. He took us this way because we went ass-end around our elbow to get to our thumb which put more money in his pocket!) He also felt the need to tell us about how he often transports strippers and hookers and knows many of them quite well. I was so impressed with his display of self-importance. He told us that one cab patron had been shocked that he hadn’t seen hookers while in Vegas…he scoffed at the person saying that if he HADN’T seen a hooker he should get a dog and sunglasses. So politically correct! I must need these tools, too, since I didn’t see flocks of stereotypical hookers traveling around Vegas. Trucks with ads offering to bring these fine female specimens directly to the room of any takers – YES. Scantily dressed tramps with more make-up than Maybeline – NO. (Ethel and I did question the reputation of one woman one night in our elevator, but that was it!) Finding out we were from North Carolina, he told the lame jokes that North Carolinians normally use to talk about West Virginians. But, and this will make all of us from NC proud, the strippers always speak fondly of the rednecks from NC (who flock there for NASCAR) because they use big bills when sticking cash in the g-strings. “They may have octopus hands, but they tip well.” Brings a tear to my eye…..couldn’t be prouder. Having a low tolerance for bull, I contributed as little as possible to this conversation, leaving Ethel to carry on with this fool who was determined to speak endlessly. Sorry, Ethel. I just knew I’d deliver some unappreciated (by him at least) smart ass remark if I spoke. Imagine that! I marveled at Ethel’s ability to banter with this crass individual. Of course I picked on her later about one of the more so-anti-Ethel comments ever uttered! Prior to this, if presented with a list of comments that I never expected to hear come out of Ethel’s mouth, this one would rank near the top! As the driver spoke so lovingly about his stripper friends, easily conveying to us how difficult a job he thought they had, Ethel responded to him…agreeing with him…that stripping must be a really difficult job. I was waiting for her to jump up on a soapbox and rally for strippers’ rights! Unbelievable! In any other situation Ethel would almost vomit thinking about the stripping “profession” (the filth, the bodily fluids,etc.)…here she was lamenting about their poor working conditions with the cabbie!!! I am still amazed! It was a good thing that the ride was almost over at this point…he probably could have gotten her a spot on Confessions, although I don’t think there was a camera in this jalopy.

Our third taxi experience was the ride from New York, New York back to the Riviera. OK, now I know I have basically gotten the point across that I think random, senseless banter in a cab is enough to irritate me fully. But, having experienced the alternative, I think I prefer the mindless babble. We climbed into the taxi van, neglecting to put on our seatbelts. A move I will regret for eternity! As we readied for take-off (yes, we were being propelled by NASA), I happened to look at the driver’s info card near the glove compartment. Before I could even get to read his name, I noticed a pair of glasses tucked into the plastic designed to protect the name card. Super! A driver refusing to wear glasses. Getting past that shock, I glanced at his name. Foreign. Suddenly, my train of thought (worries) were interrupted by the whiplash-induced pain in my neck (embellishment) created by the 0 to 50 in .5 seconds propulsion forward followed by the 50 to 0 in .2 seconds deceleration to avoid complete wreckage at the speed bump. This continued multiple times as Commie Cabbie exited the parking area, crossing innumerable obstacles. Once we were out of the parking area of New York, New York, we were treated, free of charge, to the Dukes of Hazard driving simulator, better known as the illegal u-turn in the middle of the road. No, not at an intersection, right in the middle of the heavily-occupied street. Not being familiar with the roadways of Vegas, I cannot cite exactly which road we were on, but it was a four-lane road. This roadway also contained quite a few cars. As we sped forward, I was waiting to be sent back in time since, according to the speedometer, we were traveling at speeds only reached by the DeLorean made famous in the Back to the Future films. At that point, I didn’t care where I went…I wanted OUT! We rounded some curve and Commie Cabbie slammed on the brakes so we could stop for the train! Screeching combined with the sweet scent of burning rubber…oh, the imprint on my mind. To conserve fuel, he turned off the cab. Perhaps eliminating the ridiculous acceleration and deceleration driving maneuvers would help with the gas issue, too! Whereas the other cabbie had diverted us from the most direct path citing an accident to gauge us, this guy took us directly to the train. Clever. Finally, without any time travel, we reached the Riviera. Never had I been so happy to see that place. We threw the money at him and baled, no words ever exchanged.

Our last taxi ride was basically uneventful. We shared it with another woman to the airport. Talking with her resembled what Ethel and I view as normalcy and we didn’t really have to carry on with the cabbie. We didn’t get dropped off at our airline’s drop-off point, but the walking gave me even more incentive to finally get the frothy delight from Starbucks that I had delayed the entire trip. Thank goodness for my car! Cabs suck!