When I need a taxi I cannot get one. I am not just talking about 2:30 AM on January 1
st - I understand the laws of supply and demand - I am talking any time I need a taxi, I can be kicking and screaming on the sidewalk, and the first five will drive on right by me.
To compensate, I guess, when I don't need a taxi I get solicited - nay - accosted - by desperate taxi drivers hoping to convert me. And not just by one, but by those same five in a row. Think Hugh Grant walking through the red-light district. (Or is that too dated? Should I have gone with Charlie Sheen?)
On Friday I crossed the Rainbow Bridge on foot, on my way to a weekend in Niagara Falls, New York. Days Inn is two empty blocks away from the bridge, a five minute walk with a bag of luggage in each hand. As I set out, I see them in the distance, and I know they are coming for me. I don't look at them, so as not to encourage it, but it is in vain. I sense one interested cabbie slowly home in on me. "Jaws" theme is ringing in my head; I know a light exploratory bite is coming. I struggle to look straight ahead, deliberately avoiding eye contact and any extraneous movement, like a prim young lady walking by a construction site.
HONK! By now I have this rehearsed. I turn to him, shake my head unequivocally, and deliver a firm and loud "No thank you", all the while preserving my stride. The message cannot be clearer - or, I would think - less surprising, but to me he still seems slighted as he drives away.
Did he really expect this could possibly work? Was the thinking that I didn't see him, or that his bold approach would change my mind? And aren't both of those possibilities a little insulting to me?
This the equivalent of approaching females in a bar by sneaking up behind them and slapping them with your cock. Tragically, it must succeed on occasion, as they keep trying it, repeatedly embarrassing themselves and insulting me.
Undaunted by his colleague's failure, the next cabbie - who has - I stress - watched everything unfold - repeats the exact same dance with - surprise - the same result. To you this may seem like insanity, but in reality, it's just Business 101.
As anybody who engages taxi drivers in conversation can attest, they are very versatile individuals, who make up for what they lack in driving and customer service skills by being experts in everything else. Here they are demonstrating their advertising expertise, by following two of the most basic principles: Stay on message; Repeat frequently.
Keeping with the metaphor, this is now the equivalent of running the gauntlet of slapping cocks, an activity I am certain takes place at every gay bachelor party. Having never partaken, I cannot know for sure, but I suspect that if the first 100 cocks don't turn me gay, the 101
st is not likely to. But I am not the advertising expert here.
On Monday I return across the bridge, and now I have the opposite problem. Niagara Falls, Ontario, train station is not within walking distance, and I need a taxi. I set out down the busy street full of tourists and cars. At first I see no taxis at all, then a couple drive by occupied. I see some available ones a block or two away, but they all invariably turn away before coming near me, no doubt going to some deserted area of town to honk at people walking their dogs.
I decide that my best bet is to stand on the nearby busy corner - the busiest in the whole city - and flag the first available cab that will surely drive by soon. The driving by I was right on. The flagging turns out to be difficult.
You see, I cannot whistle. My father can whistle very loudly, doing that guy thing where he puts his fingers in his mouth, like a Gypsy calling his cousin across a crowded luna park. On occasion, I wish that he had taught me how to do that, but I know that he had only allotted five minutes of father-son activities per generation, so he was probably wise not to waste them on whistling. My mother did teach me how to whistle, but the result is sad enough to shatter any feminist myth about equality - or rather equivalence - of the sexes.
Because of this I will not even whistle the refrain of "Young Folks" in the shower, let alone whistle to call a cabbie driving down a busy street with his windows up and something awful blaring on the radio. I have considered going on YouTube to learn how to whistle, but I rationalize that I really don't need it, as I think it is quite rude in most situations, and I have many better ways to spend my time. With whistling out of the question, I could try yelling "TAXI!", but that's a movie cliche which always fails in reality, while additionally communicating to everybody: "I cannot whistle".
So instead I must resort to trying to catch the taxi driver's attention visually. This should be simple. Look straight at them, stand at the very edge of the sidewalk, leaning a little over the street, and extend your arm up and out, waving it slightly, but with a sense of urgency.
This is how I know we are in trouble. I cannot imagine driving down the street looking for a fare and not noticing that guy. Yet our streets are overrun by professional drivers who have absolutely no visual observational skills. It is a miracle that they are not driving into walls.
What does a normal fare look like to them? Maybe my mistake is trying to get their attention. After all, the other day I was just walking down the street minding my own business when they would slow down as they drove by me, honk briefly, lower the passenger window and their head, turning it slightly to the side to see me better and say: "Hey! You need a cab?".
Maybe they do see me now, but they are suspicious. I am displaying obvious signs of needing a cab, and yet I don't have one. They probably figure that there must be a reason why nobody wants me.
If I was experiencing hot chick problems before, now I am in true hell. Now I am a fat and ugly girl - (and with no personality, alright, ladies?) - and there is nothing I can do to get the desired attention. I can take my clothes off right there at the bar, but no penis will be thrown my way. And if one ever is, it will likely be too intoxicated to achieve a usable level of erection.
As the second successive taxi drives right by me, my raised waving hand slowly turns into a raised waving middle finger. This is to communicate to any potential onlooker that I am not embarrassed, but angry, and that the blame for our failure to connect lies squarely with the cabbie.
After a couple of spectacles like this, I become very uncomfortable with trying again. I feel that I deserve better, and I am determined to change things. I decide to telephone for a cab. I fully expect this to fail miserably, but at least I won't look like a spectacle.
I read off the telephone number from the side of a passing occupied taxi and dial it. 905-658-3030
At first the man on the other side seems unable to hear me or understand me. It sounds like I have dialled a wrong number and disturbed an unfortunate immigrant at his home, waking him from an afternoon nap. I repeat myself in a slightly louder and more annoyed tone, angry at whoever is failing me, be it my phone, the phone company, or him. He seems to be accepting the blame, as he turns a tad apologetic. This reassures me that I have the right number. I am determined to get to the business:
- Clifton Hill and Falls Avenue. Going to the train station.If you do not know Niagara Falls, let me clarify that Clifton Hill and Falls Avenue is the #1 tourist corner in the city.
I cannot think of a clearer way to communicate "I am a tourist" than "Clifton Hill and Falls Avenue. Going to the train station." Saying "I am a tourist" is only a very distant second.
- What kind of cab?
For a split second I re-consider the possibility that I have the wrong number. - No. I know I have dialled the right number. So this really is the dispatcher - or whoever happened to be walking past the payphone when it rang - and he is asking me to specify the kind of cab that I want.
I wonder what my options could be, and I am racing to come up with ideas. I have called for a taxi before, and I am aware that they differentiate between cars and vans. But if those are my two choices, surely he would have just said so? Or asked me "How many people?", a question I remember having heard before.
Unsatisfied, I try to invent more choices. It is a very warm Christmas, and I am in a tourist town, so perhaps there is a significant number of people requesting horse-drawn carriages. Now that is just silly.
I still suspect that something is off, but, not being a wine drinker, I can think of no other "kind of cab", so I respond with a defeated question/answer:
- Just regular?- I'll send you a yellow car; less than five minutes.I would have more appreciated the number of the taxi, but I suppose the color will do. I know the taxi company's telephone number, 905 658 3030, is prominently displayed on the vehicle. That, coupled with the color of the car, and the driver who is also looking for me, will certainly be enough to get the job done.
Over the next five minutes, in accordance with Murphy's Law, available taxis are showing up from all directions. They drive right past me, without honking, which is just as good, because they don't fully fit with the picture of what I believe my cab looks like. Of course it is appalling that I should still have any doubt about my cab's identity.
Google, without looking to charge me a penny, can with one finger tap on my iPhone tell me exactly where I am and draw me a map of my surroundings. With two more taps, it will plan and draw my route to the train station, telling me where to walk to catch the transit bus, and how long till it gets there. Yet the taxi company, which is looking to charge me $15, can't come up with any - I repeat - ANY - way to put me in touch with their driver. Take a minute, and see how many ways you can think of in which this could be accomplished.
I trust you have easily come up with a handful of methods, ranging from simply telling me "taxi number 666" and him "angry bearded man", to having his cell phone interrupt his incessant overseas call to his arranged bride to connect me straight through to him - just to mention a couple of ways which don't even require advanced computer technology. If you could not come up with anything like this yourself, I am very glad that my article is being read by a member of the taxi industry.
There is a taxi that drove by me slowly and is acting strange. I have a sneaking suspicion that this may be my taxi. It is available, and it is predominantly yellow, but it is not from the company I called. The phone number is different. The name of the company is "Niagara [something something]".
He leaves my corner and proceeds to drive slowly around the other side of the street. He is already too far for me to catch his attention without having to resort back to jumping up and down in a spectacle, when it dawns on me that this must be him indeed.
Of course! "Yellow car" must be a local colloquial name of this other taxi company. Unbeknownst to me - and to my surprise - the dispatcher has sent me a car from another company. I don't know if "kind of cab" translated as "which company", but I am now certain that "Yellow car" translated as "Niagara [something something]". If only I had communicated to him that I am a tourist and not myself a member of the local taxi community, I probably could have avoided this confusion. Entirely my fault.
Which is - I am sure - what the driver thought as he slowly drove around the busiest area of Niagara Falls, looking suspiciously at milling tourists, and losing his faith in humanity, because a fare had stood him up yet again.
Hey. You saw the lone annoyed man with two suitcases standing at the corner? You think he could have possibly been your fare?
HEY FUCKHEAD. Now was the time to honk your horn.
