What the Cab?!

                  The bloke I sat next to on the plane outwardly didn’t like the window open, which meant that I couldn’t appreciate any views flying from L.A. to New York.  Just before landing, he opened the window and I managed to twist my body to the side and catch a few glimpses of the big city.  The Statue of Liberty is rather undersized …but just as incredible as everyone makes it out to be.  I landed in New Jersey at the Newark Airport.  As soon as my cowboy boot made contact with the surface, I felt out of place.  I found the baggage pickup and impatiently waited for my very costly brown case, just to find it with two busted handles…what a lovely display that was.  My next goal was to get across the intimidating city to the John F. Kennedy Airport in New York by shuttle.  I found my way to the Ground Transportation desk and kindly requested a shuttle ticket.  “You won’t make your next flight if you take the shuttle.  Take a taxi.”  This young woman informed me, while gnawing a giant wad of bubble gum which I’m pretty sure is very unprofessional and sloppy.  I was more than unimpressed.

               “What do you mean I won’t make it?  I called last week and you guys told me that these shuttles leave every fifteen minutes…”

               “Take a taxi.”  I could tell that she had enough of me.  I gathered my overweight carry-on and began to walk towards the taxi line outside.  I could view the queue of folks waiting for a putrid ride as a fella stopped me in my tracks.

               “Do you need a taxi?”

               I answered with a confused look as I said, “Yeahhh…”

             “I’ll take you.  Let’s go.”  I promptly asked him how much he’ll charge me.  “95.”  Apparently I looked like a sucker, which reconfirmed my belief that I appeared out of place.  I recognize that this is probably the stupidest thing I have ever done and fully regret it.  I shadowed him down the steps and through the parking lot to discover that I was getting into a regular jeep car, aka: taxi.  I had an impression that his service wasn’t that valid, but in a panic of missing my next flight…I was apparently willing to risk my life.  I sat in the rear of this “taxi” and noticed some french fries on the floor and made the assumption that he must have kids!  This is good news!  People who have kids don’t kill people!  At this moment I began to remember all of the crime shows that my mom would watch.  Often, the serial killers did have kids!  The thought that he had kids want so refreshing anymore.  He told me that he could get me to the airport just under two hours.  He passed me a receipt to fill out and I noticed that he made my bill $140, surely a number that he hauled out of his stub.  I hastily asked him to include me on what the hale was going on and he enlightened me with the fact that he added the toll fees into the bill.  We went through two toll booths…eight dollars each, so naturally you add $45 onto the bill.  We got into a little fight and he began to pull over on the side of this eccentric freeway! 

I shrieked, “Fine!  Fine!  Whatever,” as I slouched in my seat, being defeated.  He then tried to persuade me to give him a 20% tip.  I was not having it.  Because this was still the beginning of the car ride and I wanted to make my flight, I gave him a five dollar tip, and he looked very…upset.  He then asked for my debit card.  There was no way that I was going to pay him before I even arrived at my terminal!  I told him that I would pay him once we got there.  He didn’t fancy that idea but finally agreed.

               I decided that it would be a wise idea to pull my hair out and hide it in between the seat cushions and on the floor, just in case he did try to murder me.  This way, the crime scene investigators could have some evidence of… whatever he was about to do to me.  I saw a tiny piece of paper with some writing on it under the seat.  Pretending to be fixing my boot, I grabbed it.  I didn’t read what it said, but hoped that it would contain some information about him.  I secretly shoved it into my boot.  I don’t consider myself a thief.

               I concluded that I should relax a bit because I didn’t exactly feel like my life was in any danger at the moment.  Gazing out the window, I saw many apartment complexes with clothes lines hanging from window to window drying garments.  A hefty cloud of smog slowly drifted onto land, which made me think that this would delay my next flight, which is a plus just in case I would be late.

               We arrived at the airport half an hour later!  How pleasant!  He lifted my bags out from the trunk and then I gave him my debit card, just like I promised.  I took two steps onto the pavement of my terminal as a large black man wearing an airport security uniform asked me if I wanted to do an outside bag check.  Being committed to never being conned again, I nippily asked him with a serious attitude, “Are you actually legit?”  He looked confused.  “I mean… will you steal my bags and make me pay to get them back or something ridiculous like that?”  He automatically threw his head up in laughter and assured me that this was his job, and that he will gladly take tips.  He could tell that I wasn’t a New Yorker.  I told him that I was cashless and he said that he would take my bags and check me in anyway because I looked like a nice person and made him laugh.  As I was leaving him, he told me that I had an honest-looking face.  I’m not quite sure why he said that.