Taxis, the bane joy of my existence

A human being can only endure undue punishment for so long before simmering, tension-laden vats of justice-seeking adrenaline boil over in a torrent of revolutionary outcry. Taxis have recently elicited such violent outbursts from yours-truly as I’ve finally reached the point where I cannot passively accept their lawless behavior.

Kristy and I decided to grab a cheap lunch on Saturday for Restaurant Week in DC. Long story short, we were nine blocks away and needed to get there pronto. No buses in sight, I sacrificed my usually unwavering pledge to only take taxis if my life depended on it (or, if it’s six in the morning) and caved to the pressure. We hopped in and drove a block before realizing we only had eight dollars cash between the two of us. According to our driver, whom we immediately alerted to this predicament, the fare for this ride cost exactly $10.10 for two people. I repeat we picked the cab up ½ block inside zone 1 and rode about 8 blocks into zone 2a, and our driver had the audacity to charge us $10.10. First of all, it was questionable whether he should charge the fare for two zones to begin with considering we were only ½ block away from the dividing line and we were riding a grand total of 9 blocks. Secondly, we notified him of our innocent mistake almost immediately upon entering the taxi. Finally, he wouldn’t stop but, instead, insisted upon releasing every verbal dagger in his impressive arsenal at a 80 decibals from a distance of approximately 2 ½ feet while he tore away at breakneck speed, endangering himself, his passengers, any nearby pedestrians and the general air quality in DC. I was so impressed with his relentless cathartic vituperative that I decided to partake and by the end we were firing a barrage of ‘spirited dialogue’ at each other. Good times.

All this transpired in the immediate wake of another battle in Manhattan the previous week. Regarding that debacle, I’ll say this: when you and a cabbie decide upon a set fare, the deal is done. Just like any other business transaction, once you complete that verbal contract, there’s no reneging on your obligation. The passenger and the driver are both obligated to honor their end of the bargain. Therefore, when our driver tried to renegotiate a set fare from the East Village across the Hudson to Jersey City upon discovering delays in the Holland Tunnel, I was having none of it. You’re right, every DJ in NYC is blabbing away about the Holland Tunnel delays, that’s exactly why you should have known before you agreed to our fare. Blame yourself for not staying updated on the pertinent information concerning your job. Don’t unleash a tirade on the passengers in the backseat because they won’t remunerate your mistake. He and I were getting along famously by the end of our trip…when he sped around the deserted streets of Jersey City at 6:30 am and eventually dropped us off 2 miles away from home sweet home. We send postcards now.

I understand that cab drivers in DC and NYC, and other cities for that matter, work long, arduous hours patrolling the streets, shuttling around a fair number of drunken, overpaid, arrogant bastards that neglect the humanity of whomever steers the wheel and punches the gas. Oftentimes, putting up with the humiliating episodes inherent in the life of a cabbie offers one of the few opportunities for immigrants to make a respectable wage and put their kids through school. I have every intention to respect them as people and compensate them for the service they provide.

However, at some point generosity must cease and practicality must begin. I’m subsisting on a relatively meager non-profit salary in a city characterized by ridiculously overpriced rents. Just as I don’t plan on dismissing them as some delinquent stereotype, I don’t like being viewed as a trust-fund Georgetown brat or Wall Street sycophant who can throw around 20’s like they’re coasters at the martini club. I need to watch my expenditures so I don’t drown and I’m definitely not taking my last breath inside an overpriced taxi.

The NYC episode doesn’t reflect my overall opinion of their taxi system since meters normally determine the fare. That’s a statement regarding fulfilling your end of a pledge. That’s it. Do your research in advance and don’t blame me for not knowing what you already should. Period.

The zone system in DC, however, benefits nobody except the cabdrivers and all too often results in shouting matches, slammed doors and screeching tires. The purportedly ‘set’ fares between zones almost never compute properly. I know because I’ve studied that tattered zone-sheet numerous times…and my roommate pulled an epic stunt by permanently ‘borrowing’ one of those laminated maps and plastering it on our living room wall. We quiz each other before work in the morning. Okay, that’s not true.

We need more accountability and fewer strained vocal chords in DC. The solution is simple: dump the Zone System and fire up the meters. I, for one, would be much more willing to catch an occasional cab and the collective blood pressure of the district might relax to something only slightly threatening.