Taxi drivers, I don’t care if you wear a turban or a navy
wifebeater, if you have tattoos down your neck or a 5cm pinky nail, when I
climb into a cab it is generally a well-considered luxury and I expect the
works. If I have a suitcase, get out of the car and put it into the boot for
me. If it’s hot have your air conditioning on tight arse. If you have Celine
Dion playing on your stereo don’t be offended when I ask you to fuck her off. But
most of all, do not ask me how to get to where I’m going. That’s your job! And
if you don’t know, get a Navman. Not having to navigate is part of my luxury;
not having to think about what lane I need to be in, what street to take… A
taxi driver asking me for directions; that’d be like going to a restaurant and
being asked to cook your own food. Oh hang on, that happens. Or it’d be like
cleaning your house before the cleaner comes. Oh hang on, people do that - rich
morons that is. Or like making your own diagnosis at your GP. Oh hang on, I have
to do that every time I go to the doctors, if I don’t I’m met with blank stares
or worse, every medical test they can fob off on me. Customer service, what a laugh! More
like customer serve your selves these days!
