Showing posts with label bad driving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad driving. Show all posts
Thursday, July 31, 2008
One of our cabs crashed
I saw this at HQ recently. People say it happened on the freeway, and there were no injuries. I'm guessing he hit an SUV or truck because the bumper is relatively unscathed, but everything above that is wrecked.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Holiday drivers
The driving on San Diego freeways and surface streets is appalling right now. It's never good, but this week it's as bad as I've seen. Several times tonight, and last night and the night before, I've had at least three near crashes caused by total incompetence.
Why is this? I know a lot of people are off of work this week. I never worked the last week of the year when I had a real job (read: had paid days off). Are these the weekend warriors? The people who normally don't drive much, or the out-of-towners? Traffic is light, but it's dangerous.
It's also slow, even though it's light. So many cars I see are driving half the posted speed limit. This should be a jailable offense. Thirty days for upsetting the thirty drivers stacked up behind you while you amble along in total oblivion. That's fair. One day behind bars for each person your existence has infuriated. Not you. You know what I mean. Them. Half the posted limit? That's sadism, isn't it?
Two bad ones tonight, which combined slow and dangerous, were Pennsylvania drivers. Each car tried to change lanes directly into my GIGANTIC, BRIGHT FUCKING YELLOW car, and I had to swerve and honk to avoid a major accident. Each car had a PA plate. Two incidents amounts to statistical insignificance, but I'm starting to form a hunch about Pennsylvania drivers. I'll give them plenty of room from now on. I'll be watchful for the "This ain't nothin' like Philly" blank stare. No offense to Philadelphians, but the drivers you've been sending out here are worse than native Californians, and that is not a compliment. Out here the bottle blondes snap their gum, chat on the cell phone, and somehow forget there are other people in the world.
A non-PA driver did what I think is the worst thing a driver can do. It has probably happened ten times so far this year, and it's harrowing every time. I'm following a guy on a surface street, with plenty of space between us. Speed limit is 25mph. Traffic is medium. He's going 15-18mph: anger level 5 out of 10. Head of driver is not swiveling back and forth (he doesn't appear lost or looking for an address). He pulls over to the curb. I speed up, as the driving lane is now clear. Just as I mash the gas, the guy pulls a U-turn right in front of me. I thank the ABS god as I come to a stop about six inches from his door. Who makes a U-ee without looking? Anger level is 10 out of 10 -- and I can't do or say anything or the guy will call the number on the side of the car and complain, and the company owner follows up on complaints.
I would truly love to have a switch on the dash that would, upon flipping, make the phone number and cab company name on the side of my car disappear for a minute or two. I'm going to grow a few extra middle fingers the day I get a button like that. The only positive thing was that the guy's eyes were the size of dinner plates when he realized I was going to T-bone him at 25mph. A 3750-lb car was going to smash into the driver door, with him sitting just on the other side. Fortunately, we didn't collide. He looked to be about 30 years old. It's a wonder he has survived to that age.
Now before you say, "This Ted Martin is a raving lunatic. Why doesn't he just relax a bit?" My insurance deductible is $1000. Crashing my car means a probable loss of two days wages, which, on average is...well...more than I can be without. Even if it's not my fault, the cab company owner usually does two things when he loses a car, even temporarily. No. 1, the driver gets a passive aggressive, demeaning treatment at the office. There's often a condescending speech about "How could we have possibly avoided this one?" No. 2, drivers involved in crashes generally get the worst car in the fleet, sometimes for the next year. It's godawful. The owner can be very petty about a crash, regardless of who's at fault, and I don't blame him. He loses so many cars, and has so many legal and insurance battles with the parties involved (it's actually a constant), that's he's tired of it. Rightfully so. On the other hand, the driver who will eventually smash me (it happened to me two years ago), files an insurance claim, gets a loaner car paid for by insurance, hires a lawyer who expertly makes his client's idiocy seem like a figment of my imagination, and goes about his merry life.
I can't wait for the true commuters to come back onto the streets and the holiday traffic to disappear from whence it came. Traffic is heavier with the regulars around, but a lower percentage of them try to take my life and livelihood.
Man, it's great to have a blog for venting. Now that it's all out of my system...
Countdown to cash
Only a couple of days until New Year's eve, our biggest single money maker of the year. Drivers are giddy about it. A lot of people are counting on that night to make their entire January 1 rent payment after a dismal December. I know my landlord is counting on me having a good New Year's eve, though he doesn't know it.
Why is this? I know a lot of people are off of work this week. I never worked the last week of the year when I had a real job (read: had paid days off). Are these the weekend warriors? The people who normally don't drive much, or the out-of-towners? Traffic is light, but it's dangerous.
It's also slow, even though it's light. So many cars I see are driving half the posted speed limit. This should be a jailable offense. Thirty days for upsetting the thirty drivers stacked up behind you while you amble along in total oblivion. That's fair. One day behind bars for each person your existence has infuriated. Not you. You know what I mean. Them. Half the posted limit? That's sadism, isn't it?
Two bad ones tonight, which combined slow and dangerous, were Pennsylvania drivers. Each car tried to change lanes directly into my GIGANTIC, BRIGHT FUCKING YELLOW car, and I had to swerve and honk to avoid a major accident. Each car had a PA plate. Two incidents amounts to statistical insignificance, but I'm starting to form a hunch about Pennsylvania drivers. I'll give them plenty of room from now on. I'll be watchful for the "This ain't nothin' like Philly" blank stare. No offense to Philadelphians, but the drivers you've been sending out here are worse than native Californians, and that is not a compliment. Out here the bottle blondes snap their gum, chat on the cell phone, and somehow forget there are other people in the world.
A non-PA driver did what I think is the worst thing a driver can do. It has probably happened ten times so far this year, and it's harrowing every time. I'm following a guy on a surface street, with plenty of space between us. Speed limit is 25mph. Traffic is medium. He's going 15-18mph: anger level 5 out of 10. Head of driver is not swiveling back and forth (he doesn't appear lost or looking for an address). He pulls over to the curb. I speed up, as the driving lane is now clear. Just as I mash the gas, the guy pulls a U-turn right in front of me. I thank the ABS god as I come to a stop about six inches from his door. Who makes a U-ee without looking? Anger level is 10 out of 10 -- and I can't do or say anything or the guy will call the number on the side of the car and complain, and the company owner follows up on complaints.
I would truly love to have a switch on the dash that would, upon flipping, make the phone number and cab company name on the side of my car disappear for a minute or two. I'm going to grow a few extra middle fingers the day I get a button like that. The only positive thing was that the guy's eyes were the size of dinner plates when he realized I was going to T-bone him at 25mph. A 3750-lb car was going to smash into the driver door, with him sitting just on the other side. Fortunately, we didn't collide. He looked to be about 30 years old. It's a wonder he has survived to that age.
Now before you say, "This Ted Martin is a raving lunatic. Why doesn't he just relax a bit?" My insurance deductible is $1000. Crashing my car means a probable loss of two days wages, which, on average is...well...more than I can be without. Even if it's not my fault, the cab company owner usually does two things when he loses a car, even temporarily. No. 1, the driver gets a passive aggressive, demeaning treatment at the office. There's often a condescending speech about "How could we have possibly avoided this one?" No. 2, drivers involved in crashes generally get the worst car in the fleet, sometimes for the next year. It's godawful. The owner can be very petty about a crash, regardless of who's at fault, and I don't blame him. He loses so many cars, and has so many legal and insurance battles with the parties involved (it's actually a constant), that's he's tired of it. Rightfully so. On the other hand, the driver who will eventually smash me (it happened to me two years ago), files an insurance claim, gets a loaner car paid for by insurance, hires a lawyer who expertly makes his client's idiocy seem like a figment of my imagination, and goes about his merry life.
I can't wait for the true commuters to come back onto the streets and the holiday traffic to disappear from whence it came. Traffic is heavier with the regulars around, but a lower percentage of them try to take my life and livelihood.
Man, it's great to have a blog for venting. Now that it's all out of my system...
Countdown to cash
Only a couple of days until New Year's eve, our biggest single money maker of the year. Drivers are giddy about it. A lot of people are counting on that night to make their entire January 1 rent payment after a dismal December. I know my landlord is counting on me having a good New Year's eve, though he doesn't know it.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Thursday night rides
British guy notices bad driving
I picked up a British guy going to the airport. He's in San Diego for a conference, and is going to LA this evening to give a speech at another conference, then flying back. His airline ticket said American Airlines, but usually when people go from San Diego to LA, it's American Eagle, the commuter version of American. Since the ticket said American, I dropped him off at the American gate at terminal two, but I waited as he tried to check his bag at the curbside check in, just in case.
A few seconds later he turned and looked at me, then came back with his bag. It was the commuter terminal, according to the skycaps. Odd that the ticket didn't say American Eagle. Anyway, en route from T2 to the commuter terminal, a shuttle van turned into us. I saw him coming, honked, and gave him some room.
Guy: That's the third time somebody did that to us on this trip. Does that happen a lot?
Me: Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes they signal, and then swerve into you, but usually they don't even bother signalling. I always drive with my thumb on the horn button.
Near collision with Mr. Fire Hydrant
On the way back to our taxi zone from the airport, I was doing 65 in the fast lane on I-5 southbound, with no traffic in front of me. The limit is 65, so I always drive it when there's room. A Red Cab was driving much slower, probably 40, in the next lane over. As I zoomed up on him, he moved into my lane. I had to slam on the brakes, not quite hard enough to start the ABS. The huge yellow hood of the Crown Vic dove straight down. The Police Interceptor didn't do that.
I moved one lane to the right and went by. As I pulled even with him, I saw him looking at me and waving in a friendly manner. It was Mr. Fire Hydrant, our driver who had gotten himself fired for running over a hydrant. This is the guy who couldn't find a Marriott hotel after working for weeks. Once an idiot, always an idiot. (Hydrant incident here; navigational challenges here)
The "trampoline"
I picked up a sailor from a bar, and noticed he was walking with a limp, and one hand was in a cast. He said he was on leave, back home in Michigan, two months ago, when he got in a bar fight. It was him and his brother against two other guys. He had a broken hand and ankle.
Me: Doesn't the Navy punish you for that, too?
Him: Normally they would, but I told them I fell off a trampoline.
That's clever. He said he didn't mind getting hurt because the Navy goes easy on injured personnel. After 30 days medical leave, he was put on duty, but all he had to do was 3-hours per day "watch", where he kept an eye on the Navy drunk tank, making sure nobody injured themselves.
Customer on the radio
I drove another Navy guy, with two Navy buddies. After I started driving, he picked up my mic and said: "What is this, car 92?" I cringed.
Guy: 92
Dispatch: 92
Guy: 92 to the Star Bar, downtown.
Dispatch: 10-4
It was a flawless example of radio usage. The guy handed me the mic and said: "This ain't my first rodeo." That was damned funny.
A few blocks later we passed a group of women walking along the sidewalk. The guy said to his buddies: "Those are whores. Fifty bucks each, probably." I said: "That's cheaper than dating." The guy: "You're all right. What's your name?"
Stan, a real ass
My last ride was a real winner. It was Stan, a regular, about 35, alcoholic, usually going from one or another dive bar to his condo in downtown San Diego. I've driven him 10 times or so, and he never remembers me. It's usually a $16 ride, and he rarely tips. This time I was belled to a residential address and was surprised to see Stan stagger out to the car. He's usually at a bar. He was on his cellie, and when he got in the back seat, he left the door opened and asked me to wait a minute.
Him, to phone: Am I staying or going?
Woman's voice, from phone: You better just go.
Him: I want to spend the night with you.
Woman: Well I'm not spending the night with you, so you better go.
Him, to me: I guess we can go.
He wanted to stop at an all-night diner to get food to-go. I stopped and said I'd be happy to wait. He went inside, then came out and asked me if I wanted anything. "Anything you want," he said. "It's on me." After thinking for a few seconds, I said, "How about a Coke?" He went back inside to add that to the order. He came back out, presumably to wait with me, rather than inside.
Him: I'm not paying for you to wait here, am I?
Me: Yeah. It's only $5 for 15 minutes. It's not much.
Him: I'm not paying for waiting.
I pointed to the sign on the dash that says "Waiting time, $20 per hour"
Him: I'm taking the cost of breakfast off the tab.
Me: What do you mean by that?
Him: You heard me.
Me: Are you saying you're not going to pay the full meter amount?
Him: You got it.
Me: Then I'm not driving you home.
He ignored me and walked into the diner. Not five seconds later he came back out and got in the cab. "Take me home," he said.
Me: What about the food?
Him: Don't worry about it. And I'm not paying for the waiting.
Me: You have to pay what the meter says.
Him: Fuck you, I'm not paying.
By now I was two blocks from the diner. I pulled over.
Me: If you're going to say 'fuck you', you can get out right here.
Him: That's what I'm going to do. Fuck you.
Me: That'll be $5.60 (the amount showing on the meter)
Him: Fuck you.
Me: I'm calling the police.
Him: Go ahead, fuck you.
I got out of my car as he started to walk away, down the sidewalk. Just then a cop drove by going the other direction. I whistled and held out my arm: "Officer!" He swung a u-turn and pulled in behind me and jumped out.
Cop: What's wrong?
Me: I've got a refusal to pay.
Cop: Close your door and stand on the sidewalk.
Another squad car pulled in behind the first one, and that cop got out and spoke with the first cop and Stan. The second one came over to me and asked what he owes, and I said $5.60. He went back, and he made Stan get out his wallet and get some money out. He walked back to me and gave me a $10 bill. I gave him $5 and said the guy could keep the change. Then I left.
I got on the radio immediately and let the other drivers know that Stan wasn't in a paying mood tonight, so they should think carefully before picking him up when he calls again.
I went 10-21 (radio code for "gone for the day") right after the Stan incident. It was 2:40 a.m., about my usual quitting time. I left the radio on as I drove home, just in case Stan attempted to get another cab. As I was filling my gas tank at the station near my apartment, I heard one of our drivers announce a flag from XYZ diner to downtown. That had to be Stan. It was our driver who is such an asshole a lot of regulars refuse to ride with him. I never thought I'd find somebody who refused to ride with me, but was okay with the asshole. Tomorrow night I'll ask if he had any problems getting paid.
I picked up a British guy going to the airport. He's in San Diego for a conference, and is going to LA this evening to give a speech at another conference, then flying back. His airline ticket said American Airlines, but usually when people go from San Diego to LA, it's American Eagle, the commuter version of American. Since the ticket said American, I dropped him off at the American gate at terminal two, but I waited as he tried to check his bag at the curbside check in, just in case.
A few seconds later he turned and looked at me, then came back with his bag. It was the commuter terminal, according to the skycaps. Odd that the ticket didn't say American Eagle. Anyway, en route from T2 to the commuter terminal, a shuttle van turned into us. I saw him coming, honked, and gave him some room.
Guy: That's the third time somebody did that to us on this trip. Does that happen a lot?
Me: Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes they signal, and then swerve into you, but usually they don't even bother signalling. I always drive with my thumb on the horn button.
Near collision with Mr. Fire Hydrant
On the way back to our taxi zone from the airport, I was doing 65 in the fast lane on I-5 southbound, with no traffic in front of me. The limit is 65, so I always drive it when there's room. A Red Cab was driving much slower, probably 40, in the next lane over. As I zoomed up on him, he moved into my lane. I had to slam on the brakes, not quite hard enough to start the ABS. The huge yellow hood of the Crown Vic dove straight down. The Police Interceptor didn't do that.
I moved one lane to the right and went by. As I pulled even with him, I saw him looking at me and waving in a friendly manner. It was Mr. Fire Hydrant, our driver who had gotten himself fired for running over a hydrant. This is the guy who couldn't find a Marriott hotel after working for weeks. Once an idiot, always an idiot. (Hydrant incident here; navigational challenges here)
The "trampoline"
I picked up a sailor from a bar, and noticed he was walking with a limp, and one hand was in a cast. He said he was on leave, back home in Michigan, two months ago, when he got in a bar fight. It was him and his brother against two other guys. He had a broken hand and ankle.
Me: Doesn't the Navy punish you for that, too?
Him: Normally they would, but I told them I fell off a trampoline.
That's clever. He said he didn't mind getting hurt because the Navy goes easy on injured personnel. After 30 days medical leave, he was put on duty, but all he had to do was 3-hours per day "watch", where he kept an eye on the Navy drunk tank, making sure nobody injured themselves.
Customer on the radio
I drove another Navy guy, with two Navy buddies. After I started driving, he picked up my mic and said: "What is this, car 92?" I cringed.
Guy: 92
Dispatch: 92
Guy: 92 to the Star Bar, downtown.
Dispatch: 10-4
It was a flawless example of radio usage. The guy handed me the mic and said: "This ain't my first rodeo." That was damned funny.
A few blocks later we passed a group of women walking along the sidewalk. The guy said to his buddies: "Those are whores. Fifty bucks each, probably." I said: "That's cheaper than dating." The guy: "You're all right. What's your name?"
Stan, a real ass
My last ride was a real winner. It was Stan, a regular, about 35, alcoholic, usually going from one or another dive bar to his condo in downtown San Diego. I've driven him 10 times or so, and he never remembers me. It's usually a $16 ride, and he rarely tips. This time I was belled to a residential address and was surprised to see Stan stagger out to the car. He's usually at a bar. He was on his cellie, and when he got in the back seat, he left the door opened and asked me to wait a minute.
Him, to phone: Am I staying or going?
Woman's voice, from phone: You better just go.
Him: I want to spend the night with you.
Woman: Well I'm not spending the night with you, so you better go.
Him, to me: I guess we can go.
He wanted to stop at an all-night diner to get food to-go. I stopped and said I'd be happy to wait. He went inside, then came out and asked me if I wanted anything. "Anything you want," he said. "It's on me." After thinking for a few seconds, I said, "How about a Coke?" He went back inside to add that to the order. He came back out, presumably to wait with me, rather than inside.
Him: I'm not paying for you to wait here, am I?
Me: Yeah. It's only $5 for 15 minutes. It's not much.
Him: I'm not paying for waiting.
I pointed to the sign on the dash that says "Waiting time, $20 per hour"
Him: I'm taking the cost of breakfast off the tab.
Me: What do you mean by that?
Him: You heard me.
Me: Are you saying you're not going to pay the full meter amount?
Him: You got it.
Me: Then I'm not driving you home.
He ignored me and walked into the diner. Not five seconds later he came back out and got in the cab. "Take me home," he said.
Me: What about the food?
Him: Don't worry about it. And I'm not paying for the waiting.
Me: You have to pay what the meter says.
Him: Fuck you, I'm not paying.
By now I was two blocks from the diner. I pulled over.
Me: If you're going to say 'fuck you', you can get out right here.
Him: That's what I'm going to do. Fuck you.
Me: That'll be $5.60 (the amount showing on the meter)
Him: Fuck you.
Me: I'm calling the police.
Him: Go ahead, fuck you.
I got out of my car as he started to walk away, down the sidewalk. Just then a cop drove by going the other direction. I whistled and held out my arm: "Officer!" He swung a u-turn and pulled in behind me and jumped out.
Cop: What's wrong?
Me: I've got a refusal to pay.
Cop: Close your door and stand on the sidewalk.
Another squad car pulled in behind the first one, and that cop got out and spoke with the first cop and Stan. The second one came over to me and asked what he owes, and I said $5.60. He went back, and he made Stan get out his wallet and get some money out. He walked back to me and gave me a $10 bill. I gave him $5 and said the guy could keep the change. Then I left.
I got on the radio immediately and let the other drivers know that Stan wasn't in a paying mood tonight, so they should think carefully before picking him up when he calls again.
I went 10-21 (radio code for "gone for the day") right after the Stan incident. It was 2:40 a.m., about my usual quitting time. I left the radio on as I drove home, just in case Stan attempted to get another cab. As I was filling my gas tank at the station near my apartment, I heard one of our drivers announce a flag from XYZ diner to downtown. That had to be Stan. It was our driver who is such an asshole a lot of regulars refuse to ride with him. I never thought I'd find somebody who refused to ride with me, but was okay with the asshole. Tomorrow night I'll ask if he had any problems getting paid.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Idiocy...
...on my part. No excuses, although there were mitigating factors! I was waiting for an Amtrak train to pass in front of the car on Grape St just east of Harbor Drive (between downtown and the airport) when the railroad crossing guard smacked onto the roof of the taxi. I had no customers in the car at the time. That is just plain dumb. I felt like a fool.
I was stopped in the middle of a five-block traffic jam, a little ways back from a double set of tracks. When the bells and red lights went off, indicating a train was coming, the cars that had stopped on the tracks quickly pulled forward and to the side. I was well back, so I stayed. After what seemed like a long time, I realized the guard hadn't come down, so I started looking around for it. Just then the bar hit the roof.
I have a few small scrapes on the roof. And I did the right thing -- I drove the car to HQ and showed it to the owner. He shrugged and said he'd try to get me into our regular paint shop the next time he sends a car for a complete paint job. There was no talk about paying for the damage.
That was my first error as a driver in 2.5 years and over 4,000 rides. Very stupid, though.
I was stopped in the middle of a five-block traffic jam, a little ways back from a double set of tracks. When the bells and red lights went off, indicating a train was coming, the cars that had stopped on the tracks quickly pulled forward and to the side. I was well back, so I stayed. After what seemed like a long time, I realized the guard hadn't come down, so I started looking around for it. Just then the bar hit the roof.
I have a few small scrapes on the roof. And I did the right thing -- I drove the car to HQ and showed it to the owner. He shrugged and said he'd try to get me into our regular paint shop the next time he sends a car for a complete paint job. There was no talk about paying for the damage.
That was my first error as a driver in 2.5 years and over 4,000 rides. Very stupid, though.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Crash on Pacific Highway
This happened just before I went through the intersection of Pacific Highway and Grape St. -- one block from the dreaded red light camera. I don't know the driver; it's a different company. Body Beautiful is the car wash I use.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Blast from the past
Before I started this blog, I kept a journal. Here's an entry...
Saturday, March 4, 2006
After almost a year of driving cab I finally broke my cherry. An idiot on the highway called the phone number emblazoned on the rear of the Crown Vic. This was bound to happen sooner or later. It was all his fault, of course. An older guy in a mini van (stereotypes apply), attempted to merge into me on Harbor Drive. I tapped my horn, which caused the idiot to hold down his own horn and shake his miserable fist at me. In response, I raised my right hand, palm up, fingers extended, as a way of asking, "What are you thinking?"
Within five minutes I received a radio transmission from the company owner, "95 landline the office". The idiot said I flipped him off. No big deal, especially since the accusation was false, and I've never had a complaint before. In fact, my M.O. is to drive calmly and safely -- which makes me stand out among the animalistic cabbies of San Diego. I consider myself a gem among the Barbarians At the Wheel.
The incident brings to mind one of the worst aspects of Southern California drivers. Almost nobody signals, and on the rare instance someone does turn on a blinker, they think right of way has been granted. The guy this afternoon had this mentality. He wasn't able to bully me into changing lanes, so he put on his blinker and simply moved into me.
My fury stems not only from poor driving habits of Southern Californians, but from the inequity -- my boss's phone number is boldly displayed on my vehicle. But who can I call when civilians screw the pooch? The California Highway Patrol, the fabled CHP, that's who. From this point forward, whenever somebody complains about my driving, I'm calling 911 and reporting them as a drunk driver. If they lie about me, they're in for a big headache.
Saturday, March 4, 2006
After almost a year of driving cab I finally broke my cherry. An idiot on the highway called the phone number emblazoned on the rear of the Crown Vic. This was bound to happen sooner or later. It was all his fault, of course. An older guy in a mini van (stereotypes apply), attempted to merge into me on Harbor Drive. I tapped my horn, which caused the idiot to hold down his own horn and shake his miserable fist at me. In response, I raised my right hand, palm up, fingers extended, as a way of asking, "What are you thinking?"
Within five minutes I received a radio transmission from the company owner, "95 landline the office". The idiot said I flipped him off. No big deal, especially since the accusation was false, and I've never had a complaint before. In fact, my M.O. is to drive calmly and safely -- which makes me stand out among the animalistic cabbies of San Diego. I consider myself a gem among the Barbarians At the Wheel.
The incident brings to mind one of the worst aspects of Southern California drivers. Almost nobody signals, and on the rare instance someone does turn on a blinker, they think right of way has been granted. The guy this afternoon had this mentality. He wasn't able to bully me into changing lanes, so he put on his blinker and simply moved into me.
My fury stems not only from poor driving habits of Southern Californians, but from the inequity -- my boss's phone number is boldly displayed on my vehicle. But who can I call when civilians screw the pooch? The California Highway Patrol, the fabled CHP, that's who. From this point forward, whenever somebody complains about my driving, I'm calling 911 and reporting them as a drunk driver. If they lie about me, they're in for a big headache.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Difficult ride
I just dropped off in the Gaslamp Quarter with another cab. It was a party of six, so they needed two cars. The other driver was from the Middle East, and his driving would reveal that to anyone who didn't already know. Twice we were in freeway lanes that were ending -- clearly marked as such. Each time the guy waited until the lane actually ended, then hit his brakes and fucked around to make his merge. I did the sensible thing, merging right away.
He dropped off first, and left right away. After my guys got out and paid, the people he had driven came to my car and said he side-swiped a parked car when he left.
I asked if they were sure because I couldn't see any damage to the parked car. They seemed fairly upset, saying it's illegal to leave the scene of an accident. I was hoping they would just drop it. One of them got out his cell phone and said he was inputting the licence number of the parked car.
Not sure what they're planning on doing. I said I'd talk to the other driver.
The problem is that if I turn the guy in, all the cabbies in town will turn against me. Also, he's just going to deny it, which should be safe considering I couldn't see any damage to the car he allegedly hit. I'm going to leave it be.
He dropped off first, and left right away. After my guys got out and paid, the people he had driven came to my car and said he side-swiped a parked car when he left.
I asked if they were sure because I couldn't see any damage to the parked car. They seemed fairly upset, saying it's illegal to leave the scene of an accident. I was hoping they would just drop it. One of them got out his cell phone and said he was inputting the licence number of the parked car.
Not sure what they're planning on doing. I said I'd talk to the other driver.
The problem is that if I turn the guy in, all the cabbies in town will turn against me. Also, he's just going to deny it, which should be safe considering I couldn't see any damage to the car he allegedly hit. I'm going to leave it be.
