Last night, after a concert let out, I waited for a bus on busy Michigan Avenue for quite some time...and eventually gave up and hailed a cab. Michigan Ave at night is still pretty busy, and there are lights on every block, which kept stopping us as we went along.
Most cab drivers speed off the line 1/2 second before the light even changes, and immediately begin honking incessantly if anyone in front of them doesn't do the same.
My guy was different.
Light changes.
He sits. And sits. And sits.
I finally say, politely, "Sir?"
And look up at him from the back seat, by the window, and realize his eyes are closed.
Uhm...are you sleeping? While driving me home?
He jolts "awake" and begins to accelerate through the green light. We make it further north on Michigan, and come to another red light. It happens again. Light changes, and we sit still.
I say, not so politely this time, "Sir, are you sleeping?!?! Are you ok to drive?" And he says, in his broken accent and not a hint of shame, "I'm fine, thank you."
Not so sure about that.
As we approach the Lake Shore Drive entrance tunnel, I'm having a scolding, angry argument with myself in my head about the rationality and safety of continuing to stay in this cab, where my driver is practically snoring at each red light.
Luckily there are no lights of any kind on Lake Shore Drive, between the Hancock and Belmont. I keep my eyes on him, the road, and his driving. I'm like his mean stepmother eagle-eyeing his every move, ready to pounce and give him a piece of my mind. All goes well.
Then we approach the exit ramp at Belmont and it happens a third time. The "Sir" business is officially over.
I use my best "I'm still a polite southern lady but now I'm really ticked off" voice and say, "Enough. You shouldn't be driving if you can't hold your eyes open. That is why people PAY YOU to drive them home!"
He turns slowly onto inner Lake Shore, turns his head to me and says, languidly and with a sick smile, "What, do you wanna watch my face?" And I shout, practically shaking, "NO! I want you to WATCH THE ROAD!"
Scared quiet, or just surprised that a seemingly nice passenger has begun to lecture him on his skills and attitude, he respects my wishes and watches the road.
Inner Lake Shore has about 57 lights and stop signs in the few short blocks between Belmont and my house, so I'm watching him like a hawk. Luckily (for him, by now, not me) he doesn't snooze at any of them. Barely stops - just genuflects and keeps going - which is marginally less frustrating and equally as unsafe.
Pulling into my driveway, he turns to me and puts out his hand. It took everything in my power to give over the measly 10 bucks. With no tip. (Side note: in 7 years of living in Chicago, I've only not tipped a cab driver twice, and both times it was warranted).
I get out, slam the door, and go inside. It occurs to me that the reason I'm so angry, besides the safety factor (I know, Mom!) is that if someone were to come to MY office and I was snoozing every five minutes during a meeting, it would severely hinder my success. Staying awake is just ONE of the many job requirements for both of us, I'd say.
At least he knew where he was going. I guess that's at least better than some of his counterparts.
I slept like a baby last night. But, at least I wasn't driving anyone home while doing so.
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