Bridges, Tunnels and Taxicabs

I would love to write a blog post today about something other than painful commuting/travel experiences. However, fresh off another 15-hour day consisting of two metropolitan cities, two flights, two flights delayed, four cabs and three meals at the airport, I just don't have it in me.

Yesterday's second trek to New York City for a meeting was nothing short of eventful. Rather than to repeat Friday's post about dreadful experiences in lengthy detail, I decided I'd treat you all to a highlight reel. Making it real for you.

Away we go.

• On the way to O'Hare at 7:30 yesterday morning, my cab driver was doing just fine until we got onto the expressway. As we neared O'Hare on the Kennedy, I could see his eyes getting droopy in the rearview mirror. I noticed he wasn't moving very much, if at all. We were in stop and go traffic, and I heard him start to "mouth snore." I leaned forward and said, loudly, "Sir, are you falling asleep??!?" and he snapped awake and said no. Then it started again, and he was slowly drifting off toward the left heading at the center median. I was freaking out, trying to figure out what to do. I was on the highway for crying out loud! Miles away from the airport! The radio was playing NPR softly, so I asked him to turn it up and turn on some music, and to open his window. I mean, come on! I'm paying you NOT TO DIE. We finally made it but I was NOT happy to have to pay him for that ride. And, yes, this is NOT the first time that I've had a cab driver fall asleep while driving me around. Am I really that boring?


• Arriving at O'Hare early, as is my usual, I soon find out that my plane is missing a part and the flight that was supposed to take off at 10 am will not leave now until noon. I tried to get the travel agent we use to change us to another airline, to no avail. I had to call the prospect, with whom we were meeting in New York that day, and ask him to push back the meeting to accommodate this delay. Luckily, he was available.


• Never one to miss a meal, I grabbed a sandwich and a bag of chips at O'Hare before boarding—since I knew we'd land in just enough time to make it to the meeting. I realized quickly that even if it says "Wolfgang Puck" on the label, it is still a a deli sandwich wrapped in plastic, and it just isn't going to be good. Traveling is not good for the diet.


• When we landed at Laguardia, I de-plane and turn to stand and wait for my colleague. I notice two little people in the line to board our plane after it emptied. Then I realized they were THE little people from Little People, Big World on TLC! The mom and the dad! People left them alone, but a few nodded and smiled in their direction. Seeing them in person proved to me that I am blessed—life would just be so much harder that way. They seemed happy and relaxed, however, so good for them. Probably because no cameras were following them!


• The cabs in NYC now accept credit cards through a handy little swiper machine installed in the backseat. It felt like being at a 7-Eleven. Smelled about the same, too. Thanks to Nilsa for alerting me to this new convenience! Now if only Chicago would get these installed.


• Nothing like leaving a meeting at New York's rush hour, which happens to be just after the infamous (and secret?) cab shift change. We stood forever waiting, on Madison Avenue, for a cab. Then we cruised to Park Avenue to wait there. Finally, the new shift of cabbies must have been on the loose, so we hailed one and made it to Laguardia. Interestingly, in the two visits to NY in the past five business days, to the exact same address from the exact same airport, the cabbies have gone three different ways. I've now been over the Triborough Bridge, in the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, and over the Queensboro bridge. I feel so cultured. I'm still not claiming to be a B&T person just yet.


• The very nice gate agent at United in Laguardia that hooked up all four of us last week on an earlier flight (with good seats to boot!) was there again, and was still nice. He hooked my colleague up with a great standby seat, and then did the same for me. Good karma was working in my favor!


• But good karma only lasts so long. After boarding the earlier flight, we were then delayed on the tarmac for a bit, with claims of Chicago's rain delaying arrivals into O'Hare. Then, later as we finally neared Chicagoland, the pilot came on to say that Air Traffic Control had put us into an in-flight delay/hold pattern and that we only had 20 minutes of fuel to play with before he had to make a decision. About 10 minutes later (I'm guessing we were circling the northern suburbs?) he comes back on to say that we'd been cleared for landing and that we'd be on the ground in 30 minutes. The irony of his two conflicting statements was not lost on anyone, and the entire plane laughed aloud. I'm pretty sure everyone was just punch drunk from their travels, too.


• With two feet back on the ground in Chicago, I was forced to eat my third meal of the day from a stand at O'Hare. Dinner comprised of a yogurt parfait and a bottled water, consumed in the back of the fourth cab of the day, was all I could handle at 9:30 pm. My poor digestive system.

All in all, it was yet again a 15-hour travel day for a 60-minute meeting. I hope it turns out to have been worth it!

At least I saw the Little People in real life.

A Favor to all Chicagoans

An open letter to all Chicago cab drivers:

Dear Cabbies,

I have been your passenger on a regular basis now for almost eight years, and frankly, I have a few things to say. Take them with a grain of salt, but seriously, you guys could use a little advice.

1. Wear deodorant. Or invest in one of those hanging things that smells like a rotten cherry. This one goes without necessary explanation, but is for the betterment of all those who enter.

2. Toughen up. Don't be afraid of a few harmless sneezes. I cover my mouth every time.

3. Obey, or at least hover in the vicinity of, the speed limits posted. Otherwise, your passenger may get sick in the back of your cab, and no one wants that. Your name is not Dale Earnhardt Jr.

4. Know where you're going. If I sat at my desk and acted as clueless as you guys are on the job, I'd be fired.

5. Be prepared. Don't get mad at me for having only a $20 bill. It is part of your job description to make change, and until you can force ATMs to spit out smaller bills, make the change. Or be prepared to receive a half of a twenty.

6. Lay off the horn. It isn't necessary, it doesn't help, and it is supremely annoying to those inside and outside your vehicle.

7. Cool your jets. The selfishness and animosity you express towards your fellow drivers when you're racing for your next fare is only causing you grief. There will be someone else ready to hail you for your services right behind me, and I saw that guy first. No, still not a good enough reason to honk. Or stare. Or wave those little finger(s). Trust me, this much anxiety isn't good for you.

8. Leave me be. Don't honk at me while I'm standing/walking/loitering on the sidewalk. If I need a cab, I'll hail one. I was blessed with two arms for a reason.

9. Fix the air conditioning. It says right there on that little plastic city-issued plaque that a passenger reserves the right to ride in comfort, and when I'm sticking to the pleather seats and the windows are all down, my hair sticks in my lip gloss, and that's just unpleasant all around.

10. Pony up. Get used to the idea that people are going to take advantage of the credit card option. It is a law for you to accept them, and I don't appreciate the moaning when I do need to use one, either for business or personal travel (mostly to the airport where the fare is $40). I'll tip you better if I'm not digging for change with which to do so. The credit card purchase never feel like real money anyway.

11. Please, please, get your anger under control. When you have an argument and a near fist fight with an airport traffic cop while I'm in the back seat, it is just awkward for everyone.

12. Lay off the Johnson. Under no circumstances should you be fondling yourself while you drive. If you need some alone time with your thingy, please pull over and take a break. And, wash your hands afterwards, if you please.

13. Stay awake. I feel like this one doesn't require further explanation, seeing that you're operating a heavy piece of vehicular machinery, but clearly I must remind you of that fact.

14. Sum it up. Hit the total button on the meter when we arrive at the destination. That pesky city-approved gas add-on just throws me off, and the fees for extra passengers aren't helping. I can do math on a normal Tuesday afternoon, but after a few beers on a Saturday night? Let's not push it.

There you have it. My simple advice to you, from the heart. I'm a good tipper—you'll like me if you give my suggestions a fighting chance.

Now let's all just get along.

Kind regards,

Chicago Commuter Colleen

Imported, I'm Sure

I'm fairly convinced that cab drivers in Chicago buy, in bulk no doubt, a certain flavor of those hanging air fresheners...

...body odor.

I have been in no less than 5 cabs this weekend going to and from various activities, and every single one smelled terrible.

It was as if I was snuggled up under their smelly armpit, right after they finished a solid, sweaty, in-the-middle-of-summer workout. It is absolute torture!

At one point, I had to open the window to let in the frosty air, just so I could breathe normally again. My mom taught me (during a traumatic incident in church where the woman next to us smelled of dried urine) that if you are singing out loud, it is harder to smell (something to do with the inhale, exhale and mouth open thing)...but it would have been sortof awkward to just ride in the back seat, singing sweetly at the top of my lungs.

Especially in that one cab that was listening to NPR.

Frankly, and selfishly, I was concerned that the smell would stick to my wool coat, as smells have a way of doing, and that when I arrived at my friend's house, I would be the carrier of the Body Odor scent No. 34.

How long are their shifts, exactly?!

Policia

When preparing for our trip to Mexico, we kept hearing about the Mexican Police (Policia). Apparently they are nasty fellows, and not interested in making your vacation any lovelier. In fact, they have a terrible reputation for picking on American tourists.

So, I carefully observed the speed limit (to the best of my ability) and tried to make heads and tails of the lanes, the speed bumps and the Retorno lane (u-turns). See the previous post for more.

All was going well, until we decide to take a taxi into Playa del Carmen for the evening. Had a great dinner, a lovely time at a local bar, and then a rousing ending to the night at the Blue Parrot, where we danced, made sand angels (don't ask) and watched fire dancers.

Got into the tiny taxi, prepared to shell out our 150 pesos for a safe ride home.

We head out onto the highway, laughing, joking with the driver (in broken, high school Spanish) and were all feeling good (we love tequila).

Then, in the dark, as we rode along through the jungles (literally), with zero street lamps to illumniate our way, we see blue lights flashing.

Now, let's all be honest. Even if you're not driving, those blue lights are enough to make your heart race and palms sweat. Now add to that the urban legends/rumors we'd heard about the Mexican Policia, and the fact that we're 4 American chicks in this tiny taxi, and we're literally freaking out.

Janine is up front with the driver, and knows a little Spanish (un poquito) and she's glancing nervously at the driver. Smart enough to wait it out, we all sit quietly.

He gets out. Walks back toward the cop.

Uh, sir? That's not what we do. We wait, roll down the window and DON'T MOVE.

I crane my neck around (hoping the blue light glare will hide any activity in the car from police view) and see him back there, joshing with the cop.

Uh, sir? This isn't funny.

The cop comes around to us, machine gun in hand (yes, I said machine gun) and rounds the car, with a flashlight in the windows. I manage a feeble smile. Not a "we're guilty, sir" smile, but a "see, we're harmless, sir" smile.

He goes back. Cab driver gets back in. The whole thing lasted about 6 minutes.

The lights go off, we drive away.

Silence.

Janine looks at me. I look at the girls. We say to him, together (as if that's not complicated), in really bad Spanish, "what happened?" (for sake of blog readability, I'll use English here). He replies, in even worse English, "marjiuana."

Uh, sir? Please tell me we're not in a car with you while you're toting drugs across town, or whatever?

Apparently he was clean, but the cop pulled us over because he saw 4 girls, presumably white American girls, and was suspicious. I have no idea how the "flashlight in the eyes" from outside the car was supposed to clear our names, but apparently it did.

Frankly, it all worked out fine (somehow) and we didn't end up going to Mexican prison.

But, damn, wouldn't THAT have been one heck of a blog?!

Standoff in the Circle

Commuting can be challenging, and often before you've even left your property.

I hailed a cab, got one to pull in the circle driveway, and got in. He starts the meter, quite obviously. This is where the problems started.

There was a cab in front of us, and the driveway is only one car wide. We honk. The people behind us honk. My meter continues to tick...

The cab doesn't budge. There is someone in the back, and I presume they're paying by credit card which often takes an act of Congress to get the payment to go through. One minute passes, two minutes pass, now it has been about 4 minutes of no movement. This is a long time while sitting still.

The honking continues (I hate honking). The meter continues to roll.

My cabbie now tries to pull forward as far as he could, and for a second I think he's going to take out the fountain by trying to get by. The front cab, the offender, doesn't move. The doorwoman now comes out and is screaming at him to move. He doesn't.

Ultimately, my cab driver gets out and can't even get his door open wide enough (pressed up against said fountain) to get out. I was almost relieved, as I didn't know quite what would ensue.

The front cabbie (I hate him at this point) doesn't even flinch. The concerto of honks continues.

My meter is at about $4.50 by now. I haven't left my driveway. I ask the guy politely to turn it off. He does, but of course doesn't reset it to the entrance fee. It wasn't worth asking.

FINALLY, Congress must've heard our pleas and a young guy got out of the back. I was a tad shocked to see that it was the good looking guy that I think lives on the 9th floor (of course it would be, now I couldn't hate him), and the cab begins to roll forward.

I got to my destination in one piece, but $5 less rich and a whole lot more irritated.

Just another day commuting in this crazy city.

Drag Racing

Why is it that cab drivers feel the need to drag race up Lake Shore Drive when it is late at night?

Not only did we round the corner entrance ramp at North Avenue at 63 mph (I kid you not), but we took off like a shot from there. Made it home quickly, but my face felt flattened from the sheer speed of it all.

Drag racing, NASCAR, whatever you call it - it sure makes for an interesting cab ride home.

Also makes me wonder if I would be safer driving myself home? Good thing I'm too smart to pull a Paris or Nicole on that one.