Recently I was called by two people, who were going from a hotel here in Nashville, to Hattie B's, one of the hottest restaurants in town right now.
As I was on 10th Avenue, crossing Broadway from the West with the green light, a taxi was about to blow through the red light (right on red, but not yielding) on the Broadway northbound side and cut me off, until I beeped at him and he braked. I pulled up to the valet stand and he got right behind me.
Two women jumped into the back and told me where they were going. Next thing, the cab driver gets out, comes to my window, and tells me I should be more careful. I looked straight at him and said, "You should stop at red lights." It was a short exchange, less than 10 seconds in which it was made clear I wasn't going to take any shit from him, and then he went back to the cab.
That was when the ladies in my back seat informed me the party he was picking up was actually with them, and we were all going to the same place. As a result, I was prepared that he was probably going to try to race me to the destination. I warned the ladies and told them I wasn't going to play, anyway.
So, sure enough, he zooms past me on Broadway and heads up West End, and gets there first. But I chose to stay on Broad, and drop my passengers off on the right side of the street, while his had to cross in noontime traffic.
The takeaway: the two people who rode with me were given another reason they never want to ride in a taxi again. And it's a safe bet they told their friends.
As I was on 10th Avenue, crossing Broadway from the West with the green light, a taxi was about to blow through the red light (right on red, but not yielding) on the Broadway northbound side and cut me off, until I beeped at him and he braked. I pulled up to the valet stand and he got right behind me.
Two women jumped into the back and told me where they were going. Next thing, the cab driver gets out, comes to my window, and tells me I should be more careful. I looked straight at him and said, "You should stop at red lights." It was a short exchange, less than 10 seconds in which it was made clear I wasn't going to take any shit from him, and then he went back to the cab.
That was when the ladies in my back seat informed me the party he was picking up was actually with them, and we were all going to the same place. As a result, I was prepared that he was probably going to try to race me to the destination. I warned the ladies and told them I wasn't going to play, anyway.
So, sure enough, he zooms past me on Broadway and heads up West End, and gets there first. But I chose to stay on Broad, and drop my passengers off on the right side of the street, while his had to cross in noontime traffic.
The takeaway: the two people who rode with me were given another reason they never want to ride in a taxi again. And it's a safe bet they told their friends.