Thursday, February 19, 2009

"Hang on, let me get my map."

While in San Antonio we didn't have a car, so we took cabs everywhere we went. There are some interesting motherfuckers there, let me just say.

When we first arrived, we took a cab from the airport to our hotel; our boss here had said, "Don't try to wait on the shuttle, because you'll be there all night." So we hop in a cab and tell the driver where we're headed. He is visibly and audibly exasperated and says, "AW, you could have just taken the shuttle." We said, "Sorry, we were told not to take the shuttle. We hope you don't mind." He grunted and said, "I've ONLY been sitting there for two hours waiting for somebody." Then, when we got to the hotel and tried to pay with the company card, he refused to take it. "Cash only." The credit card machine was visible in the front of the cab.

We had more than one cab driver who got lost taking us to our print facility there. One guy pulled over and got his map out. Another had to pull his famous u-turn, which he referred to as "my famous u-turn". That's where I got that.

The fellow who took us to the airport when we were departing was very talkative, very excited, and somehow ended up telling us all about his dog, how his dog always wants to take his pork chops and his steaks, and he could tell from the look in the dog's eye that he was doing it on purpose, that the dog knew he was doing something bad, so he had to give the dog away. On account of the dog always wanted the guy's food. Right.

By far my favorite was this pissy little guy who kept coughing and hacking all over the place and saying, "GOD, I hate getting sick." He asked what all we were going to do for fun while we were there, and I made the mistake of mentioning that I love Mexican food so I wanted to go to some good Mexican places. This really incensed him; he kind of rolled his eyes and said, "Well, there are some really good, really authentic Mexican places here, but I wouldn't want to go to any of 'em." I told him the name of a place that had been recommended to me, and he rolled his eyes some more and informed me that that place is entirely too touristy, I don't want to go there, I want to go to this other place. He then proceeded to dig around in all his crap, his cell phone and some pens and some TISSUES, PROBABLY USED, and dug up a business card for the Mexican restaurant he wanted us to go to. I very nearly told him no thank you, I'm not going to take your germy card from your hand that you've been hoarking phlegm into for the past fifteen minutes, but I gave in and took the card. Which I later burned in sacrifice to the god of Oh Please Don't Let Me Get Sick.

We didn't, incidentally, go to the restaurant he suggested because I looked it up and it was, like, $25 a plate, and that wasn't the experience I was looking for.

Anyhow, if you're going to San Antonio, be sure and take a few cabs, just to spice things up a little bit. But for Pete's sakes, DON'T, whatever you do, go to a Mexican restaurant.


Birdie said...

HAHAHA. Priceless. I have a theory that it takes a certain predisposition to even consider becoming a cabbie. Part storyteller, part nascar driver, part douchebag. With just a hint of skeezy doofus. And I mean that in the best possible way.

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