Wednesday 7 April 2010


I took a mini cab to the airport the other day (for you American readers this is a licensed cab – you hope -  that gives you a set price for your journey). In my area, one company had a lock on the business – oddly no matter what number you called of competing companies, this one company always answered!  They of course decided that this meant they could do whatever they wanted: arrive late, be rude, not show up at all. You know the usual pride of business type stuff. The beauty of it for them was that you had to use them if you wanted to go anywhere. So being the benefit of the doubt type girl (I do try), I booked them to go to the airport, against my partner’s protestations. [He’s convinced that I am sometimes a glutton for punishment, just so I can then kick up a fuss.Who me??]

So I’m pacing at my window, cause of course they’re late – which I wisely withhold from my partner who is texting me for progress reports. Finally I hear the screeching wheels of a car out front. I look outside and see a black, old school Mercedes Benz. Alright, not a bad start. On second glance, it is a bit tricked out, rims, tinted windows, but hey, as long as it has wheels, what the hell do I care?

I go downstairs with my bags to find the driver on the street. On first blush I can only best describe him as an Asian Sonny Crocket from Miami Vice. I mean, to the tee. The shiny 80’s blazer, opened to reveal a pastel t-shirt, his hair flowing and long in some sort of mullet type do. Hell, I was impressed for the sheer effort and love of genre. So off we go, and I can see that this man takes his driving seriously. Pedal to the metal and all that. So seriously that he has a tape all cued up, Whitesnake no less, “Here I Go Again On My Own.” Being an ex-metal gal myself from years gone by, I had to appreciate the love of cheese as Tawny Kitean writhing on the hood of a Jaguar danced thru my head.

Unfortunately, I quickly realize that he isn’t so sure about where to go, although he seems determined to take short cuts that all lead to either road works or dead ends. I’m in the back seat, looking at my watch, trying to remain calm. I must admit, I suck at flying and the whole airport experience makes me tense. Finally by the fourth dead end, I try as politely as I can to remind him of my flight time and that perhaps we should just get on the main road cause he clearly does not know where he is going. Okay, maybe my tone could have been brushed with more honey and rainbows, but hell, I’m about to enter the airport travel vortex, can you blame me???

Well, this does not sit well with Sonny. In short, he goes apeshit and hollers that I don’t respect him, and he will not be disrespected, especially by the likes of me. Little does he know I'm queen of odd jobs. I pick up dogshit off carpets. Disrespect I know well. As he’s screaming this, he’s increasing in speed and driving more erratic. I make the smart choice and say little aside from the fact that I have the utmost respect for him and his driving skills (the prudent choice when someone is going 80mph), whilst of course texting my partner telling him that I love him, in case I end up in a pile of smoldering steel on the motorway. So back up goes the music, hastily rewound to the top of  ‘Hear I Go Again On My Own,” which I took as a clear sign to hold on tight and shut the hell up.
Copyright © 2014 Anthea Anka - Delighted And Disturbed