By Pat Hanahoe-Dosch
I consider taxis a necessary evil. They take me where public transportation doesn't go, sometimes more quickly than a bus. Often a taxi is the only transportation from an airport to a hotel, especially in a foreign country. Language barriers, greed and cynicism, however, have often combined to make the experience unpleasant; I have been cheated out of money or taken to a different hotel from the one I asked for, usually owned by the driver's cousin or other relative. In Singapore, a taxi driver left me in a place far from where I asked him to go because he couldn’t figure out how to find the address; I didn't speak the language and had no idea where I was. In New York City, one time, my taxi driver deliberately bumped and dented the fender of a car in front to get him to move. After listening to the drivers yell at each other for ten minutes, I got out and walked to the nearest subway. I left enough money on the driver’s seat to cover the fare on the meter; I still wonder how long it took for him to realize I was gone. I expected it to be different in my home town, Lancaster, Pennsylvania. There aren't many taxi cab companies here, and in such a small city, it would seem like competition would drive the quality of service (pardon the pun). Not so.
I consider taxis a necessary evil. They take me where public transportation doesn't go, sometimes more quickly than a bus. Often a taxi is the only transportation from an airport to a hotel, especially in a foreign country. Language barriers, greed and cynicism, however, have often combined to make the experience unpleasant; I have been cheated out of money or taken to a different hotel from the one I asked for, usually owned by the driver's cousin or other relative. In Singapore, a taxi driver left me in a place far from where I asked him to go because he couldn’t figure out how to find the address; I didn't speak the language and had no idea where I was. In New York City, one time, my taxi driver deliberately bumped and dented the fender of a car in front to get him to move. After listening to the drivers yell at each other for ten minutes, I got out and walked to the nearest subway. I left enough money on the driver’s seat to cover the fare on the meter; I still wonder how long it took for him to realize I was gone. I expected it to be different in my home town, Lancaster, Pennsylvania. There aren't many taxi cab companies here, and in such a small city, it would seem like competition would drive the quality of service (pardon the pun). Not so.