If I drive, the car would be a convincing weapon of mass destruction. That is why I opt to take a cab. Dealing with taxi drivers in this part of the world can be so complex. It requires perseverance, persuasion, guile, and unbendable guts.
Yesterday, on my way to my office, I drive a taxi using my mouth. This is because the driver controlling the steering wheel doesn’t know which way to turn to get to my destination.
A couple of months ago, a taxi driver shouted “Eh gago ka pala eh, sinong bobo?” when the only thing I told him was to turn right to Bocobo. It was early in the morning and I was not in the mood to let the hearing-impaired taxi driver eat dust. I just patiently told him (and added a thousand of decibels more from my voice ) to turn right to Bocobo Street.
Every so often, the taxi driver would allow me to get into his cab but only to be rejected upon knowing my destination (explaining its out of his way or its too traffic) and expect me to get out immediately. In this crazy instance, I would have no choice but to alight. But out of despair and blood curdling anger, I would disembark and walkaway from the car without closing or shutting the backseat’s door.
A week ago on my way to Ayala Center in Makati, I asked the taxi driver to pass via Gil Puyat Avenue. He responded, “Sige sir sa Hell Poyat”.
Dapat pala sinabi ko na lang Bwenja (Buendia Avenue).