Oh Hell No: The Cab Line-Up

You've seen the cab line up in your town. Perhaps its in front of Staples Center after an event lets out. Its definitely at baggage claim, waiting to get you all the way to your destination. And sometimes its at your favorite hotel in hopes of picking up an airport run. Anywhere there are mass amounts of people needing a ride, there's the cab line.

The Professional is the first one, in any city, at any time--to hop her ass in a cab. Whether its four blocks or a forty-minute drive, she patronizes Cabbies and she tips well. However, a recent experience left her fuming mad and on the verge of cursing out an unsuspecting Indian immigrant. You see, she wanted to hop the cab line, and he wasn't having it.

It was lunchtime in Downtown Los Angeles, and the cabs were lined up on Figueroa Street waiting to catch a fare. The Professional walked up on the line, as a woman in a rush. She did so from South, with the cabs lined up facing North. She was in essence, coming up from the back. She made eye contact and walked assertively forward to the closest cab to her--which was also the last cab on the line. "Beverly Hills," she told him as she motioned for him to open the door. In response, he shook his head and pointed to the front of the cab line--a lonnnnnng city block's walk ahead of him.

Did he not see her urgency? Did he not want the $50 fare? Did he not recognize her fierce 4" Jimmy Choo's?

The Professional's face immediately contorted into a "OMG-WTF" type of look (the expression was likely accompanied by some form of neck rollling as well). The Indian cabbie looked a little frightened as he vigorously pointed ahead of him, urging her towards the first car on line. With a dramatic heavy sigh and the dirtiest look she could muster, The Professional had no choice but to move to angrily the front of the line.

You see, she didn't want to walk that long-ass block to the front. She wanted the car closest to her to scoop her up & dip the eff out. His refusal to do so led The Professional to beg some questions: Is there some type of Cabbie union or brotherhood in play? Do they not understand how dreadfully inconvenient it is to have to walk to the front of the line when it stretches out for eternity? And did this Indian man just really serve her up a dose of gangster with the ill "hell naw?"

The Professional suggests that LA taxi drivers take a cue from the New York state of mind where everything goes. Reminder: Its a daggone recession people! Pick fabulous bitches up on whatever block they need you. Thank you and carryon.