The stinker
Listen: a cab is like a self-contained biosphere. While there is an absence of direct physical contact, essentially you and the driver share the same breathing space. But there are times when he seems to forget that Rexona won't let him down.
The asshole
In the ongoing holiday rush, this creature thinks he's God's gift to the urban commuter. In the rare event that you get one, most of them won't even have the courtesy to let you open the door. Instead, they'll roll down the window to first interrogate you about your destination. You reply. His head heavy with contemplation swivels slowly then stares into the distance, before his face squirms, like someone just farted. He shakes his head, closes the window, and speeds away.
Sometimes you just want to hold a sign that says where you're going. Or maybe the proper way is to first ask the cabbie, "Ah, but no. The question is: to which convenient paradise would you like to go, your highness?"
One time I witnessed this wonderful encounter while standing in line at a mall. A big, burly, stomachy man hailed a cab. "Saan ka?" the driver asked. The big man forced the front passenger door open, got in, and snapped: "Saan? Sa presinto tayo, t---ina ka. Magtatanong ka pa ha. Pulis ako!" Off they went, merrily, to parts unknown.
Sometimes, I think I'm in the wrong job.
