The story unfolded this morning, when I received a harried phone call from my client's wife. Let's call her "Maria Conchita." So Maria, bless her little heart, is originally from Argentina, and is 30 going on 15. My proud client had shown me photos of her. He favorite was one of her clutching her prize-winning French poodle, makeup spackled on her face, beaming beautifically at the camera like the Whore of Babylon. "Ees beautiful, my wife. Ees most important to me in my life." I smiled and nodded. This is standard protocol for when I don't care, but have to.
So, Maria called me and was hysterically crying. She had arrived at the Miami airport today, and was going to meet her husband and I for lunch on Lincoln Road. Apparently, the cabbie had driven her from MIA to Lincoln Rd without turning on his meter. What should have been a $40 cab ride, magically turned into a $85 one. Her husband was running late, and asked her to call me, because "Be-berly will take care of 'choo."
Her sobs were audible between her complaints. "I dun know what to do! He say he no let me out until I pay him $85! I no have $85 cash!"
Blood thundered in my veins. If there is one thing that I have grown to hate in my four years here, it's unsuspecting tourists being ripped off by shyster Miami types. It's the principle of it all. You half expect to be taken for a ride in any new place that you visit, particularly if it is renowned for being a famous vacation spot. However, to be cheated of your money, and then to have to contend with that signature surly Miamian attitude, as if it is your fault for wasting their time, by having them perform the service that they were supposed to perform... well, I took off, heels pounding furiously, toward Lincoln and Washington, where Maria was currently being held hostage by the cabbie.
I ran up to the cab and pounded on the door. He yelled out through the window, "Not taking passengers!"
"I don't want a ride! Let her out!"
I was struggling with the door handle. The door was locked. Cabbie was still yelling at me. I reached in through the open window on the front passenger's seat, and unlocked her door. It occurred to me then that she could easily have let herself out. Then I remembered that my client probably didn't marry her for her stellar intelligence.
She stumbled out like a baby pigeon, makeup running, visibly shaken. She handed me her sweaty wad of $40, which I immediately thrust at the cabbie.
"Thas' fo'ty, thas' fo'ty. Cab ride cost eighty five!"
"It's not eighty five! A cab ride from the airport to Lincoln Rd costs forty, max!"
"Eighty five dollas, and I ain't leavin' till I get it!"
"No, you're leaving now. With your forty dollars. Here, take it."
"I ain' leavin' till I get dat eighty five thas' comin to me."
I snapped. $16 martinis, overpriced condos, shady Israeli landlords, Bell South technician offering to cut me a "deal," surly parking attendants, 45 minute wait for food, Cuban time, "Ees not my yob, meng!" Fuck you, Miami. I've had enough. All my pent up frustration was released in a bloodcurdling scream:
"I'MA CALL DA PO'LICE!"
The cabbie froze. What was this? Crazy Asian chick, still in her work clothes, waving her hands up and down like a rabid marrionette, with the ghost of Bernie Mack talking through her?
"I'mma call da police! You mothafuckas are done ripping people off! I'mma call, and da po'lice gon' come right now! They gon' take yo' liscence away! You goin' in da JOINT."
I proceeded to fake-dial 911, pausing to glower at him between each number for maximum dramatic effect.
He got in his cab in a huff and drove off, but not before yelling some choice obscenities at me.
Everything that I thought was charmingly dysfunctional about Miami before, has slowly given way to an almost Nazi-like impatience with the systemic inequities that keep our our city from truly being world-class. The very city of Miami Beach is much like it's famed cache of gold-digging women: it doesn't work, it only stands for hedonism, and it is hopelessly incapable of standing on it's own two feet. But it sure is pretty, and pretty makes up for a variety of sins.
Do letters of complaint, grassroots activism, and community uproar work in Miami? Maybe. But if you want quick results, "I'mma call da police!" is the way to go.
Yup, I think it's time to move. Ay, Miami! Te quiero you no' mo'.
Oh my gosh, you are hilarious!!!
I only wish I could have been there with my camera.
Too bad that the bloom is off the Miami romance. I know how much you have loved it there.
And, too bad that you won't come home, I miss you here...
hihhii.. da was uno suppa-lux story -- i got multiple giggles out of it. But You speak the truth -- I recall ever so vividly when I used to be a visitor to this town of collagen-plump-liped-women-&-shiny-automobile-cruisin'-men and wondered if the extra cruise around the beach cabbie gave before landing me at the hotel door steps, was some form of "welcome tour" I was requested kindly to pay a hefty $charge$ for. But i ever so peacefully paid without any resistance and surely even topped it up with a tip. One may blame it on my now-long-vanished naiveté, or lack of experience with this species called Miami-cab-drivers or simply on my blond locks, but as of today I am like a Russian winter swimmer -- absolutely immune to the manipulative ways of the yellow-Ford-taximen.
One of the recent good rides I took on a rather stormy day -- as a matter a fact it rained so hard I couldn't see tips of my fingers as I reached hand out in front of me (ok, note here I am exaggerating a itzy-bitzy here), but still, it was too rainy for me to ride to yoga class on a bicycle. But urge to do some good stretching and twisting was so grand, that I decided to take get my bum there on a cab. It was merely a 5 buck route, but I abandoned the sense of guilt the cab drivers usually manage to inflict in me for short distances -- they grant You a look that says: "You got to be kidding me!" -- but as said, this time I didn't care. I thought I'd leave some 2 buck tip which on top of the ride cost as applying simple math would be some 40% add-on which is a rather generous tip. So anyhoo, as I arrived at the yoga studio and handed out $20, driver looked in the wallet, patted on his pockets -- both pant as well shirt ones -- and then turned to me with announcement: "I ain't got no change mam'" I am always puzzled when the cabbie makes such statement -- out of all the people in the world, i'd think they'd be the most likely to have plentiful of small bills on them, or are my assumption incorrect? I looked straight at him and responded: "I have two one dollar bills and twenty -- now are you absolutely certain that there is no change you can give me back from twenty?" "No, no change mam'.. " btw.! What's with the mam' ? I hope to earn that label no sooner than some 15 years down the road. "Alright then, here's $2 for you and hopefully next time I will end up catching ride with You, it is my hope that you'll have some change on You." He looked at me as if I was a Medusa. I smiled, thanked him and stepped out of car. He whooshed away so speedily that I thanked God I didn't make wobbly steps, otherwise he would have attended yoga class with arepa like flat toes (which on the second thought could have been beneficial in strenuous balancing poses). Moral of the story: there is none, just wanted to throw in here my irregular cab-ride experiences.
It's bye-bye Miami for You soon, but I'll romance this place for a little while longer. Yet the gut feeling is that I too shall shake off the grains of sand and the shallow-hals&gals and plunge into a search for a city with nice honest cab drivers ;)