I know sometimes I joke that Chicago cab drivers are crazy in their yellow death machines, and perhaps you think I'm exaggeratting a little bit. Well, I'm not.
I decided to join a Delta, Delta, Delta alumnae group to meet new people. On Monday, we had a meeting at 6 p.m., so I hopped in a cab around 5:40 p.m. The cabbie must have thought I was in labor, because he decided to peel out even before I was completely in the car. Then going out of my neighborhood, he tried to illegally pass another cabbie who was going too slow, a.k.a. the speed limit. However, a bicyclist got in our way, so we had to screech back into our lane, all while the bicyclist was justifyingly cussing us out. At the stop sign, my cabbie decided to give the whole illegally passing thing another shot. While doing so, he rolled down the windows to curse out the other cabbie. I ducked to avoid potential bullets that would soon be flying.
Then we proceeded down Randolph Avenue at a death-defying clip. Somehow we fit our tiny yellow death machine in-between a semi truck taking up a lane and a half and construction cones on the other side. We then revved up to about 40 mph, all the while dodging pedestrians. Then we took a turn on two wheels, and voila, I made it to the meeting in a record 8 minutes.
The fare was $6.42, so I gave the cabbie an even $7. Sorry, nearly killing me does not equal a tip.
To cab driver #5113--you clearly were on a suicide mission or just learned you have two weeks to live because I've never been more afraid in my life.