I grew up in NYC and I am a big fan of our subway system. When it works, it’s like magic. Ok, sometimes it doesn’t work, but I always have a book and I am set (not that I won’t complain, obviously). I like the subway system so much that I can discuss the best route between destinations for hours (really) and consider it a personality defect when I can’t figure out how only make one transfer instead of two. I refuse to take cabs during rush hour, so I am only really tempted to take taxis when: It’s very cold out; it’s very warm out; it’s raining; it’s too sunny; it’s humid; I’m hungry; I’m tired; I just got my hair done; it is late; I have to be on the East side; I am wearing uncomfortable shoes….so okay, I take cabs sometimes.

But there is a small problem with taxis other than the obvious lack of availability in the rain/rush hour, the potentially horrendous odor of the car/driver, some people’s driving skills and the general raggedness of many a cab. That problem is this: Some of the drivers take in instant and powerful dislike to me as a person/being.

To be fair, some of the hate has been warranted. I was a belligerent, know-it all 20something who was always convinced the cabbies were taking the longest route possible to screw me over fare-wise, who jammed into those bad boys with too many people (and proceeded to maybe have a beer and request that they turn the radio to KTU, as if in my living room), who asked for specific routes mid-another route and who used to demand that drivers “please get off your phone sir, it’s not safe.”

I have been asked to exit a taxi three times in my life (if you didn’t know this could happen, it can): One was not my fault (was with an even more belligerent 20-something friend) and the other two were. As in, I take full responsibility. The third forced exit occurred whilst on the west side highway (yes, that’s where I was asked to get out; yes, that’s where I got out) and I was in the cab with my then my boyfriend who decided I was wife material anyway.

But then there are the times when the drivers through no fault of my own are, in a word, batshit. My first experience with a truly crazy driver – and by crazy I mean made me fear for life and/or inspired me to take down the medallion and call 311 — was not until I was in my 30s. We were en route to JFK (the same trip, incidentally, where I got to he aiport an hour before my international flight and begged the flight staff to let me on anyway (when they told me I was too late) because I was “pregnant and want to surprise my husband with the news” I was not pregnant. Don’t judge).

This gent seemed angry at me from the get-go, possibly for requesting the airport (I had a suitcase, just saying), possibly for just wanting a taxi in the first place. He got even angrier when I didn’t want to talk to/flirt with him. He decided to punish my destination/existence/ lack of interest in him as a mate by driving 90 miles/hr and tailgating to the point where I thought we would crash only to swerve into a different lane at the last minute. When I paid him  – and this was the only time in my life I did not tip despite my relief at being alive – I told him I would be reporting him. He did not take this well, and got out of the taxi to argue with me, gesticulating wildly and calling me a  “stupid bitch” a few times. I was already a wreck from his driving, was in a panic because I was late for my flight (see above), and only did not completely freak the hell out at his lunacy because we were at the airport and there were a lot of people watching. Even he, a known maniac, knew better. I followed through on my threat, took him to court and won.

The second crazy was about a decade later. To be clear, I have had bad drivers in the interim. I have gotten out of taxis because of the smell and I have had cab drivers who ran red lights or who started/stopped the car with great alacrity, sometimes in mere anticipation of the light change. But I don’t consider these drivers crazy, just not at the top of my list as pleasant experiences. All were forgetful, minus one window down-to-maximal-capacity-in-five-degree-weather trip, but that’s not where I’m going here.

The next time I encountered crazy, I was with my daughter who was eight at the time. It was pouring rain and I felt lucky to see that yellow light. We got in and requested our destination. He was on speaker phone and was in the midst of a loud and vehement conversation slash enormous fight with a lass on the other end who was equally worked up. He did not pause in his conversation to acknowledge our request or, say, presence in his vehicle. I repeated our destination hoping to be heard over the (extremely loud and, by the by, grating) voice of his lady friend. Again, nothing. So I asked him if he could please turn the volume down on his phone or maybe take it off speaker so he could hear. He whipped around, looked me in the eye and said, “Fuck this. Get out.” And pulled over and kicked my daughter and me out of the cab. In the rain.  I also 311-ed his ass and won that case too.

The latest incident was a couple of months ago. Two friends and I hopped into the back seat of cab and told him we would be making three stops, all on the Upper West Side. He shifted into drive, cheerily welcomed us and proceeded to tell us that he would only be making two stops. We cheerily told him that we needed to make three stops. He became somewhat agitated at this, and even more agitated when one friend suggested he could take us to the local police station and explain why he was refusing to take us to where we wanted to go. As you might guess, things were not going well. We pointed to the bill of rights and, um, the law. He pointed out that his “law” was two stops only. At this point, the other friend in the cab got all lawyerly and decided to record the incident on her cell phone. She asked him to repeat that he would not take us to three separate locations (which he did with some level of enthusiasm I might add). We then asked to get out, mostly because I, as the last stop, did not want to be alone with that fella even if we convinced him to make that third stop.

Pleased with our foresight, we settled in to watch this clever film-making in the next cab. Only it turns out that the “record” was in slo-mo and showed, well, a lot of slo-mo activity and garbled, crazy-sounding voices (possibly my own). Regardless, we had the facts, and two days ago, I won that case too.

Three times in nearly four decades of taxis is not that much, I know.  But it sure is enough to mention, and even though I’m anti Uber (which is an entirely different story) , there’s this little thing called Via….