Taxi Ride in Hell

Cab lines in Vegas are long. They are long at the airport. They are long at the casinos. However, none seemed quite as long as the cab line at Cashman Field after Saturday's baseball game. So, we decided to take matters into our own hands by hoofing it up to the main road and trying to hail a cab. Unlike New York City, cabbies drive right past you. They don't even look at you unless you are in a designated cab line.

We were fortunate (and I use that term loosely) to finally flag down a cab to take 3 of us back to the hotel. Rich and I jumped in the back seat, and Sara got in the front seat. Just as she was closing the door, the cabbie looked over at her and exhaled a huge plume of smoke. Sara simply sighed "eww." The cabbie looks over at her and exclaims, "Jesus, you caught me in the middle of a f$%&ing smoke!" Sara responded, "I just didn't expect you to blow it in my face." To which the cabbied replied, "If you don't like smoke, you're in the wrong f$%&ing town." Are you kidding me? We're in the cab for less than 2 minutes and the cab driver has dropped the "f" bomb twice? For that matter, have you ever been in a cab when the cabbie has so much as uttered a foul word during the entire trip?

What followed was a trip through some of Vegas' less desirable neighborhoods, fast turns and U-turns that made the tires screech, and a lot of heavy braking so as to avoid hitting the unsuspecting pedestrians in the crosswalk. It was great. The total fare was $21.90. Sara and Rich were kind enough to tip the cabbie. If it were me, I think I would have given him $22 and told him to keep the change. As it was, I politely said, "God bless you" when exiting the cab. I am sure that the cabbie appreciated the sentiment.