Happy St. Patrick’s Day all! Yes, I know that the real holiday is Tuesday, but if your city is anything like mine, this was the weekend for the celebratin’ aka all-day drinking, and a ton of fun. And this year, as an added treat, the worst cab ride ever. Keep in mind, this is coming from a girl who once endured a New York City cab ride to La Guardia after consuming three very strong mimosas. But that came nowhere near the cab ride of this weekend.
It started with a normal cab ride to one of Chicago’s many Irish-themed pub, where My Guy and I met up with a group of his friends for a day of drinks. I had some ciders and two shots of Jameson (that’s right!), and about seven hours later (around 6:00 or so) we were ready to move on to meet another group of people. Eight of us split into two cabs. And then it got interesting.
First of all, it being St. Patty’s weekend, cabs have been used all day, and there was something fruity and foamy in the backseat, that one member of our group insisted on telling me repeatedly was some sort of bodily fluid as I sat impossibly close to it. Then, our cabbie turned the wrong way down a one-way street. My Guy sat up front next to him, and I can only imagine it was even worse for him to stare down the cars facing us. And as our cabbie backed-up, pulled forward and backed up over and over to turn around, people on the street laughed at us and then we were on our way. Still with the fruity goo awfully close.
Then our cabbie missed the turn and proceeded to back up on the crowded Chicago street. I turned around and saw myself staring down a bus. Finally he got on the street and made his way to one of our cross streets. And something (experience) told me not to trust this driver. I peaked over the partition to make sure he was turning right. He had his left signal. “Um, no. The street is right from here…You need to turn right!” I commanded. He finally did and he got to our second destination. Whereupon said cabbie got maybe an 80 cent tip.
I think we were too generous.