On a recent trip to see a surgeon for my shoulder, I ordered a taxi to get me to his office as I was still unable to drive. On other visits to his office, the 30 minute cab trip had been rather uneventful. But this was not the case this time.
The driver who picked me up must have obtained his driver’s license from the Fast and Furious school of driving. He drove like a maniac, weaving in and out of traffic. One hand in the wheel and the other casually draped out of his window.
Things got worse once we flew onto the freeway. He looked at the traffic in front of us and decided it would be quicker if we drove in the emergency lane. And he then put the pedal to the metal and cruised past 100 kms in the blink of an eye.
It didn’t take long at all once we were off the freeway and back onto the main road, and the doctor’s office was just around the corner.
After paying the fare, I stepped out of the cab as quickly as possible and prayed I never had to step foot in his cab ever again.
Honestly, I don’t need anyone’s help running into cars and injuring myself, and I have proven that on a number of occasions now