February 13, 2012

How Rude Boston!

The last semester of my college career I spent interning at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York City. I was lucky enough to meet two amazing girls who fortunately I have kept a running friendship with. Sara Ryan is native to the Golden State and currently resides in Brooklyn. Kendall hales from the Sunshine State and has established herself in Portland, Maine. Over the years the three of us tried with many failed attempts to get together for a complete girls night. The frustration of these non existent unions propelled us to plan an entire girls weekend in the cold, beautiful city of Boston. Sara Ryan and I ventured aboard the Bolt Bus while Kendall met us via train.

The bus ride was extremely pleasant. We chatted about life, catching up with our small anecdotes over the past couple of years. We decided to finish the remainder of our bus trip with the thriller Straw Dogs. This movie left us both with mouths agape and quite literally no words to describe the disturbing state of events that played across the iPad for an hour and a half. After mentally shaking off the movie's images we arrived in Boston! Kendall had already settled into the hotel hours before and we were set on meeting at the hip and trendy restaurant Trade.

Upon exiting the bus terminal we were instantly met with the piercing winter wind Beantown conjures up this time of year. Due to our inaccurate GPS, we were left completely clueless to the restaurant's where-abouts. Dragging our luggage lethargically behind, we made a preemptive strike and hurried to the taxi stand.

A line of pristine, white cabs awaited for our choosing as we finally settled upon one. A "kindly, older gentleman assisted us and our bags into the back of his car (kindly being the operative word here).

"Where to girls?" he said through a thick, Boston accent.

"The restaurant Trade please," Sara Ryan sweetly sang back to him.

"You two have got to be joking... I thought you were nice girls. You realize the restaurant is only four blocks away right?"

"So sorry," I said back very apologetically."We are just here for the weekend from New York and we had no idea. We really are nice girls, I promise!"

"Yeah whatever," he snorted back.

Now... Sara Ryan and I truly believed this cab driver was just on a sarcastic rant to bust our chops since sarcasm is the official language in New York. The rest of the cab we rode in complete silence until Trade loomed closer.

"That'll be $5," the cab driver choked out. 

Sara Ryan paid and gave him a large tip to compensate for this little mishap, which did not seem like a gigantic problem. Without so much as a whisper, he sprinted out of the cab and to the trunk where he reluctantly removed our luggage.

"Thank you so much sir, we really are so sorry," the both of us chimed. Our amount of sweetness to this man would have put sugar to shame.

"Stop apologizing darlings, nothing you can say will make up for the fact you have ruined my night!"

"So... it is utterly impossible then for you to drive the 4 blocks back and wait in line once more at the stand where hundreds of people are leaving the terminal hoping for transportation to their final destinations?!" I thought to myself.

He proceeded to hop back in his taxi and speed away from us as if we were lepers. The dumbfounded looks upon our chilled faces left us in a frozen stupor for a few moments before becoming privy to the ridiculous situation that just took place! This would NEVER happen in New York. NYC taxis may smell and have a non English speaking driver, but negative attitude toward patrons is a foreign element in the New York taxi equation. 

When traveling to Boston here is a bit of advice... all that glitters is not gold. The crisp, white car with "Taxi" written in bold black lettering and an American behind the wheel could just be a charming form of misery looking for company. So know where you are going and when in doubt... just walk!

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