It was an experiment that I tried to test tonight during a cab ride home, and I can report that it failed. Tonight I endured the smelliest cab in the world. So smelly that I was gagging as I clutched the handrail, climbing the stairs to my front door. So smelly that I remained nauseated for about 30 minutes after getting home. So smelly that I had to take an immediate shower with the most heavily scented bath products I could find. So smelly that I am getting the coat I was wearing dry cleaned.
I think this smelly cab ride, along with one I took this morning, are somehow punishment for my want of thrift. Recalling the first part of my day... I dropped off my car at the Honda Service Center. Running late as usual, I grabbed a cab instead of waiting for the N- Judah. The trip seemed to go well until the cab driver started to make a lot of pointless turns downtown, basically circling around City Hall. He eventually found his way to Market Street, turned down New Montgomery, and dropped me off in front of the Starbucks across the street from my office. I handed him $20 and asked for change.
"No change."
"What?"
"No change. I only have $50 bill."
"Uh-okay. I'll pay with my debit card."
"No machine. I can't take credit card. You go inside Starbucks. Buy coffee."
I went in. The line was outrageously long. Frustrated, I gave up and ultimately let this joker keep a $4 tip.
I already thought at that point I was being punished for my extravagance, yet after work, driven by hunger and weariness, I once again opted for a cab. This almost proved to be my undoing. I jumped in the first cab in line outside the Palace Hotel, and immediately realized I had entered an alternate hell.
The first odor that hit me was the acrid smell of urine. I patted down the back seat to make sure it was actually dry. I looked at the cab driver, an unkempt man with long, greasy white hair and beard, and coke-bottle glasses. Could it be him? I automatically told him where I needed to go, and it was too late to get out as the cab started to drive.
As my nose adjusted to the urine smell, other scents, primarily feet, musk, and sweat, began to permeate the air. It was almost as bad as the smelliest Muni train I was ever on, but worse in a way because it was more personal. In this confined space, the stench wrapped its reeking arms around me and held fast. If the odor had been visible, I imagined its color to be dark yellow.
I had recently watched HBO's Grey Gardens, which in parts depicts Jackie O's cousins Big and Little Edie Bouvier Beale living in the squalor of a decaying East Hampton mansion. They live among feral cats and racoons, with a five foot tall pile of trash amassing in their kitchen. I imagine that is what the cab driver's own dwelling must be like. I imagine that's exactly what it must smell like.
I took short, shallow breaths for the next 20 minutes. I tried yawning with my mouth over my hand to get more oxygen. I prayed for green lights all the way home. I stifled a gag just blocks away from my house. Hang on. Just please hang on, I told myself.
And then more money gone. Sixteen dollars for the worst cab experience of my life. I need to get my priorities straight and soon.
image from http://www.wilson-graf.com/w/?p=23156
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