The Art Of Tipping

When I was younger, I used to tip everyone.

Waitresses, taxi drivers, the person who carries your bags into the hotel.

Now I’m bit more selective – especially with taxi drivers.

In my job, invariably I’ll find myself in the back of a taxi. The typical conversation is as follows:

Me: (Climbing in) “Alright mate.”

Taxi Driver: “Hello Sir. Where are you off to?”

Me: “I’m going to (insert destination).”

At this point I’m thinking:
I told your controller where I was going when I booked the taxi. Don’t you guys talk?

Him: “So, what do you do for a living?”

Me: “I work in care.”
At this stage, I’m wishing he’d just shut the fuck up and drive. I consider inserting my earphones and putting on my Ipod.

I’m aware that most people automatically ask taxi drivers if they’ve been busy.
I don’t.
I don’t care if they’ve been busy, not my concern.

At the end of our destination, the taxi driver stops the car, turns to me, and says:

“How much you normally pay?”

I’m tempted to ask: “Before or after the blow job?” but don’t think this would go down too well.

Taxi drivers ask this question to see if you know how much your journey normally costs.
If you don’t, you’re either stupid, or a tourist.

I look into space, as if I’m mulling over the question.
We’ve been driving for around 10 minutes.
This journey normally costs £10.

“Two pounds,” I said.

Him: “No, I don’t think so.”

Me: “Why did you ask then? If you don’t know prices, then maybe you should be doing a different job.”

Exit taxi.

Ok, I made that last bit up.
But that’s what I wish I had said.
Still no tip for him though…

Copyright © Mark A. McPherson 2012.
All rights reserved.

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