My trip home from Madrid was marred by a few things (spending 4 hours in Madrid airport, having to carry my heavy bag with no wheels), but the worst was the mini-cab driver who was scheduled to pick Lisa and myself from the airport.
like a good passenger, I turned my mobile off on the airplane, completely unaware of the saga brewing in London for the duration of the flight home.
Apparently, 1 digit of the our flight number had gotten miscommunicated when Orest booked us the cab, so that the dispatch sent the driver to collect us from the airport 2 hours before our flight was scheduled to land. He was just on his way away from the airport when dispatch finally got a hold of me and made him turn around to collect us.
But I didn't understand where all the confusion was coming from since I had the text I sent Orest indicating the correct flight number. It was still a shock to see our driver turn his back on us and expect us to follow him without a word. I even had my hand out with the heavy bag, thinking he would offer to carry it for me, but he ignored me completely and stalked off.
I can understand that he might of been annoyed at having wasted the 3 hours, but surely he didn't have to take it out on the innocent parties involved? On top of all that, he regaled Lisa and I his woeful story of his day from hell, which included some little old lady having pee'd on the seat of his car ("Don't worry," he says, "It was the front seat."). It was only when he started invoking Allah's name that I began to worry that we were in the hands of some nut-job terrorist intent on destroying all of North London. I was beginning to reach for my mobile phone to see if I could surreptitiously ring home and get Orest to stop this maniac from detonating us and my bag to kingdom come.
Two minutes later I was home safe and sound - but no tip for the weirdo taxi man!
No comments:
Post a Comment