Here at San Pancho Vida, we just had another contest. Don't feel bad if you didn't know about it. Neither did I.
The idea for it came to me while I was in Los Angeles visiting my son for his birthday, which trip was a delight as always. He was kind enough to pick me up at the airport last Thursday and drive me to my hotel in West Hollywood during LA rush hour traffic. That's okay, we had time to talk. But for several days, while he worked, I was on my own and had reason to ride in taxicabs.
Which brings me to the contest and the winners:
Winners! Grouchiest Taxi Cab Drivers in the Western Hemisphere!! Los Angeles taxi drivers! And there isn't even a close second, in my opinion.
OMG, I've never met a surlier batch of people in my life. This is cumulative opinion, not just from this last trip which was my fourth four-or-five-day visit to the City of Angels Except for the Cab Drivers.
You may know if you're a regular reader that one of my favorite pastimes during my travels is chatting with taxi drivers. I learn so much from them, about the local economy and opinions, about the reality of their lives and the trajectory of their children's, about the history, attractions, and changes they've witnessed in their cities and towns.
In giant bustling Mexico City, I talked endlessly with cabdrivers, many of whom were as educated about their city as museum docents. It usually only took a "buenas tardes" to start the conversation. If that didn't do it, I'd ask one more question...and the floodgates would open. This has been my experience in Guanajuato and San Miguel de Allende, in Zihuatanejo and other towns and cities in Mexico. In New York City, in Seattle, in and out of Phoenix, in Vancouver, B.C., in San Francisco. It's been true in small towns and big ones. It was even sort of true in Montreal and was certainly so in Boston and its surrounds.
So what's up with Los Angeles? It was as if every time I got in a taxi, the driver totally resented my presence. And his job. And the traffic. And apparently the world.
To be fair, my son and I traveled with two youngish taxi drivers one night to go see an improv show. One of them was polite. The other was almost friendly. And the Armenian man who drove me to the airport early Monday morning talked to me for five minutes (of the forty) and removed my suitcase from the trunk with barely a grumble.
Taxi-grouches are distinct from other people I met in LA in public-interaction occupations. The hotel's valet staff who call cabs and such go out of their way to be helpful and personal. The housekeepers are so nice you want to take them to lunch. The people behind cash registers are plenty friendly. Waiters and waitresses (probably all aspiring actors) are gorgeous and fun. The good news in my mind is that I don't come away believing that this grumpy rudeness is endemic to the whole population of LA.
The other good news is, I got to see the stars on Hollywood Boulevard. Not any live ones, just the ones that are in the sidewalk. That was fun. Some of them we boomers grew up watching: Lucille Ball, Gene Autry, Boris Karloff, Vincent Price, Lassie, Andy Griffith. Donald Duck and Tinker Bell. The list is long.
Of course, the stars march through time. I noticed many current names. Los Angeles taxi drivers don't have one. I checked. Maybe that's why they're so sulky. After all, if the Rugrats get a star...
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