I've been thinking about all the times people have tried to impress me with the vehicle they drive. I don't know why it's desperately important to be seen to have a certain make of car, or to be seen in one. Living in London means I take a taxi wherever I want or need to go. It's not that I'm extravagant, I could take a bus or a train, and would do. I am just not impressed by what you drive. Providing that your vehicle is safe and clean, I'm pleased to be a passenger in your car. I took driving lessons, but then decided that if I need to be somewhere, the last thing I need to do is to drive if I'm distracted or in a hurry. It makes no sense for me to drive. I'm happy to donate for petrol if I'm being driven, or pay my fare when I'm a passenger on public transport. Anything else is just fine if that's what you're into, but it leaves me cold. Nothing against F1 fans or people who appreciate performance, but I'm not going to care if you drive a Fiat or a DeLorean.
It's the obsession with upgrading all the time, I upgrade my smartphone, and my laptop when I need to, before they're obsolete, but I don't need to be seen to rocking the newest gadget. I don't wear a watch either. Flashy stuff just makes you a target for thieves. Apparently more Rolexes are reported stolen than have ever been made. Big insurance premiums!
I had occasion this year to book a cab for a fair distance. I enquired in advance the cost for a round trip fare. I use the same local cab firm all the time, and the cars are reliable. To my dismay, my least favourite cab driver turned up. He is extremely proud of his cab, he always seems to add a few pounds to each set fare when he takes me. He drives a Mercedes. I don't want to pay a surcharge every time for the privilege of getting into his cab. I knew when I saw him, that he would be trying to get little extras out of the trip. Took my dresser with me... His first words "Haylo Laydees" didn't make me feel any more pleased about the trip. We were going to be stuck making small talk (mostly about his car) for many miles, until he tots up the fare, which was bound to be more than I'd been quoted. I'm no snob - nothing to be stuck up about - I have plenty of people in my family who did or still do drive for a living, but something about his exaggerated pride in having the keys to a 'Merc' and his over-familiarity makes my heart sink.
Naturally enough, he began with how the other drivers were so envious of his ride and how he gets all the 'better' fares. We recognised this as buttering us up for a larger tip... The questions began ... "is this a Function you are Attending?" I put capital letters because he made the words sound slightly exotic and possibly lucrative. "No no, job of work."
He tried again "this venue, sounds very posh, doesn't it?" (It didn't.) Despite him regaling in the joys of his expensive sat-nav he missed a turn for the village we needed. We pointed it out, but he didn't think we'd want to go down that road, as it looked a bit downtrodden, we assured him that we did and he turned back.
We seemed to be approaching what must have been the building we wanted, when he pulled the car up in the middle of a dirt road with a triumphant "Laydees - we Have Arrived!".
It was the side of a field. I told him the address again, pointed out that it must be the building to the left further along the approach. I wanted to laugh. He was insistent that his sat-nav had told him that we were now at the precise location of the postcode, and we would have to walk to the building - we didn't, though. I am guessing he didn't want earth on his tyres. As the name of the place was also a description of the building it was pretty clear which place we needed - a studio. He was pointing and waving towards a large farmhouse estate and pulled towards it. It was really hard to get him to see that the large building where he felt his car 'belonged' was nothing to do with where we needed to be. After much persuading, we got him to take us to the studio, and we called ahead to tell them were arriving, asking if we had disturbed anyone's breakfast. At the mention of breakfast, he leapt out of the car and bounded towards the building with us... "A free breakfast, did you say?"
He asked the studio where he might get a breakfast (with his foot in the door) and was given some directions to the town, where there might be something. "A MackerDonalds would do" he said. I couldn't understand where his strange pronunciation was rooted, but realised he was putting on his posh voice for us. We finally got rid of him and arranged for him to meet us for the journey home. The rest of the morning was pure work and it was a pleasure. Creative ideas and images and moods were made.
I love to work. On my way to work I like to focus on what I'm going to be doing and not on controlling the strange whims of the person who is also doing his job. He must love his car and he must love driving, but he's just so odd and tiring.
He collected us on time, so that was a bonus, as we got into the car, he asked us to guess how much his breakfast had cost, given that he hadn't managed to find a McDonalds in a small county town. We couldn't (wouldn't) so he told us ruefully that he had paid £8.50 and found it disgusting that he needed to pay for his own meal... He was trying to get us to stump up for it. I'm not rich, nor posh, and I live in a part of town which is not known for its expensive price tags. It wasn't part of the deal and I didn't. I don't get freebies either, we all get paid for the jobs we do, and it's just so awkward managing someone's expectations when we're all in the same boat.
The journey dragged on the way back. I've never been so pleased to get out of a car and back home. I tipped him, but told him that I knew the fare for the journey, much to his disappointment. I made a mental note to tell the cab firm that I'm a reverse snob and I can't ride in a Mercedes as I'm allergic to them.
I'll ask for a Skoda next time. If it breaks down, I know we can repair it with a hair clip.
It's the obsession with upgrading all the time, I upgrade my smartphone, and my laptop when I need to, before they're obsolete, but I don't need to be seen to rocking the newest gadget. I don't wear a watch either. Flashy stuff just makes you a target for thieves. Apparently more Rolexes are reported stolen than have ever been made. Big insurance premiums!
I had occasion this year to book a cab for a fair distance. I enquired in advance the cost for a round trip fare. I use the same local cab firm all the time, and the cars are reliable. To my dismay, my least favourite cab driver turned up. He is extremely proud of his cab, he always seems to add a few pounds to each set fare when he takes me. He drives a Mercedes. I don't want to pay a surcharge every time for the privilege of getting into his cab. I knew when I saw him, that he would be trying to get little extras out of the trip. Took my dresser with me... His first words "Haylo Laydees" didn't make me feel any more pleased about the trip. We were going to be stuck making small talk (mostly about his car) for many miles, until he tots up the fare, which was bound to be more than I'd been quoted. I'm no snob - nothing to be stuck up about - I have plenty of people in my family who did or still do drive for a living, but something about his exaggerated pride in having the keys to a 'Merc' and his over-familiarity makes my heart sink.
Naturally enough, he began with how the other drivers were so envious of his ride and how he gets all the 'better' fares. We recognised this as buttering us up for a larger tip... The questions began ... "is this a Function you are Attending?" I put capital letters because he made the words sound slightly exotic and possibly lucrative. "No no, job of work."
He tried again "this venue, sounds very posh, doesn't it?" (It didn't.) Despite him regaling in the joys of his expensive sat-nav he missed a turn for the village we needed. We pointed it out, but he didn't think we'd want to go down that road, as it looked a bit downtrodden, we assured him that we did and he turned back.
We seemed to be approaching what must have been the building we wanted, when he pulled the car up in the middle of a dirt road with a triumphant "Laydees - we Have Arrived!".
It was the side of a field. I told him the address again, pointed out that it must be the building to the left further along the approach. I wanted to laugh. He was insistent that his sat-nav had told him that we were now at the precise location of the postcode, and we would have to walk to the building - we didn't, though. I am guessing he didn't want earth on his tyres. As the name of the place was also a description of the building it was pretty clear which place we needed - a studio. He was pointing and waving towards a large farmhouse estate and pulled towards it. It was really hard to get him to see that the large building where he felt his car 'belonged' was nothing to do with where we needed to be. After much persuading, we got him to take us to the studio, and we called ahead to tell them were arriving, asking if we had disturbed anyone's breakfast. At the mention of breakfast, he leapt out of the car and bounded towards the building with us... "A free breakfast, did you say?"
He asked the studio where he might get a breakfast (with his foot in the door) and was given some directions to the town, where there might be something. "A MackerDonalds would do" he said. I couldn't understand where his strange pronunciation was rooted, but realised he was putting on his posh voice for us. We finally got rid of him and arranged for him to meet us for the journey home. The rest of the morning was pure work and it was a pleasure. Creative ideas and images and moods were made.
I love to work. On my way to work I like to focus on what I'm going to be doing and not on controlling the strange whims of the person who is also doing his job. He must love his car and he must love driving, but he's just so odd and tiring.
He collected us on time, so that was a bonus, as we got into the car, he asked us to guess how much his breakfast had cost, given that he hadn't managed to find a McDonalds in a small county town. We couldn't (wouldn't) so he told us ruefully that he had paid £8.50 and found it disgusting that he needed to pay for his own meal... He was trying to get us to stump up for it. I'm not rich, nor posh, and I live in a part of town which is not known for its expensive price tags. It wasn't part of the deal and I didn't. I don't get freebies either, we all get paid for the jobs we do, and it's just so awkward managing someone's expectations when we're all in the same boat.
The journey dragged on the way back. I've never been so pleased to get out of a car and back home. I tipped him, but told him that I knew the fare for the journey, much to his disappointment. I made a mental note to tell the cab firm that I'm a reverse snob and I can't ride in a Mercedes as I'm allergic to them.
I'll ask for a Skoda next time. If it breaks down, I know we can repair it with a hair clip.
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