You get in the cab, and he nods at you and drives on. He nods at the destination given. He nods at the direction given. Then he nods at a passing car. Then you start paying closer attention. This guy is not nodding, he is juddering. He is trembling. He is the Personnification of Parkinson's, and you are paying him to drive in the road. You butt cheeks tighten to Spanish Inquizition Clamping levels and you reflect on your life up until now. If you arrive alive, your hand is trembling almost as much as his when paying. Almost.
How to Deal With it- Get your seat belt on! Choose routes with minimal turns. Get out early. Reflect upon an economic system that has the elderly and infirm forced to work themselves to death.
The Hater
You get in the cab and they decide immediately there is a blood feud to settle. They seethe, they mutter, they hunch their shoulders. They listen to your destination with the kind of aggressive dismissal normally only associated with nerds learning you don't know the names of the robots in Star Wars. They take your fare ,never maintaining eye contact and if you try to hold them in conversation, even in poifect Korean, they will pretend something way more interesting is happening out of their side window.
How to deal with it: Talk. Talk all the time, in English, brightly commenting on everything that you see, comparing it to other things you. That white car is like that other white car but it's not quite the same, right? Those traffic lights are sometimes red, but sometimes green, but it doesn't really matter, right? RIGHT? Smile at him the whole time. Engage . Engage. Engage.
The Misogynist
Getting in the cab with your female friend (you're a dude in this situation) she tells the cabbie the destination. He doesn't respond. She repeats her phrasing and there is no respons . Puzzled, you try. He responds with alacrity. He does not acknowledge the woman's presence. He jeers at women drivers. His actions make you want to apologise for men everywhere to your lady friend.
How to deal with it: guys, Come onto him. If he really only likes men, let him realise what that ultimately entails. If he reciprocates, you're in a game of Gay Chicken and you're in it to win it, Dagnamit.
The Creeper
You get in the cab, sitting in the front seat. On your journey you come to a red light. The cabbie looks at you for the first time. He looks you up and down, slowly taking you all in like a pedophile using a 28.8 modem. He leers at you. He asks if you're Russian. He admires your legs. He strokes and paws your leg. By the way, this is whether you are make or female.
How do you deal with it: slaps, getting out without paying, photos of car licenses. No jokes, just sue the ever loving fuck out of that guy. Fuck that guy.
The Repeater
You get in the cab and tell him you want to go to the Novotel. "Novotel?" He repeats, as he turns on the meter. "Novotel," you repeat staring at the meter drops down its initial timer. "Novotel," he repeats wonderingly, marvelling at the sound of those three syllables being used in conjunction for the first time. You say the same sentence inflicting every syllable in a different manner again and again, hoping to crack the codex that is this this cabbie's eardrum. The meter has lost half its initial 2800 value, then the cabbie has a language epiphany. "Oh noVOtel." Yeah , noVOtel . You dick.
How to handle it. Stop the meter. Push that button. It's amazing how much quicker language is learned when there is no incentive to do otherwise. Less dickish would be to bring written korean phrases. Being dickish again, would mean using supersize placards.
The Double Time
When I talk to a person, and they don't respond I don't normally say it again. When I am forced to repeat myself to a cabbie. It is annoying. When I try to engage them in conversation, and realise they only understand the second time I say something to them? Bewildering. I lapse into silence and stare out the window like some Fucking French movie.
How to deal with it. Say everything in threes. He won't know what's going on. Slowly his brain will fuse and the car will crash, exploding, ending both your lives on a rainy Tuesday. Ah, how like life. <inhales Gauloises>
The Stoner
This cabbie doesn't go more than forty km/h, and keeps turning round to look at you and smile beatifically. They'll ask all the usual questions about where I'm from and whether or not I like kimchi, but man, they really love your answer. Giggling to themselves, playing with the various electronic doodads, then turning to lok at you or slyly staring at you through the rear view mirror. Man, they are on some good shit.
How to deal with it- dude, you know, like, the dude abides, man. Just RELAX! Ask some pretty deep questions. Assume their korean answers are exactly what you were thinking , man.
The Coolest
The unicorn of cabbies. Someone who is totes on your wavelength, speaks your language , is in the mood to discuss politics or sports, or music, or whatever the fuck you're into, and you just engage. This is what ex-pat living is about , man. Connection. Sorry, I'm still high for the Stoner. Also, their driving is impeccable, not just in terms of the Highway Cide. You wanted a fast cab, you got it. You wanted a safe cab, you got it. This cab is your heart's desire.
How to Deal with it- sad cowboy songs, a bar of chocolate, a pizza, old friends reruns. Breakups are bad, even when they are mutual and the relationship was only a cab ride long. Staring at the selfie you took of him and you together will only prolong the agony. Goodbye, sweet prince.
The Boy Race
You're in a rush so you say to the cabbie "BALI!BALI! BALI!" He turns to you and grins. He leans over to the glovebox and pulls out actual racing gloves. He puts them on reverently,he looks at you once more as he slowly slides on a pair of Aviator Sunglasses. As he starts the engine and takes on, you remember you didn't out on your seat belt, and suddenly everything has become a roller coaster, bothin physical form as he slews in and out of traffic, hand braking into corners and skidding around buses, because fuck buses, and almost emotionally. Will putting on a seat belt signify I'm a traitor to the cause of speed? Will it officially make me his bitch? I'm too young to die!
How to Deal With It- it's a roller coaster. Put your damns hands in the air and scream with the joy of a twelve year old. He will appreciate the tinnitus. It will sound like a colosseum of applause.
The StopGo
Brake. Accelerate. Brake, accelerate. Pump the gas, pump the gas, pump the gas. All the while gripping the automatic gear stick as if at any moment he will change gear. No you won't do that, you're in an automatic. Pump the gas, pump the gas. My neck is about to snap, my head is about to roll into my lap. I'm dying. This is what dying feels like.
How to Deal With it- Kill yourself. Just open the car door and roll out. End the misery.
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