I do not miss taxis

On Friday, Tom needed the car to go to work and pick up his parents from the airport. So, I took a taxi to take Huck to school. Here's how it went...

I got in the car and asked the driver if he knew where the compound is. He just grunted and repeated the name of the compound so I told him I would tell him how to go. He rolled down the window and yelled something to the guard at the clubhouse and then sped off and out the gate. He took corners sharply, honked his horn nearly constantly, and didn't slow down for the many speed bumps. He was huffing and puffing and grunting. When it was a bit more quiet, I told him I had to drop off my son at school and if he could wait, then I wanted to return home. He said ok.

I assume he was in a huff because he would have preferred a fair downtown, but, whatever the reason, I could have done without his erratic driving and grouchy attitude. There's actually a formal movement to make taxi drivers be more polite, speak a bit of English and not spit. All in preparation for the Olympics. When Tom recently had a similar experience in another city, he told the driver that his government would be disappointed in his efforts, scaring the guy into apologizing.

I do not miss the days of having to take Huck too and from school in taxis every day.