I think I’ve mentioned before that I hate cabs. I had that in mind as I was getting into one at the San Francisco airport yesterday but, as usual, I was trying my best to be positive. I was at the tail end of a week long vacation and had an early morning flight today, so I had driven back to the city a day early. We checked into the Marriot right by the airport, threw all of our stuff in the room, then drove the baby blue Prius we’d spent the last few days tooling around Napa in back to Fox Rent-A-Car, figuring we’d ditch it early and save ourselves time in the morning. As planned we took Fox’s shuttle back to the airport and then jumped in a cab to get us to the hotel, which was one exit further down the expressway.
The cabbie said hello and asked us where we were going and I quickly realized that that was about the extent of his English vocabulary. I told him “Marriott please,” and off we went. I was busy admiring the scenery, but after what seemed to have been at least five or ten minutes of highway driving I started wondering where we were headed. The hotel was only two miles from the airport, and I was pretty sure we’d gone at least double that distance on a road that didn’t look familiar. That’s when Chad asked him which Marriot he was taking us to. It turned out he was taking us to one in the city.
I’ll admit this one might have been my mistake. I simply assumed one of the following things were true:
- There was only one Marriott in San Francisco.
- If there was more than one Marriott in San Francisco the cab driver would have asked which one we were going to.
- If there was more than one Marriott in San Francisco and the cab driver didn’t ask which one we were staying at he would have defaulted to the closest one which, I also assumed, was ours since it was less than two miles away.
- Even if the cab driver had no idea how many Marriotts were in San Francisco the bellman who hailed the cab when I told him I wanted to go to “the Marriott” would have clarified for me, since that’s really the only reason for his existence. They aren’t there just to wave, I can do that myself. They’re there to figure out where I’m going and inform the cabbie.
But I quickly realized that all of those assumptions were false. There was more than one Marriott (no shocker), the cab driver knew that but didn’t ask which one, he defaulted to the one farthest away, and the bell man had heard Marriott and not bothered to ask which. In a bus I might have tried to compute the odds of all of those things occurring, but at that moment all I could think was “Damn, I hate cabs.”
So at that point the cab driver had two options. His first option was to get off at the nearest exit, turn around, take us to the airport Marriott, and collect a $40 cab fee, plus tip, for a trip that should have cost $10. His second option was to start yelling at us “How I know airport?!?! This San Francisco cab! This San Francisco cab!”, then proceed to call his friends on his cell phone and tell them, in Korean, about the two donkeys who didn’t specify which Marriott they wanted to go to while taking us back to the airport. Guess which option he chose. And before you place your wager keep in mind what I told Chad when we were back at the hotel, which is that it typically isn’t a lifetime of good decision making that leads one to a career in the cab industry.
So we headed back to the airport with him alternately talking on the cell phone and screaming something incomprehensible at us. His phone conversation was hilarious. It sounded something like “dai hoc hong wen Marriott ching chow chun San Francisco, choo chong ching Marriott.” I mean, if you’re going to make fun of us with your friends at least try to hide “Marriott” by using whatever is Korean for hotel.
That’s when I got pissed. Up until that point, despite my hatred for cabs, bell men who don’t do their job, and people who live and work in a country and don’t even passably speak its language, I was willing to foot the bill because in the end it was my fault. I should have just said “airport Marriott please”. I was going to just pay whatever cab fare was necessary to get me back to the hotel and be annoyed about it until the morning, when I discovered that my brand new $500 pair of headphones was missing and had something far worse to be annoyed about. But when the cabbie started ridiculing us in a foreign language and then yelling at us all bets were off.
At that point I decided to egg him on a little. I asked him why he didn’t ask us which Marriott. He said again “This San Francisco cab! This San Francisco cab!” I wasn’t really sure what he meant. Did he think that I thought it was a Boston cab or something? Of course it was a San Francisco cab, I got it at the San Francisco airport. What else would it be? I asked him what he meant but his response wasn’t even vaguely intelligible. I told him that he should have asked us which Marriott and that that was standard practice in the cab industry, and again his response was excited but entirely unintelligible.
So we got back to the airport and he started complaining to the bell man. The bell man was also Asian but obviously not Korean (I suspect Japanese) and spoke English with only a slight accent so he couldn’t understand the cab driver any better than we could. I was actually glad for that, the fact that he was asking what was going on made me think he had some sort of decision making ability and if he was fluent in Korean I wouldn’t have liked our chances much. But he seemed just as annoyed at the cabbie as I was, maybe more so because he had, at some point in his life, apparently done the only sensible thing and learned to speak English, which I can’t imagine is easy for someone whose native tongue is entirely different. I hated French class, and half of the words are at least almost the same as their English equivalents, so I couldn’t imagine learning a language where none of the words were the same. But I know that if I ever move to a country that speaks a different language I will learn it and despise those who don’t bother to even more than I do now.
So the bellman promptly shut the front passenger door, mid-sentence (and when he did that I knew we had won), and came back to ask us what happened. We told him and he said that the Marriott we wanted was in Burlingame. I asked him how we were supposed to know that and told him that in any other city the cabbie would ask “which Marriott?” If it wasn’t for the fact that he was obviously going to side with us I would have pointed out that it was his job to prevent that sort of mess, but it since he was in our corner it didn’t seem prudent. He seemed to grudgingly accept our argument that the cabbie should have asked, which was good because it turned out that part of his job apparently was to resolve disputes between customers and cab drivers. The cabbie asked him what to do about the $45 fare and the bellman told him with a shrug that he was going to have to eat it. I was rather happy about that because at that point there was no way in hell I was paying that driver a cent. I would have spent all night complaining to whoever was in charge about how rude he had been to us if I had to, just on general principle, but I would have suffered just about anything short of a night in jail before giving him the fare. And while I would have gotten some sick pleasure in trying my best to get the driver fired I really just wanted to get back to the room and play some Tetris on my DS.
After the bellman absolved us of payment he told us that there was a Marriott shuttle just one level above where we were standing so we hopped the free bus back to the hotel. And you better believe the first question we asked when we got on the shuttle was “is this going to the airport Marriott?”