My taxi was bearing down on a couple of young people on a motorbike at great speed. He showed no inclination to start braking and indeed we were almost on top of them before he bothered to depress the pedal.
I was sitting in the passenger seat, which lets me direct the driver better, but sometimes lets me see too much. Everything seems much scarier up the front.
'Jesus!' I exclaimed, and grabbed the driver's arm.
It felt manly.
'It's just as well those kids didn't see you coming from the rear,' I told him angrily, after we narrowly avoided running over them.
The driver was young, and cock-sure. 'They were going too slowly - you only go that slow if you are drunk,' he said.
He wasn't going too fast then - the others were just going too slow.
Next time I take a ride with a mad taxi driver, I will take down his name and number, so he can see I am not happy.
We arrived at my drinking spot in record time: this was clearly a driver with a busy night ahead of him. He stopped for barely a moment to let me out - not long enough, it turns out, as I was still extracting my legs when he started to pull away.
I have run into this problem before, and won't put up with it any longer. These guys will just have to learn to stop, and keep the car still while the passenger gets out.
I opened my door wider, looked inside, and fixed him with my eyes.
'I am not out of the car, yet,' I said.
'Kaaa--aapp,' he said, while looking not the least shame-faced.
I shut the door and he sped away.
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