Last night, I was propositioned by my cab driver, and failed to get the information necessary to report it.
Now, I take a lot of cabs. I sold my car in 2005, and resolved at that point not to let carlessness curtail my activities too much. I didn’t used to take cabs home as often, but a few months ago I got followed home by a shouting dude in a truck, and ever since then I have taken a cab if it’s after 11 or so. It would not be too difficult to pick me up and stuff me in a trunk, and so far cabs have felt less risky than the alternative.
Mostly, I love taxis in this town. The drivers are frequently nice and interested, and some of them even wait to make sure I make it in the door alright. Some have tried to convert me, but until last night, none of them have ever tried to sleep with me. I left a bar in Capitol Hill around 11:15, and a friend hailed me a cab. When I got in the driver asked if that was my boyfriend, and if it was, why wasn’t he coming with me? This is the sort of interest that is largely normal for cabbies making conversation, so I told him that that boy was gay, not my boyfriend. And how was his night going? Is it much busier when it gets colder? We rode in silence until my apartment in Eastlake, when again the cab driver asked if my boyfriend was home. This happens sometimes with the cab drivers that are making sure I don’t get murdered before my front door, so I told him no, no boyfriend, but that it was fine because I lived right there.
And then things got creepy. He asked if he could park in the lot under my building. I said no, that was for tenants only. He asked if he could park on the street, because he would only be coming in for 30 minutes. Coming in where? I asked. To my house, he answered, because there was no boyfriend. I declined, and he asked for 15 minutes. I said no. 1 minute? Still no. Creeped out, I fled the cab and locked all of my front door’s locks.
When I got home I mentioned the incident to my friends, and everyone who was still awake answered immediately–that was inappropriate, report it.
So I tried, and it didn’t work, but what you need to know if your cab driver ever assumes you want to sleep with him is: his driver number itself, or if you’re too busy running away, the number on the side of the cab. It is three digits, and each taxi has its own. The only way they can track a cab is if you call it to your place, so if it is one that you hail on the street, that three-digit number is essential. The man at Yellow Cab was sympathetic, and a little skeeved out himself, but it seemed like there was little he could do without actual evidence. Had I kept my head and considered the situation I might have realized that identification was going to be necessary, but I didn’t, and that gross cab driver is still out there trying to sleep with people.
And that’s my little PSA for today: if a taxi driver tries to harass you, get the three-digit number on the side of his car and report it.