People Told Us the Worst Things They Did in a Cab
Cue your painful New Year's Eve flashbacks.
Assets via Shutterstock / Wikipedia Commons | Art by Noel Ransome
This article originally appeared on VICE Canada.
There’s something about stepping out of a busy street and into a quiet, warm taxi. You can finally exhale: check your phone, fix your makeup, chat up the cab driver. It’s easy to get comfortable—sometimes a bit too comfortable. I mean, who among us hasn’t unloaded all the messy details of their latest breakup to an unsuspecting Uber driver?
But considering that Uber drivers can slap us with a bad rating just as fast as we can rate them, you’d think we’d be a little more conscientious about reining in our shitty behavior. Alas, in the middle of a crosstown bender, all bets are off.
As a bit of self-reflection heading into the new year—and to possibly jog a few hazy memories from New Year’s Eve—we asked people to share some of their worst behaviors while the meter was ticking.
We were headed home from a bar in Waterloo to Elmira when I was playing Jr. hockey. This girl and my buddy were aggressively making out, and all of the sudden, she tells the cabbie to pull over. She vomits the hell out of her stomach, and then as she got back in the cab, they proceeded to make out once again. It grossed me out so much that when I got dropped off, I puked all over the side of the cab. Needless to say, the cabbie was pissed. — Marko C., Kitchener
When I was young and naive, a cab driver picked me up. Somehow, we ended up smoking opium [Editor’s note: probably not opium?] out of a hookah pipe he had stashed in his trunk. He gave me his personal cell and would always offer to drive me around—until he realized I was clueless and didn’t put out. We did smoke some good opium, though. — Lyn K., Toronto
One Friday in August, my friend and I ordered an Uber to Mississauga from downtown. It was shortly after 1 PM, and we needed to be at our destination by 2 PM. We also had luggage with us. The driver was late. After he finally arrived, we get on the Gardiner Expressway and are passing the Jameson exit. At this point, the driver is huffing and sighing in exasperation. We hit some traffic and are now entering Etobicoke, when all of a sudden, he asks us if he can let us off on the side of the expressway and order another Uber from the highway. I started laughing thinking it was a bad joke, and then he begins to yell at us, begging for us to get another Uber. Apparently, he has a court appearance at Yonge and College at 2 PM. He starts cursing at us, saying stuff like, "fucking humanity," and that we were awful people. My friend tries to talk him down, and he eventually calms down, and we arrive late to our destination. He apologizes, and then when we exit his car, he asks us to give him five stars and a $15 tip. We were like, Fuck that. — Derek W., Toronto
My date was about to puke, and I immediately thought of the poor cab driver who'd have to deal with it. I reached for the only thing I had on me that might do the job—my hat. She filled it, and fortunately, we were close enough to her place that it didn't leak through. The cabbie was expecting the worst and was surprised to see what I had done. When we got in, she offered to wash it for me, but I knew if I was going to have any chance of getting laid I had to say, "No, don't worry about it, it's just a hat" (despite it actually being my favorite). I dropped it into a garbage bag. I didn't get laid that night and have always, to be honest, felt a little disappointed. — Aaron G., Toronto
When I was 25, I felt the need to break up with my boyfriend of two years and take up with an 18-year-old for six months. It was a wild ride, and one night in a cab, I kept putting my finger up against the back of the cab driver's head, like a gun, hissing, "Bang bang, baby." After the third or fourth time, he suddenly veered to the curb, and screamed, "You are not a nice girl! Get out of my cab!" and we tumbled laughing out the doors, delighted with our free ride. — Sam B., Montreal
Last winter, I was going to get my nails done and was running late. I hate to keep the manicurists at my salon waiting, so I figured I’d bite the bullet and spring for an Uber. As the driver pulled up, it began to snow. Apparently, drivers don’t know your destination until you actually get in the vehicle, so when he saw I was heading to Parkdale from Mississauga (a 28-minute drive), he immediately started bitching. He kept asking me, “How can you make me drive downtown in this weather?” The snow had been accumulating pretty heavy by now. “I should just leave you on the corner. I don’t need this,” was a phrase he had taken to uttering every two minutes. “Do it then, fam! Leave me—I’ll call someone else!” I would reply. “No, no, it’s fine,” he would respond. What kind of fucking mind game was this? The notification for the Uber pool came up, so we went to pick up a teenage girl and her friends from a townhouse complex. As this man is watching her walk to the vehicle, he yells out “Fuck, she’s fat! She doesn’t look nice like you. Ugh and she and her friends are black. I hate driving black kids.” My jaw dropped. (For reference, I’m white and I guess this psychopath found my weight to be within an acceptable range. The driver though? He’s black, too.) Anyway, the girl and her friends get in, two of whom were unaccounted for when she ordered her pool, so we’re packed in there like sardines. The kids eventually get dropped off, and I’m stuck with this asshole driver as he tries to find a “shortcut.” He completely ignored the GPS. He goes on to make comments about how he’s “actually rich” and “doesn’t actually need this job.” Then he changed his tune about driving downtown and informed me that he might meet up with a friend at a bar nearby, and I’m welcome to join them. Hell. Fucking. No. Long story short, I still ended up being an hour late for my appointment. — Rachel S., Toronto
I met a chick at a bar one night in LA and decide to take her back to my hotel. My Uber shows up, and we hop in the back and start making out. We're drunk enough to not even care, and plus, we had like a 20-minute drive, so it was enough time to warm up the oven—if you know what I mean. I start feeling this chick up, and she's rubbing my wang like a teenage boy figuring out what masturbating is for the first time in his life. It's getting pretty hot and heavy, so much that the goddamn driver decides to pull over, pull out his phone, and start filming us. At that point, we didn't give two fucks because we're hammered and about to fuck each other's brains out. This is where it gets really fucking creepy. As I'm kissing this chick, I start to hear this super fast fapping noise. I'm talking some Flash Gordon shit. I ignore it and go about my sexual business. I hear it again, and it's even faster. Me and this chick look up toward the driver, and low and behold, this motherfucker is jerking off to us making out, while filming us at the same time. We go, "What in the actual fuck man?!" He then says, "Don't mind me—I just got out of the joint. Keep going." I steal the phone out of this dude's hand, we run out of the car, and I immediately delete the video. This dude then gets out of his car, while his pants are down around his ankles, and is trying to run with this huge erection down the fucking street. I throw his phone toward him, he tries to catch it, falls, and I'm pretty sure his dick broke his fall... and his manhood. — J. Wunder, San Jose, California
It was about ten years ago. My ex and I had been out at a club and were headed to an afterparty, both high on E. We stopped to buy cigarettes and saw a disposable camera displayed on the counter, so we bought it. We jumped in the back of a cab, and on the way, she got me to take a bunch of photos of her vagina. The cabbie may have noticed because there was a flash. I wasn't paying attention. — Larry R., Toronto
I’ve been driving Uber for a few years now. I’ve seen my share of weird shit—guys on drug deals, girls fingering one another in the backseat, and asking me to join in. Once, I was asked to be this girl’s date for a wedding. Another year, I had four different girls puke in my car. They always offer to clean up—and do so badly. Anyway, one time, I got called to this house near Yonge and Eglinton. I park out across the street. It was around 11 AM. The garage door opens, and this girl runs out to my car, totally naked. She starts beating on the window screaming: “Open up! Let me in!” I shook my head "no," and she said, “Please? It’s for a bet!” I said no, and so she had to walk back, naked, to the garage, with cars honking horns as they passed by. Eventually, the guy who had called for me came out and explained their bet and that they had been partying all night and doing crazy drugs and having sex in the backyard when they ran out of smokes and called for an Uber. His neighbors must have hated him. — Petey B., Toronto
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