The Third Taxi

The Third Taxi

Have you ever been in a taxi and felt afraid?

It’s happened to me three times — each time differently, but never forgotten.

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The first time was in New York City.
I took a limo from my hotel to the airport. Once I was inside, the driver suddenly announced the price had gone up — by fifty percent.

When I refused, he started shouting. The volume, the unpredictability — that split second when you realize you’re in a moving car with someone angry — it’s a peculiar kind of fear.

I did the only thing I could think of. I asked for his chauffeur’s license number.
To my surprise, he stopped shouting, drove straight to the airport, and dropped me off at the agreed price.

Apparently, he was missing something more than manners

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The second time was in Paris.
A short late-night ride. The fare was eight euros. I handed him a twenty.
He yelled that he had no change and threatened to keep the whole bill.

It was dark. I was alone. The doors were locked.
Then I heard voices outside — my neighbour, who runs the wine shop downstairs, was just finishing a tasting. He and his guests came out to see what was going on.

And just like that, the tone shifted. The driver made change. I went upstairs.
Grateful, but shaken.

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The third time was today.
And this one left a mark.

The meter was already at €20.70 when I got in — before the car had even moved.
I pointed it out politely.

He exploded.
Told me to get out of his taxi immediately.

The door was locked. For a second, I just stared at the back of his head, trying to decide whether to argue or stay quiet. The street was half-empty. I wasn’t sure where we were.

I said I’d leave when he dropped me somewhere safe.
He kept shouting — louder, faster — while I noted his taxi number and called the company.

Before I could finish, he pulled over, grabbed my arm, and pushed me out in front of an office building.

His hand wasn’t rough, but the shock of it was.
Fear has a strange texture — half physical, half disbelief.
One second, I was arguing; the next, I was on the sidewalk, phone in hand, heart racing.

For a moment, I just stood there, trying to decide whether to cry or laugh.

Moments later, I called another cab. The driver was calm, polite, and professional.
The fare for the whole trip? €24.

A Forrest Gump kind of day — you never know what you’re going to get.

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Fear changes how you think.
You don’t reason; you triage.
You learn that calm isn’t the absence of fear — it’s what you build to survive it.

So I’ll ask again:
What would you do?