Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

If you have ever been in a cab in either a new or a familiar city, you know that you are putting your hands into someone else's hands. Not only in terms of having to trust the cabbie's driving experience and instincts, but also in terms of trusting that the cabbie is not only going to know his way around the city but will take you there straightaway. No fanfare, no unrequested side trips, no convoluted paths meant to hike up the cab fare and line his pocket.

Really, you have no choice unless you want to walk, drive your own vehicle, or sample the local mass transportation.

The only city in which I have ever taken a cab and felt that my trust was rewarded, on all fronts: London. London cabbies are polite, knowledgable, safe, and trustworthy.

The cabbies of New York City are the exact opposite. Rude, unsafe, risk-taking, shadowy characters who try their shenanigans on the innocent tourists as well as on the locals.

As you can see, my experience with cabs and cabbies spans both ends of the spectrum. From the surface, it seemed like the cab system in New Orleans was organized and on the level. No reason to expect anything but the norm.

...until we got into the cab with Mr. Toad, who proceeded to take us on a wild ride.

Let me first paint the scene.

We had been at Jazzfest all afternoon. We were tired, hot, sweaty, and just wanted to get back to the house to clean up and hang out. When we left the venue and saw the crazy, long line for the organized cab service, we decided to walk the 3 miles back to the house. I had blisters on my feet, so this was extreme...but we both decided we would rather be moving than standing still. I could apologize to my feet later.

Ten minutes later, after having missed a turn, we realized we were not headed in the right direction. The map on the GPS didn't help at all. Do you see a pattern forming here? We turned in what we thought was the right direction but neither one of us was 100% sure.

And then, we saw a cab....and another. The first one waved us off even though his light was on and he had no one in there. That should have been our first clue of trouble.

The next one was reluctant to take us but did, with a brusque attitude. OK...and within a few seconds, he was putting someone else in the van and yelling at us to move to the back of the van.

As he was doing this, he was looking around nervously.....like he had found trouble and was doing something wrong.

In hindsight, this should have been our second clue.

What ensued was a ride with Mr. Toad, who hardly spoke or understood English. Now, neither one of us had too much of an idea of where exactly we were, but when we started seeing the same landmarks and the same intersection, not once, but twice, we figured we were moving in a circular motion. Then, we noticed that the meter was not on.

The real panic, combined with the need to exit immediately, didn't really hit hard until a couple tried to flag Mr. Toad down. Just as the woman was about to get in the van, he began pulling away. The reason? There was a police car in the other side of the intersection. He pulled across the street into the left lane, and made a u-turn going back the way we came, only to pull over about 2 blocks up to pick up what looked like too many people to fit in the remaining seats in the van.

We were stuck in the back of the van. What could we do? So, 4 young women start to get in. Then, a man moves to the back and opens up the rear doors in order to put his suitcase in. Mr. Toad starts yelling at him in some half-intelligible language, trying to tell him he can't get in because there is no more room. As he is yelling his garbled message, he is still nervously looking around. The guy starts yelling back at him. Then, Mr. Toad gets out of the van and hustles to the back.

All I could see on that horizon was police and trouble...

By the grace of God, I guess, the angry man moves away with a last nasty word and hand gesture and Mr. Toad gets back in the van. He turns up the music, blasting a form of nasty dance music to appease the pretty girls, attemps to turn on the A/C but it only blows hot air. The vents are down at our feet. So, as our feet and ankles are roasting, we are held hostage by Mr. Toad, who is rocketing through the streets of New Orleans headed we knew not where. I can't speak for my friend, but if I had been near enough to a door at low enough speeds I may have considered dropping and rolling just to get off the ride.

We hoped Mr. Toad was heading in the direction of the address that we gave him, but found out that he was instead heading to the French Quarter.

Needless to say, we got off of Mr. Toad's wild ride a block away from Bourbon Street and headed to Pat O'Brian's for a hurricane, dinner, and a peace. Ironic that after Mr. Toad's wild ride through the streets of New Orleans that we could find solace on Bourbon Street.

Crazy, but we gave the NOLA cab system another try not 2 hours later and were pleasantly suprised by the courtesy and professionalism of the cabby. He filled us in on the whys and hows of our previous experience with Mr. Toad, confirming our belief that Mr. Toad was clearly breaking the law by doing what he did.

Cabbing it in NOLA will always bring Mr. Toad's wild ride to mind; in fact, cabbing it anywhere will forever be tainted by those moments. But, in the end, we arrived back safely to continue our night with our friends.