The Strange Taxi Riders

It was the middle of the day on Tuesday, and I was driving down Nineteenth Avenue in San Francisco when I received a fare request for 17th Avenue and Ortega Street. I happily accepted.

When I arrived, I saw an elderly lady with a walker slowly making her way out of a house. I pulled into the driveway, greeted her as usual, and helped her into the cab. She asked me to take her to Geary Boulevard and Divisadero Street.

As we drove down 17th Avenue toward Lincoln Boulevard, she started chatting about her morning—what she had for breakfast and how she needed to get to her appointment. It was a pleasant conversation, and before we even realized it, we had arrived at her destination.

She asked for the total fare, so I read the meter amount to her. She pulled out a special senior citizen card and then asked, “How much do I need to pay after my discount?”

At first, I thought she was joking, since we’d been having such a nice conversation. So I smiled and jokingly replied, “Discount? How does a free ride sound? You don’t have to pay. Let me grab your walker.”

But her tone immediately changed. “I was told by your company that you offer a senior citizen discount,” she said, now serious.

Still smiling, I assured her, “I’ve been driving for two decades, and I’ve never heard of such a discount.”

She wasn’t convinced. “I was told by your company,” she repeated firmly.

I chuckled, shook my head, and said, “Don’t worry about it. The ride is on me. You go ahead and have a nice day.”

But instead of being happy, she seemed confused. “So, you're saying there’s no senior discount at all?”

“No, ma’am,” I replied. “But don’t worry about it. It’s not even twenty dollars. Let me make your day.”

Now she looked at me suspiciously. “Why would you pay for my ride?”

I smiled again and asked, “What would you like me to do?”

“It’s not your fault if your company doesn’t have a discount,” she said, “so why should you pay for it?”

Without another word, she swiped her card and asked me to charge her the full fare. I processed the payment, then helped her out of the cab and onto the sidewalk, still trying to figure out what had made her so upset.

I thought that was the end of it.

But the next day, my dispatcher called and asked me to stop by the office when I had time. At the end of my shift, I swung by.

My supervisor greeted me with a grin and asked, “Hey, do you remember the fare you picked up at 17th and Ortega?”

I smiled. “Yeah… why? What happened?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Well… she called in and complained.”

“Complained?” I asked, surprised. “About what?”

“First, she said you took a long route and overcharged her.”

I shook my head. “What? I took the most direct route possible.”

My supervisor nodded. “I know. So while I was on the phone with her, I pulled up the route map, went over it step by step, and proved to her that you didn’t take a longer route.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “And?”

“She calmed down,” he said. “But then she brought up the discount again—saying you refused to give her one.”

I laughed. “Refused? I tried to give her a free ride, and she refused!”

He smirked. “Yeah, well, after I told her there’s no senior discount, she seemed disappointed. I reassured her that we weren’t trying to rob her.”

I shook my head, chuckling. “That’s a first.”

My supervisor grinned. “Welcome to taxi life.”

Some passengers just want a ride. Others? They want a discount—even when the ride is free.