Husband Saves Me with Tacos after Taxi Fiasco

So I arrived at Tampa Airport for the first time ever and figured I could just catch a cab like at any other airport in America, right?

I mean - cab drivers outside of airports have refused to give me service.  Once in D.C., I had a row of 12 . . . T.W.E.L.V.E. Taxi drivers not only refuse to take me and my friend (both black men) home, but they did their level best to not even acknowledge our presence.  What was striking to me in this situation was that they were all people of color - and seemed to all be of either Ethiopian or Eritrean descent.  I have had drivers in New York ask me where I was going before I entered the vehicle - and because I didn’t know the law, told them before they quickly drove off.

I have been stranded by taxi drivers - experiences I will unfortunately never forget.

Enter: the age of car sharing apps.

To be clear, Uber has its’ fair share of serious issues, all of which have been well documented.  However, as a traveler, my experience has always been quite pleasant (other than that 6 car pile-up in D.C. a few years ago).

Anyway - In a scenario like the one I found myself in yesterday (arriving at an airport), I would normally opt to take an Uber but each airport treats ride sharing differently. At Laguardia in New York, ride sharing exists exclusively out of Terminal B due to all of the hellish construction there. At Kennedy airport, you have to find the ride sharing black zone. At DCA, they can just pull up in the arrivals area.

Since everything is different and strange and new in Tampa,  I thought to myself - it would, perhaps, be easier to simply get into a cab.

So I followed the arrows all the way to the taxi stand to see a mere two cabs.  An elderly couple got the first cab.  The second cab (a man of West African descent) asked me where I was going.  Since I’m in Florida (and things assuredly work differently here), I told him.

Here’s the deal.  We are staying in a neighborhood in Tampa that is super cute for our purposes but could be categorized as “hood” or “slowly gentrifying” by others.  

So I told him the name of my neighborhood and the taxi man said that he needed to make a call to see if he could take me to my neighborhood and then proceeded to contact the taxi dispatch.

Bish, what?!

I obviously blacked out and lost my religion for a few seconds because before I knew it I quickly told him off and sashayed away.

No Chantay, you stay - and sit here and earn zero dollars because everyone else figured out what I learned the hard way - that Uber and lyft are really the only way to go.

The uber driver arrived, confirmed my identity, and drove me to my home. It was as pleasant as pie - and not even close to being difficult. Who would’ve thought?

I was also curious to note that there are lots of uber drivers circling around in my neighborhood - suggesting that it is a profitable neighborhood for them to be in.

But this taxi driver didn’t want to take me? Is it because I’m black or African-American - meaning, I must not be a good tipper or I must be an awful customer or I might jump out without paying? Is that what it is?

That’s tough, because they are black too, right? I don’t know.

But that’s okay - because my beautiful husband greeted me at the door with Tacos and a smile and all I could think about was how I much I was happy to be home.