Open Letter to a Boston Cabbie

Dear Sir,
First of all, allow me to apologize. If you are reading this, I am sorry that I was unable to give you your cab fare. You might remember me, you picked me up outside my dorm at 6:30 am on Friday, November 6th. Upon hopping in, you agreed to take me to South Station, a walk that I could have made, but was unwilling due to the cold and early morning circumstance.
I’d like to make it clear that it was never my intent to stiff you. In fact, I tried exceedingly hard to make sure that didn't happen. Allow me to explain my situation. I woke at 6am and gathered my things for my weekend trip home to Doylestown, PA, a land that you may not have heard of. I was scheduled to take the 7am bus to New York City from Boston’s South Station, and upon my arrival to New York, I’d figure out the logistics of the second leg of the trip home. But that part is of no relevance to you, sir.
After leaving my room and heading downstairs, I followed my pre-decided plan to go to the ATM in the lobby of my building. And what do you know? Broken. But not to worry, the majority of cabs accept credit cards. Alright.
So I hop in, give you directions and immediately note the credit card machine on the plastic median divider, perfect. I entertain the $4.60 ride and you pull up directly outside the entrance to the bus terminal. It is 6:42, everything’s coming up roses, sir.
I preface my payment with “Hey, I’m really sorry, but…” and explain my plastic predicament. You groan, take a sip of your XL Dunkin Donuts coffee, your second one of the day, you explain to me, and you say,
“Yech, that thing, it hasn’t worked all morning. Do you see my cab number on the screen? Broken.”
Okay. Well, okay. I still have enough time, as I’m actually running three minutes ahead of schedule (a rarity for the traveler in me), and I inquire about the nearest ATM. Inside the terminal, up two escalators and down the corridor you say. Fine, I’d be much obliged. You brought me $4.60 closer to my destination. So in, up, and up I go.
Citizen’s Bank ATM. Well that’s ok, I bet they’ll give me a surcharge, I don’t have time to worry about it.
Swipe. No dice. What do you mean my card can’t be processed? I try again, again I go unprocessed. And again. Again.
I walk away, ask a security guard, who tells me the closest one is next door at the train station. A walk I know is 8 minutes, from prior experience. It is 6:50. Again, no dice.
I go back to the Citizen’s Bank ATM, someone else got it to work! I wait and try again, and still, my card cannot be processed.
It is then that I had to make the unfortunate decision that I could not pay you today sir. I scour my wallet for some kind of compensational currency; one dollar, a Barnes&Noble gift card, a gift certificate from Wet Seal. None of these things seem appropriate. It is 6:53.
I make my way to my gate and think about you, two escalator rides down, and out the double doors, sitting in your MetroCab with a broken credit card machine, sipping your second XL Dunkin Donuts coffee of the morning, curious about whether your passenger will actually return and pay you.
You are incredulous, you’ll be pleasantly surprised if she does. She’s clearly a student, she looks pretty decent. She definitely has it, but kids, they were trained early to cut corners. And everyone’s shackling down because of this recession bullshit, that you just don’t know how the cab industry is going to keep it together.
I understand, Mr. Cabbie with white hair, long face, and Red Sox cap, that I took on some bad travel karma, when I made the decision to stiff you this morning. That’s something I can’t take back. But I can try, either by giving $6 extra dollars to the next cab I get in, or by a method I haven’t yet come up with.
I just felt an immediate need to apologize to you, and I had to get this off my chest. I wish you the best of luck sir, and I hope that one day you find 4 dollars and 60 cents on the ground, and you are compensated for our short ride together. I’m sorry, white-haired, long-faced cabbie. I hope I didn’t ruin your day.

With all the best intentions, and immediate regrets,
Micaeli C. Rourke

PS. Phuck the Yankees. For your sake, go Sox.