Taxi from Manhattan to JFK stupidly early in the morning. Taxi driver drove like a maniac. Fare was something like the high $40's mark. Decided to round up to $55 for the tip. Problem was when I keyed it into the system, the $55 wasn't the total amount, but the tip amount. Needless to say the driver didn't say anything. Only realised this when I saw my credit card statement.
Heh. It happens. I've gotten excellent tips for geting people to their planes on time. And vice versa.
I remember one time waiting outside the Canberra Casino in the early hours of the morning. Way past midnight on a weekday and only a few cabs left on the air. And even fewer passengers. What I was dreaming of was a nice long fare out to Gungahlin where the cab lived, so I could gas up, get in my car and drive home. What I got was a forreign gent so drunk he could barely walk. He told me "Rydges Lakeside, driver," and I groaned. The Lakeside was only just round London Circuit, barely a minute's drive. And the way this bloke was going, he might not make it that far without delivering his dinner into the front seat. He was pissed as.
But what the hey, he was in the car and I couldn't get him out. A fare was a fare. Maybe I'd get a tip. The taxi industry is full of tales of punters who win big, roll out with their wallets bulging and hand the driver a fifty. Balanced, of course, by those who don't have a brass razoo left in their kick.
We went through the lights, round under Commonwealth Avenue, me taking it very easy indeed on the curves and the brakes. I didn't want him to feel the slightest bit uneasy. Not until he was safely off my leather seats. We pulled up outside Rydges. Flagfall was $4.50 and the fare was another two bucks on top of that. He was fumbling in his wallet as I announced, trying to keep the tears out of my voice, "Ah, that's $6.50, thanks."
He handed me a note, smiled and said, "Keep the change." Then he wobbled off into the hotel.
It was dark in the cab, and to this day I've wondered if he really meant to give me a hundred.