Confessions: The worst thing you’ve ever done in a taxi
Clean up is always extra
Most of us have our fare share of embarrassing experiences on nights out. But why do most of them happen in a taxi? Whether it’s throwing up in your clutch bag, getting off with your new found partner without realising the driver is probably definitely watching or nearly causing an accident, the back of a taxi is a hotbed for your dirty little secrets.
It was the end of my first year, and I’d invited some friends up for one last biggie before the summer. I’d finished exams and was absolutely on a mad one. I got far too wasted at predrinks, and by the time we’d got to the first bar I couldn’t even hold my own head up. I was sick in the sink (there was only one toilet, and it was occupied) and I was kicked out by the bouncer after a shocking 15 minutes. In the taxi on the way home, I knew I had to be sick again, but did not want to pay the £40 fine. I wound down the window, and was sick out of it. It definitely hit the car behind, and it was probably all over the outside of the taxi too.
I was moving out of my flat in London and after several trips, ordered one last Uber to take my final bits and pieces. The driver picked me up, helped me load the car then said: “Are you moving out? It’s such a lovely flat why are you leaving?” I thought it was a bit odd he said the flat was lovely considering my road was a back alley and he hadn’t been inside, but I carried on chatting anyway. I replied: “Yeah, my landlord is a twat and has evicted me so I’ve got to move out.” He then said he knew my landlord, so I immediately started back tracking. But there was no need – he absolutely hated him. He also told me about how the flat next door to mine used to be a brothel. Lovely.
I got fingered in the back of an Uber. And it almost got a lot worse.
I’d ended a night in a bar where my friend worked – obviously she plied me with double rums for a good hour, and I was all over the place. I stumbled outside, threw up in the doorway of a shop, and passed out on a bench. I woke a moment later, to find my head being stroked by a 40 something local woman, while her two mates gorged on cheesy chips and doner kebab. My friends found me, piled me into a cab before I’d realised I needed to throw up again. Driving down the street, I felt the need to puke, opened the car door while we’re moving, and knocked off another car’s mirror. The cab driver pulled me back in, slammed the door, and carried on driving.
I was on my way home from a night out in my hometown, and my friends house was really far away. Twenty minutes into the journey, I was starting to feel really ill. When I mentioned I wasn’t feeling good, the taxi driver shouted that there would be a £50 fine if anyone was sick in the car. I held it in for as long as I could, but the winding country roads were not my friend. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, but certainly wasn’t willing to fork out £50. So I did what any classy girl would do, and made a cup with my hands and quietly threw up into it. Before it spilt on the floor, I wiped my sicky hands through my hair and sat in silence until we got home.
At christmas I went home from uni and had a massive reunion with all of my school friends in town. At about 3.30am following dodgy drunken McDonald’s, I managed to get a taxi back to my shitty little village with a guy I vaguely remembered from primary school. He was lovely. I fell asleep on his shoulder and he woke me when we made it home. As we got out of the taxi he asked if my parents were in. Being dumb, blonde, and stupid I didn’t register the suggestive nature of his questions. “Oh that is a shame” he said as I told him my house was full. He pointed next to the cow filled field next to my house and asked if I fancied a cuddle.
I wasn’t even drunk, but this goes down as one of the most disturbing episodes I’ve been through. I came back late from Leamington Spa on a weeknight, and got an uber from Euston to my flat in Shoreditch. I got chatting to the driver, an Albanian chap. We found common ground in the fact my mum was from Romford, where he also lived. We then found out they went to the same school, Marshalls Park. Then I said: “Yeah, didn’t that guy Michael Adebolajo, the one who cut the soldier Lee Rigby’s head off, go to school as well?” He replied: “Oh yeah, little Mike. I remember him. We used to bully him all the time, take his money, beat him up. Then he started becoming all religious. I didn’t see him after that.” I sat there, stunned into silence for the rest of the journey.
I spent a whole summer holiday in Greece aged about 15 creeping out after midnight to go for drinks with my friends. The two weeks were up and my parents hadn’t worked out why I was so tired each morning. I thought I’d succeeded. That was until we got in the taxi to go back to the airport and the driver said “Oh, Megan! Thank you for all of the money you’ve been throwing my way over the last two weeks” and proceeded to tell my police man dad of the antics my friends and I had been up to. Grim taxi ride home.
I had been at a party and scored – I’d also started drinking furiously heavily on a very empty stomach. Like the empty stomach where you haven’t eaten lunch or dinner and it’s 11pm. We were in the back of a cab getting off and then, as it lurched towards home, I – without much warning – threw up all over him. Everywhere.
He still got with me though, so.
After climbing over the wall of a club smoking area I was free and on the street, after stumbling around I ended up in the warm embrace of a taxi. And I tried to end up in the warm embrace of a taxi driver to avoid paying. After hassling, offering my services and basically burying my head into his crotch I was taken to a cash point and then home. For some reason he waited to check I got in okay and let me be.
My mate was face down on the floor of a six seater, rolling around as we went around and down a country road, semi-conscious. He grunted and I figured he was going to be sick. I slid the door open and pushed him out with my foot. He was sick in the ditch. He’s quite a big guy so I couldn’t haul him back into the taxi, I had to get the driver to haul him back in with me. He didn’t even charge us extra, which I was happy with.