The Pick-Up Artist

What goes on in the mind of the cab driver pick-up artist? I’m sure most girls have experienced an attempted pick-up by a taxi driver. I mean, it’s happened to me on 2 continents, many times. I wonder: does it ever work for them? Do girls date the men who drive them home?

Ok, I don’t want to go all Carrie Bradshaw. Enough with the pondering.

Last night I got my dose of taxi ego boost from … I can’t remember his name but he asked me mine twice.

- Isabel! Que bella, bella! J’adore les femmes québécoises! Vous êtes belle!

He was Italian. When I told him the address of where I was going, he asked me how I wanted to get there. If I knew, I’d be happy with the question, but since I didn’t, it was a bit annoying to get the feeling he didn’t know where he was going. Without me saying anything, he told me, (in French), “I always use a client’s route. I don’t use my own, I don’t think, je n’utilise pas mon cerveau”. I think he meant it as a form of service. You’re the boss. I asked how that worked with tourists. “I don’t pick up tourists.”

- Comment savez vous qu’ils sont des touristes?
- Because most the time they speak only English and I don’t speak English. I only speak French and my mother tongue. I’m Italian [blahblahblah, story of his life in a nutshell].

He went on to tell me (loudly and while gesticulating as wildly as you’d expect a bone fide Italian to) that he hopes Quebec stays French forever, and that English is a lousy language. It’s difficult for him to learn it, because it’s not Latin-based, but maybe if he’d moved to Toronto he’d have learned English, but since he didn’t, he learned French and he loves it and he loves Quebec, and vous êtes bella!!!

I got the usual cab pick-up speech about his qualifications as a future life partner, as Sarah would say. He’s 33, he’s single, he’s had bad luck in love, he dated two girls, one was a Quebecer, the other was an Italian; it didn’t work out. He’s bilingual (got that), caring and expressive. He’s a good catch, he fell short of adding. Was I single? No, I lied.

I hate telling drivers my relationship status. They seem to take it as permission to say whatever they want about my life, my future, and how they’d fit into it nicely. Bleh. The last time this happened to me, I was being driven home from the airport. How much information did that guy think I was going to provide to a stranger who now knows where I live and assorted other information given during the ride (what I do for a living, where I was traveling, and a few opinions if I’m feeling extroverted).

Mr. French-loving-Italian dropped me off in front of Willow’s, asked me my name a second time, repeated how bella!! I was and kissed my hand for a long second. Good luck and good night.