Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Taxi Cab Concessions

Everyone has a funny narrative of that one awful cab ride with that one awful cab driver that smelled so bad his aroma hurt your feelings. Fortunately I'm going to tell you just one more because it's tuesday morning and a typical Cinched chronicle is more amusing than returning to however it is you make your living.
My story is odorless, well maybe not but I was too busy to notice, here it goes:
After eight hours of independent fashion bloggers conferencing (which really felt like speed dating and tweeting in a classroom where Bryan Boy was the teacher) a sprinkle of snow flakes and mean wind tackled my insufficiently dressed self to hop into a cab as opposed to walking a lovely mile home. "Do you know how to get there? This is my frist day," said the man driving yellow. Um, thank heavens I did, but this was a  rare cinched occurrence.  I barely remember my way around Houston and I've been here for fifteen years. It just so happens this same question was asked of me multiple times during my NYFW visit, draining my iphone battery via google maps usage and cutting my social media addiction time in half. It's as if I accidentally on purpose kept selecting men behind the wheel that were more clueless than me.

Jbrand reds, moschino blazer, sachin+babi blouse

By NYFW day three I decided to put a stop to this and began carefully selecting the yellows I hopped into. Upon entering I  asked if they knew where I was going, that way I was not guiding, backseat driving, ignoring my precious email time, and on top of that  paying them. It turned into an actual exchange as opposed to just a gift of my time, cell phone battery use, and money.

A concession: something that is granted in response to demands...I demand they know where I'm going, so that for twenty minutes I can tweet about how badly I just sinned at Moschino...

images by the flip side blog