I guess it was bound to happen. Working from 11 p.m. to 8 a.m. the past couple days has been challenging enough since I've had to readjust my sleep schedule again. Yesterday, I came home, ate breakfast, then slept from around 10 to 12, watched Eastern Promises (good movie by the way), worked out, then slept again from 7 to 10, and headed into work. It would be nice to get some solid, unbroken sleep.

Anyway, by the end of my shift I was exhausted and looking forward to going home and getting some rest. The shuttle van my company provides was supposed to pick me up at 8:30, so I had to wait 30 minutes. Okay, I wasn't thrilled about that, but I waited anyway. By 8:45 I'd given up waiting since I was nodding to sleep on the sidewalk in front of work. I stood up, stepped out into the street and the rain, and hailed a taxi. The ride itself was smooth, and the driver didn't ostensibly try to rip me off. The problem came when we entered Rockwell. The smallest bill I had on me was 1000 pesos ($20 US), and the driver didn't have change.

"All right," I said. "You don't have change?" I looked over the seat at the meter. It read 80 pesos. "Okay. Eighty pesos," I said. "I'll be right back."

I ran into the 7-Eleven at my building and asked for change, but they didn't have it. I ran across the street to Figaro. Same problem. When I came back out into the rain, the driver had pulled up in front of the coffee shop. Apparently, he was afraid I was going to stiff him. I got back in.

"Drive up the block," I said. "There's a bank around the corner."

He drove me to the bank. I looked over the seat. The meter was still running. Scum.

We pulled up in front of the bank, and I ran up to the ATM. I didn't want to take money out because of international service fees, but I was wiped out and wanted to go home, so I did it. I took out 4oo pesos, expecting four 100 peso bills. Instead, the ATM spat out two 200 peso bills. Nice. To hell with it. I walked back down to the cab and opened the door. I held out the bill.

"Do you have change for this?" I snapped. Yes. It was a rhetorical question.

He pulled out a 100 peso bill. The meter read 90 now. He also held a twenty and smaller bills in his other hand. Nice. He was giving himself a tip. A whopping 40 cents.

"Choke on it," I barked.

I snatched the hundred out of his hand, tossed the 200 at him, and slammed the door. I'd actually planned on giving him a hundred anyway since he hadn't tried to screw me until it came time to pay, but now I was pissed. It was a two dollar cab ride with the tip, so the money was never the issue; the attitude was; the sense of entitlement, of getting over. Are you telling me no one in this damned city has change for twenty bucks?!?! I'm sure the stores didn't want to give it to me because I wasn't patronizing them at the time even though I'd been to both places several times before.

I'm still disgusted. I could take nine cab rides here for the price of one in New York, and that's not including the New York tip. I'm still floored at how these bastards are scrounging for pennies. It creates a lot of unnecessary aggravation for me and every other foreigner of whom they try to take advantage. I actually sympathize with their plight, but they're not dealing with it the right way. I guess they figure they'll never see the passenger again anyway, so get what you can from them while they're there. It's just sleazy.

Labels: ATM, cab, Eastern Promises, Figaro, international bank fees, Manila, New York, pesos, poverty, ripoff, Rockwell, sleep deprivation, taxi, work. 7-Eleven