I now hate taxis

If you’ve read “The glimmer effect,” you know I hate planes. When my family landed in Kyiv, I was ecstatic, filled with “we survived” happiness. My father’s friend arrived to pick us up at the airport, though it was 2 am when we landed, but his car did not fit all of us. My dad and I ended up in the cab, and my life was tossed up in the air and juggled just when I had thought my travel worries had ceased.

The cab had no seatbelts, and the driver found his phone much more interesting than the road. I don’t think the speed dipped below 90 mph, at least not until a tire blew. Enter my dad and I, shuffling back and forth on the side of the road, watching the cabbie replace it. We resumed driving, but not in a lane; the driver preferred to follow the white lines…by driving on top of them. When we entered the city, empty in the early morning hour, he did not slow; if anything, he sped up.

It. Was. Terrifying.

After completing the classroom sessions of American Driver’s Ed, I can say a good portion of it is only intended to instill fear of controlling a 2,000 lb. death machine. After riding in that Ukrainian cab, I can say Driver’s Ed needn’t bother–just send those I-think-I’m-invincible teens to Ukraine and throw them in a cab. If they end up with that same driver, they’ll never speed again.

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