Please. It's a good word.

Please. It's a good word. I won't lecture you on its use—I'm not your mother. But here are my pleas to you.

Please don't honk at me when I'm loading fares. It's not my fault that you were riding my ass so closely that you had to slam on the brakes, nor that you were so inattentive you didn't notice my flashers going on halfway down the block. Would you honk at a bus?

Please let me know you're paying with a card when you get in. I can usually start running it and have an approval number by the time we get where we're going, lessening your wait.

Please don't let a cabbie give you shit for using a card. Get his cab number and report his scamming ass—he makes us all look bad.

Please do get in and out on the curb side whenever possible.

Please don't just blithely fling the door open when you get out. You clip a car or slam a cyclist, I get in more trouble than you.

Cyclists, please get some lights. You won't find a driver more sympathetic to cyclists than I, but even I can't fucking see you at night. Surely your life is worth $9.99?

And above all: If you've been drinking, please call a cab. Would you rather ride in a refurbished cop car, or a cop car proper? It's a no-brainer. You can come back for your car in the morning. Really.

Thank you for listening.

WWeek 2015