What Knowledge?

I am a guy, and as a guy I want to make it clear that I do not like being ripped off. Whether it’s a homeless man telling me where the nearest cash machine is because the two dollars I have already given him isn’t enough… or whether it’s a gym that entices me in with a monthly rate, only to find they had forgotten to mention the joining fee, and taxes that I should of apparently known about!

A new pet peeve of mine though, which has only really become apparent since coming to Canada, is taxi drivers. Back in blighty, although you may get the odd one, taxi drivers are ready to take you where ever you need to go with no fuss. Sure some London cabbies could be accused of taking you on a more ‘scenic’ route for their own benefit, but in general they are very good at what they do. This is because their training is vigorous and thorough, and this has to be because London is a maze of twists and turns.

To become a London cabbie you need to have what is known as ‘The Knowledge’ which is the ability to deliver your customer wherever they have to go without consultation. On this side of the pond however, the difference is severe.

Canada is planned on a grid system, making it relatively easy to navigate your way around. However there are some very complicated one-way systems and various other regulations, making something that seems easy actually quite difficult. Therefore taxi drivers here should be amazing, but I fear this isn’t the case… they are as useless as a waiter with no arms.

Even in Toronto, Canada’s epicentre, it is filled with cabbies that when told where to go answer simply with…“Where?” This is not good enough, in Vancouver too I had many arguments with taxi drivers whom, as soon as they hear my accent, expect I’m a tourist and can be fleeced for everything I have. With this in mind I will now tell you about a particular time during my brief stay in Toronto with my parents, who were visiting Rheannon and I.

It starts with a pleasant meal and a few drinks at a bar in downtown Toronto, where stories are shared and laughs are heard. The bill had been paid and coats were being put on, it’s time to head home and relax…but first we need to get home. The taxi arrives swiftly and we plonk ourselves in. I do what is customary in these situations…”215 Fort York Boulevard.” Now I admit for a newcomer it may be overwhelming to be expected to know where to go within five seconds of hearing an address, but this dudes badge says his been employed as a cabbie for Toronto since 2007…no excuses it seems. But here’s the thing, this guy doesn’t need excuses, he has two options like every other cab driver I have experienced in North America. It’s either (a) yes I know where I’m going but you have foreign accent so it’ll be a while before I get you there…or (b) no I don’t have a clue how to get there. I had option (b) and rather than panicking and apologising for being incompetent, he simply says…

“hang on…let me get out the G.P.S!”