Assumptions are the bane of the human race.
Case in point:
The other night I was sitting in my cab when the phone rang.
"Night and Day Taxi."
"Hi, I'm in Hendersonville, and I need a cab at Dos Margaritas."
"You say Los Margaritas? What is that, a bar?"
"Dos Margaritas."
"Oh, okay. You got a street address for me?"
There followed an extended exchange of mumbled words between my customer and someone else on the other end of the line.
"Uh, it's near Industrial Park Blvd."
I inputted this into my GPS and got a hit. "Okay, I'll be right there."
I hustled out to Fletcher, pedal to the metal. But when I got there I found myself out in the middle of freakin nowhere.
The phone rang again. "How close are you? Will you be here soon?"
"Okay, where are you again?"
"Where are you? I can probably just direct you,"
"Well, the reference point you gave me was Industrial Park Blvd, but there's nothing remotely resembling a restaurant up here. I'm in Fletcher, right on the edge."
"What?" He sounded peeved. "Fletcher? Where's that?"
I couldn't keep the exasperation out of my voice. "It's the town just north of Hendersonville. Surely you've heard of it?"
There followed a very long pause. "Never mind, sir. I'll just call somebody who knows what he's doing."
That suited me just fine.
Later on, when I had some time to kill, I did a search for Dos Margaritas.
And found it. In Hendersonville, Tennessee.
Night and Day Taxi, the company I drive for, is based out of Hendersonville, North Carolina.
So Mister I'll Just Direct You, his voice oozing self confidence, had called for a cab in a city more than an hour away from him. And then had the gall to suggest that I didn't know what I was doing.
And I'd assumed, at first, that he was right and I was wrong.
Assumptions...
