Taxicab confession: Won't someone pick up Adam Cayton-Holland?

Anyone know some good pick-up lines?

Great is the hullabaloo surrounding Denver’s cab industry and it seems everyone has an opinion. Some feel that the three existing cab companies (Metro Taxi, Yellow Cab and Freedom) are sufficient to cover the demand of the residents of the Mile High City. Others simply retort, "Have you tried to get a cab downtown at 2 a.m. in the morning?"

I fall somewhere in-between. As a responsible alcoholic -- and thus a ubiquitous cab user -- I generally have no problem getting cabs, and if I find myself at 2 a.m. in LoDo, I figure I deserve either a long wait or a frustrated what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-me walk. In that situation, it is simply a penance. But Friday night marked the first significant gaffe by a cab company I’ve experienced.

I often perform at Comedy Works on the Friday 8 p.m. show. Seeing as it’s Friday night, and again, I’m a responsible alcoholic, I take a cab downtown so as to not have a vehicle, allowing me to enjoy myself as I please, exploring any booze-related whim that flutters across my mind. I typically call at 7 p.m. to arrive at Comedy Works by 7:30. This past Friday, I called Metro Taxi -- 3’s as the kids like to call it -- and placed an order for a cab.

I waited. I called again and was told that the cab would be on it’s way soon; I was the second caller in the area. I waited. And waited. I called again. Same answer. And finally it was 7:30 p.m. and I was left with no other option than to drive downtown quickly in order to make my show in time. The fact that I had to drive myself to a gig offends me not only as a helpless, helpless prima donna, but also as a Denver citizen. Yes, Friday is a busy night, but if you can’t catch a cab from the Baker neighborhood off South Broadway to the heart of downtown Denver in a half-hour at 7 p.m., I say something is wrong. Nay, I scream something is wrong!

From the rooftops!

And by rooftops I mean my cubicle through this blog!

I’ll give Metro another chance soon, and odds are it was simply some fuck-up. But the fact that I never received a call saying that my cab had arrived, or my cab was on it’s way, frustrates the hell out of me. As did paying to leave my car in a lot overnight downtown. That’s right. I imbibed but I did not drive. So get the fuck off my back.

Mom. -- Adam Cayton-Holland

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Michael Roberts has written for Westword since October 1990, serving stints as music editor and media columnist. He currently covers everything from breaking news and politics to sports and stories that defy categorization.
Contact: Michael Roberts