The case was in the UAE in the distant 2011 year. We gathered together with our small but friendly company at the Pool Party in Abu Dhabi. In one of the local (naturally 5* hotel such took place (and take place)) regularly and were a place of unforgettable impressions! Cocktails, calyan, a huge swimming pool and chic music (heh, it was the time of my unrestricted youth). We were four people: I, my boss, his girlfriend and another of our common friends from work. As responsible people who were going to drink that day, we decided to take a taxi. We arrived at the destination, safely extinguished until 2 o’clock at night and it was time to go home, naturally, again by taxi. The swimsuits are wet, above them the usual clothes - T-shirts, shorts.

The boss calls a taxi and tells the operator that we were at the Pool party and we’re a little “moist” so, plus, send a car that won’t bother us pick up. It is done, the taxi has arrived.

We go, we suspect nothing. And here the taxi driver tells us that, say, to drive far away (in fact not), and he has gasoline at zero. Say, guys, (I will mention that for all the stay in the Emirates and almost daily trips by taxi - this was the only time the taxi driver decided to go to the gas station) I will quickly jump to the gas station, fill the tank and go on. I immediately suspected the wrong thing, but everything looked quite adequate and we were seated, so the trip to the gasoline seemed to us a wonderful adventure)) We went to the gasoline, the taxi driver (born in India), asked us "for our own safety" to get out of the car until it fills up, or "no." We went out. Mr. Hindu began a routine refuelling of the car and unexpectedly opened the back door of the car, allegedly looking for something from personal items. And here began the most interesting thing. Next: (T) is a taxi driver, (N) is my boss.



T: No, guys, it won’t go, look, there’s a wet spot on the rear seat – some of you haven’t dried out the swimsuit and now my seat is wet.

N: So I mentioned the operator where we need to be picked up and specifically pointed out that we are not quite dry.

T: I know nothing sir. It is trouble! Sitting is wet (a little bit).

N: I don’t know anything too, I warned – call the operator, clarify what to do about it? ! to

T: Comrade, you know where we are. It is easier for me to call the police than the operator. Do you want to spend the rest of the night at the police station? The seat is wet, I now need to go to the washing machine (p*del, as breathed, taxi driver).

N: Do you not think you are exaggerating the scale of the tragedy?

T:...Taking your hands up to heaven (calling Krishna, apparently)... you are wasting your time and my time, guys! Either you pay me 100 dirhams for a car wash ($35 at the time), or I call the police.

Call the police and we will find out!

N: BotyaB, get up! Okay, comrade, I will pay you 100 dirhams. Fill up and go.

T: Money for the “damage” forward.

N: Okay... I counted with the driver...



We sat in the car again and spent the rest of the way home quietly. Only the outgoing taxi driver tried all the way to "explain" to us what good deeds to get rid of a wet spot from someone's ass (per from mine), he will let the 35 backs he just received.



We arrived at home, each walked around his villa in a slightly decaying mood and full of the feeling that we had just been unconsciously separated. Read on Bali.



My chief was not from the timid dozen and the next day wrote an official complaint to the taxi service with a full description of the conflict. The driver was fired (there is a crowd of people in line for work anyway) and brought their deepest apologies. Plus, a loan for the next 10 free trips was issued to him to compensate for moral and material damage. I love when justice triumphs.