‘Can you take me to Square Y on X Street?’
‘OK’
I hop in the taxi and set off to my destination.

Only half, the long, very roundabout way, there I am told, ‘Ok, you can get out here.’
‘But,’ I say looking around, ‘We’re not near X Street.’
‘No, but you can take another taxi from here.’
‘But I’m in this taxi and you said you would take me and that was five minutes ago.’
‘Yes, but I’m going to collect my children from school.’
‘You knew that when I got in the taxi and you told me you would take me to X Street.’
‘Yes, but I have to get my children from school. I’m not going in your direction.’ He shrugs his shoulders as if to say, ‘What can I do?’

I did at this point say something not very nice, that I’m not proud of and I won’t repeat here.

Then out I got and walked to another place to get a taxi from, cursing the fact that after all this time I still think I can dodge the situation of extreme self-consciousness that is getting caught out wearing the ‘wrong’ clothes in non-foreign parts of town.