Tonight we got stranded in SE1 when R's electric wheelchair ran out of battery power. We eventually got a cab that had a ramp, so that she could roll up into it. As we made our way toward home we commented to the cabbie that he must have to deal with all sorts of drama all day long.
"Oh, are you kiddin'? It's a bloomin' confessional box, this is!"
Good cabbies, hairdressers, and bartenders must all possess that same listening ear and talent for giving advice, like a priest hearing confession - because for a handful of minutes, they are trapped in the same space with you and all your problems. But I'd hazard a guess that the priest doesn't get tipped as well.