Imagine being a Rome taxi driver. You sit around in taxi ranks, sometimes for an hour or two, trying to keep your place in a non-existent line.* At last someone jumps into your vehicle, certainly in a hurry. You are told to go as fast as you can to an address that seems familiar, but which takes you a moment to pinpoint. You ask politely for hints, and suddenly all hell lets loose.
You are told that you should know where you are going, that you are driving too slowly (or too fast), that you should have known better than to get stuck in traffic, that you are taking the longest rather than the shortest route. At the end of the ride you are told that the fare is too high and that you are dishonest. In a rage the passenger pays, slams the door and leaves. Exhausted, you look behind to find that a cell phone, or maybe a computer case, has been left on the back seat. Now you have to deal with that too. The life of a Rome taxi driver can