The thing is… working at that particular store was an adventure …in getting lost folks back to the Las Vegas Strip and/or McCarran Airport …because they happened to type “Las” + “Vegas” + “Airport” into their GPS map device without checking WHICH airport they were supposed to be going to. It wasn’t too bad, for me anyway, as the store was slow and not particularly dangerous at night and chatting with tourists from all over the U.S. and various nations the world, along with me occasionally dispensing some esoteric locals’-only lore, was a interesting way to kill time during an otherwise boring shift in an otherwise boring store.

Now to the point of this post; while dealing with tourists was easy, dealing with Las Vegas cabdrivers, who are supposed to be “local”, mind you, was a different story…. 

These idiots would blow into town, minds full of tales full of fat tips bestowed by lucky gamblers and (illegal) kick-backs from stripclubs and “massage” parlors, thinking; “…all you have to know is The Strip and the airport, don’t worry about the rest” with none of that street-memorization and “knowing where the hell you’re going”-crap like in Chicago, or NY, or DC, needed. 
No downsides; win/win, right?

…predictably, some would get lost and somehow end up at my store, miles from anyplace they want to be. While the tourists were generally nice and appreciative (even the non-english speakers from a variety of nations …actually, the non-english speakers were -especially- appreciative), contrasting against the cab drivers, who were class-A assholes. Every. Last. One.

I remember one guy in particular, an exceptionally arrogant bastard of a cab driver trying to find his way back to The Strip, with his fare sitting in the car with the meter running the entire time (talk about “long-hauling”), while the following dialog took place:

Me: “… just head south on Decatur, turn left when you get to Sahara ave, keep going till you hit Las Vegas Blvd south and turn right and you’re THERE”

Him: “Well I don’t know where south is.”

Me: “Um… dude, you don’t have to, *points south* go this way on this street and keep going until you hit Sahara, then turn left.”

Him: “I don’t where Sahara is. Do you know a faster way?”

Me: “Yes I do, but Vegas is weirdly laid out and I’m not the one who’s lost. So, I’m giving you the simplest and most direct way. I know several others, but this way is the least-fuck-up-able.” 

Him: *getting agitated* “I don’t know any of the streets here, so what’s the fastest way!” 

Me: “You’re the one who’s lost. I’m telling you the way that you’re the least likely to get you lost AGAIN.”

Him: “What is the fastest way!”

Me: *points towards the -unmistakable- Stupak’s Tower and lights of The Strip*  ”Head towards those lights.”

Him: “I don’t know what those lights are!”

Me: “You’re a LAS VEGAS cab driver! You work for a local cab company! You LIVE here!”

Me: *facepalm*

Me: ….

Me: “Get the fuck out of my store.”

Here, we have taxis and minicabs. Taxis have to meet much stricter standards on both the vehicle and the driver (most famously the Conditions of Fitness and the Knowledge for London black cabs), but are allowed to pick up passengers who hail them on the street. A minicab can be pretty much any safe car with a licensed driver, but can only pick people up if pre-booked.

I once overheard two botanists arguing over a Damned Thing that had blasphemously sprouted in a college yard. One claimed that the Damned Thing was a tree and the other claimed that it was a shrub. They each had good scholary arguments, and they were still debating when I left them. The world is forever spawning Damned Things.

Edit: Clarified!