The second you step into the backseat you are lower class to the driver's higher class. It's like a dog must feel when acquiring a new master. You don't dare remark on his speeding, though you consider it a brazen flaunt. You rue his gibberish calls to dispatch while you wonder if he knows where he's going. You wish you were a big ceo or movie mogul. But you can only sit back and keep a quiet distance
Then when the meter locks at an ungodly total you decide to give a bigger tip than you had planned because the driver is looking at you like he's brandishing a knife.