Because I have less than stellar time management skills, I occasionally find myself running late for work.

One (expensive) remedy is taking a cab from Kennedy subway station to CTV.

And one risk of that approach is getting a ride with Pete.

I first met Pete last fall. An exceptionally garrulous fellow, the last 10 minutes of that ride were filled with Pete holding forth on Toronto's system of roads and public transit.

Just before I escaped from the car, he handed me a business card and said if I was ever doing a Toronto transportation story to give him a call for expert commentary. "Us cabbies, we know what's goin' on!" he exclaimed.

I smiled politely and somehow misplaced the card.

Pete had me thinking a bit about Bernie X, the Jewish New York cabbie character in Gerald Sussman's column 'Tales of Bernie X' in the National Lampoon of the 1970s -- actually, Pete had me thinking I wish Pete was much, much funnier.

Anyways, a few months go by, and again I'm running behind. And when I jump in a cab, who's there but Pete! "HEY, BUDDY!" he booms.

("Buddy"?!?!?!)

A few minutes into the ride, Pete asks how things are going with me. "Okay," I said, forgetting that if I don't talk non-stop, Pete will.

"Things are about the same with me. My parents and brother have disowned me," he said. This then goes into his tax problems, his health problems and his taxi's mechanical problems. At one point, he starts talking out loud to himself in an eerie voice about the various errands he has to run after dropping me off.

That ride left me rather shell-shocked.

But I didn't learn my lesson.

On Saturday, I again ran late. So I again took a cab.

"Hey, there's a familiar face!" beamed Pete.

I'm surprised he recognized me, given that all the blood drained from my face when I saw him.

And darned if he didn't pick up right where he left off last time, including another story tip: Someone had impersonated him to some regulatory agency or another, and since his girlfriend worked at a blue-chip law firm downtown, the full weight of that law firm will be brought down on the the sonofabitch who dared screw with Pete the cabbie, and ...

"Hey, you gettin' sleepy?" he sharply asked around McCowan and Ellesmere.

"Yes," I said in a very flat, declarative tone, annoyed that my attempt to retreat into a happy place by closing my eyes had been interrupted.

"Yeah, well, me too," he muttered ... and kept on talking, now about some guy who had a PhD but who enjoyed talking with Pete because it was like talking to an equal.

Anyway, about 14 minutes into this 15-minute ride, we're approaching the CTV security gate. Pete asks me, "So what's new with you?" adding, without irony, "be quick."

"Everything's fine," I said.

Usually I tip cabbies. Not so with Pete -- who had told me during the ride that someone in Markham that morning had tipped him $25 on a $76 fare to the airport.

Now, the taxi passenger's bill of rights entitles me to a silent ride. I created some of my own problems by not pointing this out to Pete and politely asking him to shut the fuck up.

I created even more problems just by getting into his cab. When  I saw him, I should have walked away and waited for someone else to grab him.

What I do know is I can't take another episode of Pete the Chatty Cabbie.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.