We had just come out of the customs area at the airport when we were directed to one of the usual silver taxis that are ubiquitous in this town. We got our luggage in the trunk, with the aid of the driver, and settled in the back seat, in that semi-hypnotized state common to those who have spent a day in airports, in planes, in cabs,  going from one continent to another.

It took a while for it to dawn on me that our driver was attempting to accomplish something I had never before encountered in Abu Dhabi: a taxi scam.

I always look at the meter of a taxi, here in Abu Dhabi. I’m interested in the driver’s name, which is displayed on the readout, as well as his four-digit taxi number — which is specific to each driver and also indicates for which company he works.

I still remember the number — it begins with 6, meaning it was a Q-link company taxi — but it seemed like a normal ride. At first.

The guy asked us where we were from. We said California. The USA. He volunteered that he was from Bangladesh, which didn’t surprise me, because Bangladeshi cabbies seem to be the most voluble. I have no idea why they are, but that has been my experience.

I asked him if he were from Dhaka, the capital. “Yes,” he said. Then he made a comment about “too much rain six months of the year.”

He later asked if we lived in Abu Dhabi. To which we said “yes.” And to which I later attached some significance.

In general, he was edging over into “prying” as opposed to conversational … but I didn’t think much of it. Again, some cabbies ask surprisingly direct questions. Like “how much are you paid?”

What I did notice, after a few miles, was that the fare meter was not running. Having been out of the country for 22 days, I thought perhaps I had forgotten where the clicking cost of a ride is … but I soon decided no, it was not running at all. I could see how many kilometers we had gone, and how long the ride had been … but no cost was observable.

Which made me wonder how it would turn out.

As it happens, we have taken cabs from the airport to the Teeny Apartment near Khalifa University before, so I wasn’t really worried about the cost. I know what it is, in broad terms. Even at night. I quietly noted the dead meter to Leah, and we both became a little more attentive.

When we got to the door of our place … the driver (perhaps 35, medium build, better English than most, in a regular cab uniform), declared, “For night taxi service from the airport it is 70 dirhams.”

To which both of us immediately said “Oh, no it isn’t!” And I may have added, “and why isn’t your meter running?” When every cab here comes with a pre-recorded message welcoming customers to the cab and asking them to make sure the meter is running. We had not heard the message and, of course, there had been no “flag fall.”

Anyway, our instant and insistent denial of this “extra charge” … led our would-be scammer to back off immediately. Not one word of complaint.

He reached over to the meter and flipped a switch … and an odd readout popped onto the screen, in a sort of red and black display, and we could make out the number Dh43 — that is, our ride cost 43 dirhams, or 27 dirhams less than he was asking.

I gave him Dh50, just because I wanted the experience over with and because asking for Dh7 in change is a hassle involving small, tinny coins.

But we were both surprised by his boldness.

This is a city in a country where honesty is nearly universal. Westerners may wonder, from time to time, if those mini-mart groceries without price tags suddenly cost a few dirhams more (and one dirham is 27.2 cents US) , but on the whole cheating of customers is very rare. Receipts are common, with small charges conscientiously added up and displayed. This is not a country like some other foreign destinations (Mexico and Italy come to mind) where you are on the lookout for scam artists and cheats at every turn, particularly in cabs.

We were nearly discombobulated by the brashness of this Abu Dhabi guy. Discipline here (a factor in the play-by-the-rules honesty, I’m sure) is harsh and deportation a matter of routine for those who flout the rules.

I had memorized his cab number. Leah had written down his name (just the one; a long one; Bangladeshis sometimes go by only one name.) It would be easy, simple, perhaps the right thing to do to call up Trans AD, which overseas all Abu Dhabi cabs, and report the guy.

The city doesn’t need cabbies who try to cheat newcomers — or cabbies so stupid and venal (that would be him) as to think that Abu Dhabi residents (that would be us) would suddenly pay some fake surcharge for a ride we had taken before.

I felt sorry for him, on one hand. For 27 dirhams, about $5.60, do we get the guy deported and his life ruined?

But, then, is it right to allow one guy out of the hundreds of cabbies we have ridden with to attempt to cheat so brazenly, marring the reputation of the business and who was, no doubt, ready to try his scam again on the next night-time customer from the airport?

Still thinking about this. The Abu Dhabi cabbie who tired to scam us. Still almost flabbergasted by it. And we still may report him.

Tomorrow, I will ask our regular taxi driver, Benjamin, what he thinks we should do. Yes. I will follow his advice.