Dear Waltham Taxi:
It's possible that I represent an anomaly among your customers on this subject, but when I book (two weeks in advance) a 10:00pm taxi ride from Logan back to my house, and when I call you at 10:00pm to ask where the driver is, I expect to hear “Oh, he's in [other Terminal-E parking lot I didn't think to look in]”, not “Oh, he went home. Can you get a ride from another taxi company?”
Please to consider yourselves contra-recommended.
Other than that, though, the flight home was lovely: no terrorists, no bombs, no cancellations for mysterious security reasons, no three-hour delays with FBI questioning, no dead Nigerians rotting in the wheel well (well, none that I knew of, anyway), no pilot strikes over the use of air marshals, no air marshals for that matter (well, none that I knew of, anyway). And hey, getting bumped up to business class (sorry, sorry: “Club World”) for no good reason didn't exactly suck, either: any seat that lets me stretch my legs is okay by me.
Anyway, I'm home. And not even too horribly jet-laggy. (Unless the preceding is actually gibberish, in which case it may be worse than I think.)