The crying cricket bat

Actors say you should never work with two things: children and animals.  Well, in my experience, the same goes for taxi driving. Animals are a pest in taxis, they either defecate on the seat or leave hair all over the place and you have to clean it up afterwards.  Children are another story altogether: either they are great or just a pain in the ass.

One afternoon picked up this woman in her thirties with a child about six.  I picked them up in Dickson and they asked to be driven to the city.  The child I immediately assumed was a recalcitrant because he refused to put on his seatbelt even though we were moving.  His mother then ordered him to put on his seatbelt and he started crying, exclaiming that it was uncomfortable.  His mother then said to the boy, “If you don’t put on your seatbelt the taxi driver will get very angry, and you know what happens when people get angry, you get hurt.”

“I don’t care, I’m not putting my seatbelt on.” cried the boy and he continued crying.  At this moment I pulled over, got out, opened the back boot and pulled out a cricket bat.  I opened the boy’s door and asked him “Who’s your favourite cricketer?”

“Michael Clarke” the boy replied.

“I like Michael Clarke too.  He plays a great pull shot doesn’t he?”

“Yes”.  The boy was still crying as he replied.

“Well, if you don’t put your seat belt on and stop crying, I’m going to play a pull shot on your bum and send you all the way back to Dickson.”

With that, the boy stopped crying, put his seatbelt on and waited for me to get back in the cab.  After I put the cricket bat back in the back boot, I winked at the mother and said, “Discipline is free of charge.”

"He's trying to kill me!!!"

One night a group of us taxi drivers were spinning a few yarns at the Airport.  The boys were loving my stories but Greg in TX555 topped it all off with his story.  Greg is an interesting guy, he subsidises his taxi income by speculating on the stock market and he is pretty successful.  He drives an Audi A4 2002 model and I take great joy in pissing on it when I get the chance!  Just kidding.

Greg had been working the Sunday double shift, starting at 4am in the morning and was due to finish at 12am.  It was 11pm and Greg was out at the Airport, he had had a shit day at the office and made next to no money at all.  The last flight was down at 12.30am and Greg decided to stay on despite the fact that he was feeling real tired.  He decided to go buy a red bull from a nearby service station to give himself some wings for his final fare. 

The plane touched down at 12.45am and by the time the passengers had got off the plane it was 1.00am before Greg finally got his fare.  Greg was relieved when the passenger asked to be driven out to the outer suburbs. 

Greg was feeling real tired during the fare; the red bull was beginning to lose its effect.  As he approached a roundabout, he fell into a microsleep, launched over the roundabout, taking out a sign with him along the way, and was jolted back to consciousness as he came back down the other side of the roundabout.  Greg retook control of the taxi and looked at the passenger.  The passenger had turned white and shouted at Greg, "Let me out of the taxi!"

Greg pulled over and let the passenger out.  The passenger got out of the taxi and started walking off.  Greg stayed where he was for 30 seconds trying to fathom what had happened, then he realised that the passenger had left his luggage in the taxi.  He drove after the passenger who was walking along the street and put the window down and called out to the passenger "Hey mate, come here."
The passenger took one look at Greg and started running, shouting at the top of his voice "He's trying to kill me! he's trying to kill me!"

Greg didn't know what to do next but decided to go home and put the suitcase with the items on ebay.  He did this and made $50 which he invested in mining shares, Poisedon Mark II.

The meth-head mower

Adelaide is a beautiful place, the city of churches and culture.  You have to know someone who knows someone to get a job there, but it is still a wonderful place.  It has a Mediterranean climate - long hot summers and cool wet winters.  Steve in TX13 was driving there for a while before he moved to Canberra and had a great time.   One summer, which was unusually wet and hot, resulting in the grass to grow a little longer than usual, Steve finished his shift and went to a mate's place to pull some bongs and play some darts. 

After about an hour of playing darts, the night was getting old, with the sun about to rise in a couple of hours, Steve and his mate, Jimmy, heard the sound of a lawnmower next door.  "What the fuck is that?" asked Steve. 
"Oh that's old mate meth-head Dave from next door.  He mows the lawn at all hours" replied Jimmy.
"But it's pitch black out there, I'm checking this out."

Steve went outside and peered over the fence.  Fair enough, there was meth-head Dave mowing the lawn with a torch gaffer-taped to the handle bars of the lawn mower.  Meth-man, stay away from it.

Hookers please!

Mohit in TX1 is a great bloke.  He is a hard worker and a cunning businessman.  He has been driving taxis in Canberra for 12 years and has many good stories to tell.

Being new to Australia he didn't quite understand the nuisances and slang of the Australian language when he first started taxi driving.  One night he got a job from Amaroo and three knockabout blokes got in the taxi.  They got in and said "Hookers please!"

Mohit took them down to Gunghalin Marketplace and parked outside LJ Hooker.  He stopped the car and the blokes looked at him confused and one of them said "Hookers, mate."  Mohit replied "This is the only Hooker I know boys."
"No, we mean, girls." The males replied.
"No, the girls won't be here till 9 O'clock tomorrow morning."
"No, girls mate, girls."
"Oh, you mean brothel, I can take you there."
So they drove to Mitchell and the boys had a good night getting serviced by young females.
  
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Occupational bliss

Taxi driving does have it drawbacks.  You either have to start early if you are a day driver or finish late if you are a night driver.   No taxi driver will ever claim they live in occupational bliss.  However, we do think out job is better than others.

One night Steve in TX13 got a call out to a brothel in Mitchell.  He picked up a female who was clearly a hooker who asked to be driven to her apartment in Braddon.  On the way there the female asked what time Steve worked to.

"4am." Steve replied.
"4am?" The female replied astonished.  "There's no way I could work that late. "
Steve held his tongue but was going to reply "Well sucking cock, getting pounded by fat men isn't exactly my idea of occupational bliss either. "

The blue g-string follow-up

This story won't make a great deal of sense unless you read the blue g-string story first.  I am not much of a practical joker but I do like to pay the odd trick on people.

Taxi drivers in Canberra regularly get messages over their taxi computer alerting them to the fact that someone has lost an item in their taxi.  Sometimes the message is to all taxis and often it is to just one particular taxi if the person knew who the driver was, or was smart enough to check the taxi number.

One night I was a little bored so decided to call the base and pretend that I was a customer.

Base: Hello, Canberra Elite Taxis, how can I help you?
Me:  Ah, yes, I lost a blue g-string in a taxi, I believe the driver's name was Steve and I was in TX13.
Base: Yes, sir.  Do you remember what time you travelled and where you travelled from and to?
Me: Um, yeah at about 5pm I went from Weetangera to Belconnen Mall.
Base:  Ok sir, I'll send the message out straight away to TX13.

About 10 minutes later I get a call from Steve.

"I'll get you.  You won't know when or you won't know where.  But I'll get you."

The blue g-string

Good old Steve in TX13.  He is always telling a good story at the ranks.  One Tuesday evening at about 8pm, he got a call from one of his regulars who wanted a $40 ride to the city from West Belconnen. 

Steve dropped off this fella, whom we'll call Greg, in the city.  The trip was uneventful and there was some boring conversation about the weather and how shit Ricky Stuart is as a coach.  Steve sort of liked Greg but there was something about him which he couldn't quite put his finger on that he found weird.  Not Rolf Harris paedophile weird, just a six pack short of a case weird.

About ten minutes after Steve dropped Greg off, Steve got a call from Greg:

Steve:  Hello
Greg:  Yeah, Hi, been thinking about you lots lately.  You know you've got really nice thighs.

Steve had been working hard on his thighs over six months.  He been doing plenty of squats and been doing interval training on the exercise bike so he took it as a compliment.

Steve:  Thanks mate.
Greg:  Oh gee, fuck your thighs are nice.  [Heavy breathing] You know you'd look really hot in a blue g-string.
Steve: Ah mate, do you know who you're talking to?
Greg:  Matt, isn't it?
Steve:  No, it is Steve, the taxi driver.
Greg:  Oh shit.  [Beep.  Beep.  Line dead].

Needless to say, Steve never got a call from Greg again.

"Next time walk, you might lose some weight you fat fuck."

I had just dropped off in Harrison from the airport and was heading back to the airport on a Sunday night.  I had travelled halfway down Majura Road when they threw me a radio job.  I wasn't sure whether to accept but decided to take a chance that it was a good job.  The job was from Gunghalin Lakes Sports Club - very unlikely to be a good job.  It took me about 15 minutes to get back there and when I did I regretted accepting the job.  A large, overweight 40 year old bloke got in and said "Where the fuck did you come from?  I've been waiting 20 minutes.  What kind of service are you operating."

I apologised for the delay and explained where I had come from.  He had either lost a great deal of money on the pokies or something but this guy was in a foully. He went on about how fucked the taxi industry is and how we rip people off with our extortionate fares.  I tried to explain that we only earned $12 an hour on a Sunday night and that was the cost unless we were going to be subsidised by the Government.  He said I was a bullshit artist and that cabbies were rolling in it.  By this stage we had got to his house - clearly a short fare.  He paid the $6 for the fare and told me where to go.  He got out of the cab and walked five metres.  I wound down the window and said, "Instead of waiting 20 minutes for a cab, why don't you walk home.  You might lose some weight you fat fuck."  I put the car in gear and burnt some rubber as I sped off. 

“Don’t mean to insult you mate, but yeah, cabbies are the little people”

It was a quiet Tuesday night.  I sat there on Alinga Rank in the city for two hours waiting for a fare.  I wondered what alcohol fuelled or drug fucked individual I would be taking home.  All of a sudden two suits emerged from around the corner.  “Great,” I thought, “At least I will be taking someone who is actually going to pay me home.”

They hopped in and asked to be driven to Kingston.  One of them commenced the conversation with the usually line of “How’s your night been?” 

“Okay.” I replied.  I didn’t request the next line, one of the customers just proffered it to me.

“We’re lawyers.  But despite the fact that we’ve made it, we still know how to talk to the little people.”  I was a little bit taken aback by this and wasn’t quite sure what he meant by “little people.”

“And just who are the ‘little people’.  Cabbies?” I queried.

“Don’t mean to insult you mate, but yeah, cabbies are the little people.”  I thought about this for a moment and then went on a little diatribe.

“You’re about 26 years old mate.  For the next three to four years you’ll work, shag beautiful women both here and abroad and take a promotion at work.  When you are 30 you’ll marry a trophy wife who is as materialistic as Kim Kardashian and as stupid as Paris Hilton who marries you not because she loves your heart and soul but because of your social status as a lawyer and the fact you drive an Audi A4.  But you feel like a king when she is walking hand and hand with you on Franklin Street in Manuka so you don’t mind.  You have a couple of kids and things start to get ugly when she wants to drive an Audi Q7 but you can’t afford it because your firm hasn’t promoted you.  That promotion goes to a 26 year old female up and comer stunner who is fucking the managing partner.  Meanwhile, your wife leaves you for a stockbroker who drives an Audi A8 and takes the kids with her.  And it is at that moment that you realise we are all little people, struggling for the perfect life, the perfect career, the perfect relationship, the perfect friends and the perfect family.  We are all little people struggling to find the meaning to this life.”

The lawyers were speechless.  We sat in silence for two minutes.  Then I decided to play “Another Day in Paradise” by Phil Collins to further fuck with their heads.

Sex and Taxis

Sex is one of the greatest mysteries.  Is it for recreation or procreation?  It is a great recreational activity that you can do with a lover, leaving you with a short term natural high.  And it can implant a son or a daughter that can lead to a lifetime of joy and fulfilment.  I’m no sexologist philosopher or scientist but I think it is both for recreation and procreation.

Sex and taxis often go hand and hand.  The average punter mostly catches taxis when they are full of alcohol.  Alcohol, as Shakespeare said, increases the desire for sex, but not the performance.  It is easy, therefore, to see the link between sex and taxis.  

People rarely have sex in taxis, at least that is my experience.  However, making out or French kissing is as common in taxis as an Indian is driving one.  Steve in TX13 hates it.  He can’t stand it.  As soon as he hears make out noises coming from the back, he pulls over and lectures them:

“Hey, you two, how would you like it if you were me having to listen to you two make out?  It aint fair (fare) people.  Stop it.  I don’t care what the fuck you do when you get home but while you are in my taxi you can just hold hands.” 

Personally, I think Steve is being a little over the top.  That first make out in a taxi could be the beginning of a fruitful and long lasting relationship.  He could be stamping out love by his actions.  Maybe they don’t make out in a taxi not realising that that they were both great kissers, sober up by the time they get home, and end up sleeping in separate beds.  

I’m fascinated by people making out in taxis.  Nine times out of 10 it is a couple who met that night and the guy (and it can be the girl) has picked up.  I give each of them a rating out of ten.  In most cases the guy is about a 3 out of 10 and the girl is at least an 8 out of 10. From what I can surmise, the women are attracted to confident and wealthy men, no matter their looks.

Moving on to the final story.  It is about a former taxi driver who is now a taxi company employee belting on about the etiquette of being a taxi driver.  Once I tell the story you will understand why when I hear him belting on about etiquette, I find it a little hard to take his bullshit.  One time this taxi company employee, whom I’ll call Gary, picked up a teenager from Civic who asked to be driven to Tuggeranong.  She told Gary that her Mum would pay for the fare when they got to Tuggeraong.  When they got to Tuggeranong, the Mum came out and said she didn’t have any money but would let Gary feel her tits for the fare.  The Mum wasn’t exactly a MILF so Gary refused and counter offered with a request for a shag.  The Mum agreed and Gary shagged that Mum who smelled of cheap bourbon and cigarettes for the fare.