John, aka Barney Rubble, is a real character of the Canberra taxi industry. He owns a couple of Sydney taxi plates, which he leases out for $700 a week each. He could live off that income but I reckon he truly likes taxi driving so he continues to work.
John also has a law degree and he knows all the rules and regulations surrounding the taxi industry. His great love is to get fellow taxi drivers off parking and speeding fines, and he is very good at doing it. We were told that we couldn't leave our taxis unattended after we had passed the boom gates at the Airport. One fellow got a fine for leaving his taxi unattended but John got him off, because he knew the rules. The Airport tried to say it was a security requirement, but John said that it needed to be directly within legislation or the fine wouldn't stand. John won, and as you can tell by these next stories, he always wins.
One night John picked up these four indigenous fellows from the Kingston bottlo. They loaded four cases of VB and three bottles of Jim Beam into the back of the Ford Falcon station wagon. They asked to be driven to Queanbeyan but John's suspicions grew when they wouldn't give him a direct address. "We'll direct you brother." One of the indigenous said. John drove out to Queanbeyan and the indigenous asked him to pull over on a side street near the Railway station. John pulled over and the four indigenous blokes bolted. "Hang on," John thought, "They've left their grog behind." John looked over his shoulder and sure enough, there were four cases of VB and three bottles of Jim Beam in the back. John looked around, the indigenous were nowhere to be seen. John didn't drink so he sat there for a moment wondering what he was going to do with the grog. He remembered that the manager of the Kingston bottlo had helped him load the grog in the back. He thought if he went back there and explained the situation, he could resell it to him. John drove back to the Kingston bottlo and explained the situation to the manager. John initially asked for the full value of the grog, $250, but the manager was having none of that. After a bit of haggling, they settled on $200. John was happy: $200 for a fare from Kingston to Queanbeyan. A win to John.
Another night John picked up a young fellow from the city who asked to be driven to Deakin. John didn't like the look of him so he asked for money up front. The young fellow reluctantly gave John a $100 note and they drove to Deakin. When they got to Deakin the young fellow bolted, leaving behind his $100 note. Another win to John.
Monday 14 March 2016
Sunday 28 February 2016
Uber impact
Uber has been operating legally in Canberra for just under five months. The announcement of Uber placed fear in many taxi drivers. Many thought they would be out of a job, while others thought that their income would be virtually zero. Uber has had an impact on taxi drivers bank accounts and the days of working for three months then going back home to India, Vietnam or Pakistan for a month are well and truly over.
Uber's biggest impact has been Saturday nights. I regularly took $500 on a Saturday night but now it's down to $330. Roughly a 35% cut. I really didn't like Saturday nights in any case, despite the money. The age cohort, 18-25 year olds, are obnoxious, rude and just generally lack respect. And, yes, the odd one will also vomit in your cab. The Uber drivers can have them. I noticed last Saturday night that my passengers tendered to be older if I stayed away from the city and this is what I plan to do in the future. I like doing the $15 to $25 jobs, sacrificing them for the one big $50-$70 job. I can do two or three of them in the same time as the waiting period for a $50-70 job. Time moves faster, I'm conversing with more people, and I'm not sitting on a rank for an hour.
Anecdotally, I've heard Uber divers aren't making as much as they were when they first started. The market has been saturated. What Uber doesn't tell people is that sure you make $25-$30 an hour for a couple of hours but the rest of the time you only make $15 an hour and that doesn't subtract your expenses such as fuel, insurance and maintenance. Uber drivers and taxi drivers, I've been told, are making the same money. The only advantage with Uber is you can work when you want. However, you still have to pay for your own fuel and your own maintenance expenses, something that you don't have to worry about if you drive a taxi.
Uber's biggest impact has been Saturday nights. I regularly took $500 on a Saturday night but now it's down to $330. Roughly a 35% cut. I really didn't like Saturday nights in any case, despite the money. The age cohort, 18-25 year olds, are obnoxious, rude and just generally lack respect. And, yes, the odd one will also vomit in your cab. The Uber drivers can have them. I noticed last Saturday night that my passengers tendered to be older if I stayed away from the city and this is what I plan to do in the future. I like doing the $15 to $25 jobs, sacrificing them for the one big $50-$70 job. I can do two or three of them in the same time as the waiting period for a $50-70 job. Time moves faster, I'm conversing with more people, and I'm not sitting on a rank for an hour.
Anecdotally, I've heard Uber divers aren't making as much as they were when they first started. The market has been saturated. What Uber doesn't tell people is that sure you make $25-$30 an hour for a couple of hours but the rest of the time you only make $15 an hour and that doesn't subtract your expenses such as fuel, insurance and maintenance. Uber drivers and taxi drivers, I've been told, are making the same money. The only advantage with Uber is you can work when you want. However, you still have to pay for your own fuel and your own maintenance expenses, something that you don't have to worry about if you drive a taxi.
Saturday 13 February 2016
Nightshift Prejudice
Parliament was sitting on Wednesday night so I anticipated a busy shift. However, it was not to be. I only did one job between 3pm and 5pm; I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Things did pick up for me as the night wore on.
Around about 9pm, I got a radio job from David Street in O'Connor. I arrived at the address and the house there in front of me was an old 1950s brick home with hedges that needed trimming, and grass that needed mowing. I wondered what kind of ice addict would emerge from the house. Low and behold, a stunning blonde emerged, and she sat in the front seat. Clearly, she hadn't heard how sleazy most taxi drivers could be.
She asked to be driven to Fitzroy Street, and I had a vague idea where it was. "Near Telopea Park High School?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied in an accent, "But why don't you use your GPS."
"A GPS is for Indians and Pakistanis. I've lived here 37 years, I know my way round."
"Are you a racist?"
"No," I replied, "But an Indian couldn't get you to Parliament House from here without a GPS. There's a difference between racial stereotyping and being a racist."
"I believe they're one and the same thing."
"So call me a racist, but you're not from here are you?"
"No, I'm from Sweden, I've been out here, teaching the new IKEA employees, the IKEA way."
"Interesting, yes, I've been out to IKEA a few times, there's some good stuff out there." We chat for a while about IKEA and the basis for its success here in Australia and abroad. I can tell she is very bright but she tells me she never went to University; she just did an IKEA defacto Diploma. I drop her off and I tell her she is not only one of the most beautiful women I've ever had in my cab, but also one of the smartest. I hope she invites me up for a drink but she meekly smiles and says thankyou. I've told about twenty women that they are the most beautiful woman I've ever had in the cab. All of them believe me; however, none has asked for my number or invited me up for a drink. It's a one in a million chance, I know, but I'm willing to take it.
I few fares later, I arrive at Casino Rank and there are four taxis in front of me. It's going to be a long wait for a job. The usual suspects are there: Polish Chris, Fat Bluey and Burmese Ming. A notable absence is Old Bobbie - he has been battling cancer and we surmise that he is probably sick in bed. After an hour and a half, I finally get a job. I am really pissed off when I find out it is just up the road to the Space Apartments on Northbourne The lottery of taxi driving.
After dropping him off I get a radio job to North Lyneham. I arrive at the Government Housing house. Out come two knockabout blokes in their early twenties. I think about charging them up front but when they tell me it's just down to Dickson servo for some cigarettes, I decide not to. After arriving at the servo, they grab some cigarettes, chocolate milk and chips, they get back in the cab and ask to be driven to Maccas. While we are waiting for the food to be made we enter into a little heated conversation.
"Is this going to be your last fare of the night?" one of them asks.
"If you pay me it will be." I reply. And this sets one of them off.
"Oh, fuck you cunt, we'll pay you. How do you know we are not going to pay you?"
"People from that street have ran off from me before."
"Oh fuck you, you can't tar everyone with the same brush." At that stage the meter was $24.60. I try and diffuse the situation and say, "Well, if you pay me now, I will only charge you $25."
"Ok asshole, you're on." And he hands over the $25. We have a bit of a laugh about how much a taxi costs and the situation is cooled. I drop them off and wish them all the best.
I start heading back to the Casino Rank and get another radio job. And wouldn't you know it, the pickup is Maccas. I was thinking it was going to be another Maccas run: someone has arrived at Maccas drive thru hoping to be served and they are told they need to be in a vehicle so they call a taxi. They just get in and then after they pickup the order they get out. They can be quite lucrative as they usually order big and Maccas usually takes twenty minutes to make the food.
I arrive at the Maccas and there is this hobo/muso looking bloke with two Aldi shopping bags. He gets in and asks to be driven to Lyneham.
"What's in the shopping bags?" I ask.
"Shopping." He replies. By this stage it is 2.30am.
"But Woolies closes at 11.00am, What have you been doing for three and a half hours."
"Just downloading youtube videos. I had to wait for the money to go into my bank account before I could get a taxi."
Strange man.
Around about 9pm, I got a radio job from David Street in O'Connor. I arrived at the address and the house there in front of me was an old 1950s brick home with hedges that needed trimming, and grass that needed mowing. I wondered what kind of ice addict would emerge from the house. Low and behold, a stunning blonde emerged, and she sat in the front seat. Clearly, she hadn't heard how sleazy most taxi drivers could be.
She asked to be driven to Fitzroy Street, and I had a vague idea where it was. "Near Telopea Park High School?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied in an accent, "But why don't you use your GPS."
"A GPS is for Indians and Pakistanis. I've lived here 37 years, I know my way round."
"Are you a racist?"
"No," I replied, "But an Indian couldn't get you to Parliament House from here without a GPS. There's a difference between racial stereotyping and being a racist."
"I believe they're one and the same thing."
"So call me a racist, but you're not from here are you?"
"No, I'm from Sweden, I've been out here, teaching the new IKEA employees, the IKEA way."
"Interesting, yes, I've been out to IKEA a few times, there's some good stuff out there." We chat for a while about IKEA and the basis for its success here in Australia and abroad. I can tell she is very bright but she tells me she never went to University; she just did an IKEA defacto Diploma. I drop her off and I tell her she is not only one of the most beautiful women I've ever had in my cab, but also one of the smartest. I hope she invites me up for a drink but she meekly smiles and says thankyou. I've told about twenty women that they are the most beautiful woman I've ever had in the cab. All of them believe me; however, none has asked for my number or invited me up for a drink. It's a one in a million chance, I know, but I'm willing to take it.
I few fares later, I arrive at Casino Rank and there are four taxis in front of me. It's going to be a long wait for a job. The usual suspects are there: Polish Chris, Fat Bluey and Burmese Ming. A notable absence is Old Bobbie - he has been battling cancer and we surmise that he is probably sick in bed. After an hour and a half, I finally get a job. I am really pissed off when I find out it is just up the road to the Space Apartments on Northbourne The lottery of taxi driving.
After dropping him off I get a radio job to North Lyneham. I arrive at the Government Housing house. Out come two knockabout blokes in their early twenties. I think about charging them up front but when they tell me it's just down to Dickson servo for some cigarettes, I decide not to. After arriving at the servo, they grab some cigarettes, chocolate milk and chips, they get back in the cab and ask to be driven to Maccas. While we are waiting for the food to be made we enter into a little heated conversation.
"Is this going to be your last fare of the night?" one of them asks.
"If you pay me it will be." I reply. And this sets one of them off.
"Oh, fuck you cunt, we'll pay you. How do you know we are not going to pay you?"
"People from that street have ran off from me before."
"Oh fuck you, you can't tar everyone with the same brush." At that stage the meter was $24.60. I try and diffuse the situation and say, "Well, if you pay me now, I will only charge you $25."
"Ok asshole, you're on." And he hands over the $25. We have a bit of a laugh about how much a taxi costs and the situation is cooled. I drop them off and wish them all the best.
I start heading back to the Casino Rank and get another radio job. And wouldn't you know it, the pickup is Maccas. I was thinking it was going to be another Maccas run: someone has arrived at Maccas drive thru hoping to be served and they are told they need to be in a vehicle so they call a taxi. They just get in and then after they pickup the order they get out. They can be quite lucrative as they usually order big and Maccas usually takes twenty minutes to make the food.
I arrive at the Maccas and there is this hobo/muso looking bloke with two Aldi shopping bags. He gets in and asks to be driven to Lyneham.
"What's in the shopping bags?" I ask.
"Shopping." He replies. By this stage it is 2.30am.
"But Woolies closes at 11.00am, What have you been doing for three and a half hours."
"Just downloading youtube videos. I had to wait for the money to go into my bank account before I could get a taxi."
Strange man.
Sunday 3 January 2016
Three weddings and a funeral
It's the Yuletide season: a time for joy, peace, celebration and laughter. This story isn't funny, it's a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.
Meet Chris. He's 70 years of age and has been driving cabs for ten years. He is as fit as a fiddle and you can regularly find him on the ranks reading historical novels and playing his harmonica. He moved to Canberra originally to train as a surveyor and mapped out vast areas of Canberra before turning his hand to taxi driving. Once a criminal tried to rob him and he had no fear even though the criminal pulled a knife on him. He simply drove to the nearest servo and the criminal ran off.
He has been married three times, in his own words, he is a "mad rooter". His first wife, whom was a librarian, was totally paranoid that someone was going to drop an atom bomb on Canberra. They moved down the coast for a while, before moving back to Canberra so that his first wife could find her destiny. His first wife was raised by the nuns who had told her that everyone has a destiny. Before divorcing, they managed three kids, and all, unlike the author, are well adjusted individuals with proper careers and a future. His first wife now has MS and lives a very lonely life.
His second wife was of Italian decent, and they had a child who now dances as a ballerina in London, New York and Paris. She is living the dream. They divorced because she was not satisfied with the money that Chris was making as a surveyor.
Taking his second wife's advice, Chris moved to China to continue his surveying work, only this time he was going to be paid a lot more. He met an interpreter, Maree, and they travelled through China for a year, surveying different parts of China before they finally became a couple. Chris and Maree got married and returned to Australia where Chris started working as an taxi driver.
Maree bore Chris a daughter when Chris was 63 (he is a mad rooter). I met their daughter once when Chris invited me around for dinner, trying to set me up with a Chinese lady who had recently separated from her Australian husband. Chris' daughter was extremely intelligent for a seven year old. She could play the violin and busked. Sometimes she would make more money in a busking shift than Chris did in a taxi shift!
Then, out of the blue, Chris' daughter was killed in a car accident. Now he just mops around ranks in misery, staring at a photo of his daughter and talking of his suicidal thoughts. I try to cheer him up and say how much I value him as a person but it is to no avail. Maree, who is a Buddhist, believes in reincarnation and wants another child, believing that their daughter will be reincarnated if they have another child. However, Chris is not interested as he doesn't feel that he will have the energy to run around after a child. They say that if a married couple lose a child, 70% of the time it will end in divorce. I feel, but do not hope, that Chris and Maree are headed down the same path.
I wish you all the best Chris. May you find happiness through your music, your reading, your mad rooting and your beating off of criminals despite your daughter's death. Hope.
Meet Chris. He's 70 years of age and has been driving cabs for ten years. He is as fit as a fiddle and you can regularly find him on the ranks reading historical novels and playing his harmonica. He moved to Canberra originally to train as a surveyor and mapped out vast areas of Canberra before turning his hand to taxi driving. Once a criminal tried to rob him and he had no fear even though the criminal pulled a knife on him. He simply drove to the nearest servo and the criminal ran off.
He has been married three times, in his own words, he is a "mad rooter". His first wife, whom was a librarian, was totally paranoid that someone was going to drop an atom bomb on Canberra. They moved down the coast for a while, before moving back to Canberra so that his first wife could find her destiny. His first wife was raised by the nuns who had told her that everyone has a destiny. Before divorcing, they managed three kids, and all, unlike the author, are well adjusted individuals with proper careers and a future. His first wife now has MS and lives a very lonely life.
His second wife was of Italian decent, and they had a child who now dances as a ballerina in London, New York and Paris. She is living the dream. They divorced because she was not satisfied with the money that Chris was making as a surveyor.
Taking his second wife's advice, Chris moved to China to continue his surveying work, only this time he was going to be paid a lot more. He met an interpreter, Maree, and they travelled through China for a year, surveying different parts of China before they finally became a couple. Chris and Maree got married and returned to Australia where Chris started working as an taxi driver.
Maree bore Chris a daughter when Chris was 63 (he is a mad rooter). I met their daughter once when Chris invited me around for dinner, trying to set me up with a Chinese lady who had recently separated from her Australian husband. Chris' daughter was extremely intelligent for a seven year old. She could play the violin and busked. Sometimes she would make more money in a busking shift than Chris did in a taxi shift!
Then, out of the blue, Chris' daughter was killed in a car accident. Now he just mops around ranks in misery, staring at a photo of his daughter and talking of his suicidal thoughts. I try to cheer him up and say how much I value him as a person but it is to no avail. Maree, who is a Buddhist, believes in reincarnation and wants another child, believing that their daughter will be reincarnated if they have another child. However, Chris is not interested as he doesn't feel that he will have the energy to run around after a child. They say that if a married couple lose a child, 70% of the time it will end in divorce. I feel, but do not hope, that Chris and Maree are headed down the same path.
I wish you all the best Chris. May you find happiness through your music, your reading, your mad rooting and your beating off of criminals despite your daughter's death. Hope.
Saturday 2 January 2016
Getting a rise from a triathlette
One slow Saturday afternoon, I got a job from Kingston and raced to the address out of fear that the job would be stolen by another taxi driver as it was on a main road. I cannot confirm or deny whether I broke the speed limit. When I got to the address a fit looking bloke with a small suitcase and a laptop bag got in the taxi. He said "Airport mate, I'm off to do a triathlon in New York with my girlfriend who lives there." I gave my usual line of "No worries." He asked me whether I had a girlfriend and I said "No, two years, plenty of dates but no luck yet." He responded, "There's someone for everyone."
As we drove along he opened his laptop and started chatting with girlfriend via skype. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that she was only wearing a bra and panties and, boy, was she fit. They started chatting about the triathlon and then, all of a sudden, she flashed her landing strip which I caught out of the corner of my eye. My passenger shouted "Boy, are you throwing this taxi driver a BONEr." I admit it got a rise out of the accelerator.
I like a landing strip,
a place to park my rocket.
But prefer a Tasmanian bush,
a place to hide my snake.
JE Pervert 2016.
As we drove along he opened his laptop and started chatting with girlfriend via skype. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that she was only wearing a bra and panties and, boy, was she fit. They started chatting about the triathlon and then, all of a sudden, she flashed her landing strip which I caught out of the corner of my eye. My passenger shouted "Boy, are you throwing this taxi driver a BONEr." I admit it got a rise out of the accelerator.
I like a landing strip,
a place to park my rocket.
But prefer a Tasmanian bush,
a place to hide my snake.
JE Pervert 2016.
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