Cablog

Bloody Aussies

Last night my heart went out to some young adult males. How could it not, for I have a son the same age. As they approached the cab at Chatswood station, I thought, ‘trouble’. It looked as though the Punchbowl habibs were across town for a bit of Friday night fun.

As usual, the alpha male jumped in the front and proceeded to dominate the cab. He was, ‘a bloody Aussie mate !’, with a Palestinian/Lebanon heritage. A bulked up passionate bloke with crew-cut and beard stubble made for a formidable sight. Yet he and his mates were lovely young men, facing life and its challenges with equanimity and pride.

Their immediate dilemma was how to gain entry to the Metropole Hotel in Cremorne. Or the 'Metro-hole' as it's locally known. Da boys were North Shore locals who knew all the pubs and bars. Their problem was the bouncers at the front door, amped up hulks paid to apply 'extreme prejudice' to potential troublemakers. They are also paid as defacto style-police, making value judgements as to whether your dress and demeanor complemented the wasted clientele inside.

In the boys case, they were regularly told, point-blank by the door, ‘No Arabs or Coconuts’, at the Metropole Hotel, Greenwood Tavern and Metrop North Sydney. Outraged, I suggested they get some witnesses and sue the bastards to the back teeth. The big guy conceded it was discriminatory, and shrugged his shoulders, ‘ I offer to step around the back for a chat but they’re gutless’. They lamented the fact active racism was a part of their social life, a given, without dwelling on it. It just is.

Something about his dejected resignation, made me doubt he was truly a fighter though. Indeed I wanted to put my arm around his shoulder and tell him he was a good man. What I saw was a young fella, maybe 20 years old, who had spent some effort on his attire, as had his mates. They were clean, sober and respectful. No yelling, challenging me, high-school stuff.

All were keen to meet some nice girls, like young blokes are. Is the girl of their dreams at the next bar, party, bus stop ? But da boys were habibs, fretting like apartheid blacks on how to gain entry to a white mans bar.

Yes, it’s sad negative perceptions of young Middle Eastern males is so widespread. All because certain assholes are deemed to represent the lot. Like the rest of the community the habibs are sick of the stigmatisation. This is echoed in their oft voiced, plaintive cry, ‘We’re bloody Aussies mate !’.

Like most everyone else, the majority of habibs are 'doin’ the right thing and havin’ a go'. In Australia that’s all you gotta do for acceptance.

Workplace hazards

Driving taxis is either okay or hell, rather than heaven or hell. Food or famine rather than feast or famine. In this game ‘okay’ is classed as a normal shift with no mishaps. However one can have so many hellish shifts, usually involving earnings, a normal shift can seem like heaven.

Last week, to make up for lost wages through the introduction of no-desto radio, I commenced an extra night. My boss knew of a spare car, a station-wagon. A nice car with plastic screen, electric windows and steering wheel radio controls. The shift was normal, until a few days later the boss rang and queried whether I’d had an accident.

I pleaded genuine ignorance, and out of curiosity went to check the damage. Two panels lightly creased down the passenger side requiring beating, and spraying. Must have been the day driver I reasoned.

However, something started nagging me as I recalled an incident late in the shift, when I’d simply put the back wheel over the edge of a traffic island at 2 kph. Not unusual in tight manoeuvres. I definitely didn’t hear anything as I was dealing with a new passengers destination.

Whilst station-wagons are marginally longer than sedans, the unwary can screw up on hard left turns, by catching the rear guard and wheel on something at the corner. With the longer wheelbase, the rear tracks through a radius much shorter than expected.

Finally I came to the inescapable conclusion I’d done it. There must have been a 3 foot high traffic sign, next to where I’d stopped for a fare. Cruelly, I’d kissed it on departure. Fuck. Last night I took the cab to a panel-beater for a rough quote. $500. Double fuck. Unfortunately, the owner of the cab has a $ 450 insurance excess which is not worth exercising. I’ve got to wear it.

Some extra shifts will now be needed. Still, I was lucky. There could have been a 3 foot midget standing on that traffic island, in the dark and out of sight. All things considered, I guess a $500 reminder is a cheap lesson. That’s cabs, okay or hell.

Workplace relations

Last night I hung out at News Ltds entrance on Holt Street, Surry Hills for a fare. After dropping off a couple of fashion-girl staffers just on dusk, I elected to stick around. For some inexplicable reason, News Ltd has never been on my usual beat, so I was intrigued by the comings and goings at that time of day, rush hour.

Each time I go to Holt Street, I get this overwhelming feeling a family company is still operating there. Well I guess with Murdoch it is, though the founders, The Packer influence stands out for me. Must be the modest, squat, old-world building with its steet level, staff car-park opposite. The car park, enclosed by cyclone fencing, has always had the appearance of a work in progress, a future development site.

However it is News Ltds lobby entrance which I find appealing, especially by night. It is bathed in homely, yellowish light, as against cold, white office light. For some reason this light speaks to me of another era, of patronage, benevolence and warmth.

Standing dead centre out the front was a blind bloke with a cane. He had a radiant smile and cheerio for the departing workers, who all seemed to know him. His presence on the footpath acted as a lightning rod to his colleagues who lit up in passing. This procession of infectious cheer was obviously a highlight of his day.

Attracted by his happiness, I got out and had a chat with him. He was waiting for his regular cab home. News employed him as a radio-room operator. In a lovely, good natured manner, he was telling me about the various routes he is taken home...when gorgeous journo, Janet Albrechston walked past. For Gods sake, she didn’t even see me ! I mean, Hello...!!!

A pizza guy on a bike arrived with 20 pizzas plus bottles of drink. It’s a party ! He told me it was a regular order, I think - his English was shithouse. By comparision, over in the glass towers on Sussex, Fairfax night staff receive trays of pastries. There’s something symbolic about this but I’m too tired to work it out....

A middle-aged woman came out and made a point of saying hello to the blind bloke, Ben, then requested my cab. She had actually employed him after realising there were jobs at News Ltd. which handicapped people could comfortably perform. For example, Ben monitors emergency services short-wave radios and uses a special computer to dispatch reporters and field staff to breaking stories. Other workers in wheelchairs were found different duties to suit.

My passenger, a journalist, despite sitting in the back was happy to chat, a refreshing change to Fairfax morons. It inspired me to warn her I owned a public website, before quizzing her on aspects of her job. This didn’t phase her though, being a mature and discreet employee, she still made for interesting conversation.

Somebody important -I forget who- once said, ‘ the art of conversation is making the other party comfortable’. Within an hour, I had a young woman in Surry Hills react badly to a news item on refugees. Instead of lying and agreeing with her, I gently challenged her rant. The trip ended badly, with her slamming the door and me no tip. The art of conversation ? Out the window.

Last summer, I was taking an Australian Republican Movement heavyweight to a function at Darling Harbour Convention Centre. The guest speaker was William Shawcross, making me envious of her, who didn’t seem to know him. I think she’d had a couple of Stollis, as she was rabbiting on about gay broadcaster, Alan Jones, when I decided to warn her I operated a public website. Immediately, she stopped talking to me ! Though later she tipped real heavy. Passengers are a funny lot.

Footie blokes

Friday night saw the mighty St. George Dragons smote the hapless Parramatta Eels, 37-6. Given the current climate concerning football players extra-curricular activities, the losing captain unfortunately stated,

It's embarrassing losing like that but we're a tight bunch of guys and we'll pull together.

Oh dear. I predict one day new players will be required to undergo an I.Q. test when signing-up, in order to customize their contracts. Plus do compulsory media training.

Furthermore, players will continue to run afoul of their dicks until officials start daily drug testing. This is to counter the 'attractiveness' of ecstasy which only stays in the system for a day or two. Footballers in nightclubs on the 'Benny Hills' and 'off their chops' is not an uncommon story in the cab.

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They have a post on the Bulldogs saga.

Desperates

Currently, my stats are going through the roof. Why ? Last night Lindy England was on American 60 Minutes. I think. Anyway our American friends logged on in droves looking for 'lindy england/video/sex'. Desperates. I've mentioned her once via a link to Arm the Insane, an outback bloke who sits on his tractor all day, going around in squares.

Ugly Aussie 'sport'

How good is this ? Others have now gone into bat for the long-suffering Zimbabweans. The Australian Cricket team flew out last night for their immoral tour of Zimbabwe. Today in the Aussie, Ray Chesterton belatedly states the bleeding obvious,

Is this the glory of sport? Is playing in a country run by a demented and murderous savage, who may well be a spectator at the Test matches, the true representation of the joyous pursuit of triumph and lofty ideals? Instead this may be the ugliest sporting exercise Australia has ever undertaken.

Test great Greg Chappel has also found a voice, calling for a boycott,

As Ricky Ponting led his "reluctant" tourists out of Sydney to Harare last night, Chappell said the time was fast approaching to take a stand against Zimbabwe, whose general society and cricket framework had gone to ruin under the corrupt dictatorship of Robert Mugabe.

'The international sporting community took a stand against South Africa and I can't see a difference between what happened there years ago and what's happening in Zimbabwe now'

The difference in Zimbabwe old son is the victims are not only black, but white. Therein lies the problem for the Western liberal media.

The team has now arrived in Harare, only to find the welcoming Aussie diplomat delayed due to visa problems. The application was lodged four months ago.

Meanwhile, Zimbabwean coach Geoff Marsh, an Aussie, has been accused of racism by certain board members of the Zim Cricket Union, whose patron is Robert Mugabe. I reckon Geoff should leave on the same plane as the Aussies.

Previous Zimbabwean posts

The red line

A couple of posts down I posed the question on how interrogators legitimately extracted information from captured suspects. Yeah I know, 'legitimate' is a relative term. In terms of international conventions though, techniques are available which technically do not breach guidelines.

American ABC News reports from Fort Huachuca in Arizona where interrgators are taught how to bend the rules in order to get the information they need. Two past trainees talked to reporters,

The Chaikens trained to be interrogators at Fort Huachuca from July to October of 2003. They say the actions depicted in the pictures of U.S. soldiers humiliating Iraqi detainees are a classic technique they were taught in order "to break a prisoner, and cause them to talk."

The couple give a few examples of legitimate pain and humiliation techniques involving nakedness and medical treatment. Whilst the Fort Huachuca commanders denounced the the Abu Ghraib prison, with its naked prisoners and guards using recording equipment, they insisted,

There is a "red line" between what's prohibited for interrogators and what's not. "Do I want them to walk right up to that line? You bet - but not put even a finger over it," said one.

On that basis I imagine an urgent directive, re the 'red line', has landed on all prison commanders desks.

World-class Sydney

The Sydney Morning Herald yesterday, ran a Heckler piece on that old bitch, Sydney/Melbourne rivalry.

The Sydney Olympics kept our Bleak City cousins quiet for a while but it seems the new tourism advertising campaign has brought them out from under their frigid rocks. You see, in the ad to be shown around the world, Sydney is described as "Australia's world-class city".

I was under the impression that since the Olympics took Sydney to the international level, the Melbourne/Sydney thing was null and void. Additionally, the number of Melburnians working in Sydney, coupled with cheap travel, further dilutes the rivalry which once was. Tellingly, the spray lacked any current quotes from down south, relying purely on outdated arguements.

Indeed, in the cab there is no evidence of taunting, or sarcasm from Melbournians. Growing up in Sydney, I holidayed in Melbourne annually, with family. Once the friendly (and not so friendly) banter amused me. Now it's irrelevant. Basically, Sydney is world-class and Melbourne knows it.

Equally Melbourne is not the same city it once was, having also smartened-up over the last ten years. It has carved out a tourist niche market for itself. As a result, there is now clear and positive differentiation between the two cities. What Sydney has, Melbourne hasn't, and vice versa. A question of styles and influences. Both offer different and worthwhile experiences.

In tourism terms, Melbourne and Sydney complement each other beautifully.

via Clarence Street

No-desto exposed

In the May issue of Cabbie magazine, editor Peter Lindholdt deals with the 'no-desto' radio situation.

The idea for 'no-desto' was first put on the table in 2001 by a mid-level bureaucrat in the then Taxi & Hire Car Bureau, whose previous transport experience stemmed from managing trucks in Queensland....it was then trialled on the Central Coast....official results showed that radio job acceptances improved marginally.

The major taxi networks, who had earlier objected strongly to the proposal, now had a new problem. The steady increase in private trunk radio groups was making a serious impact on their bottom line,

They offered to cooperate on 'No Desto' provided that,
'Regulation is introduced that ensures unauthorised taxi networks and booking services in NSW cease operation under threat of substantial penalty'. - Taxi Council Proposal, Feb. 4, '04.

Lindholdt notes an industry group has successfully pressured the State Govt. into changing the law. He goes on to make the point given the legislation favours shareholders at the expense of thousands of small businesses, then this must be illegal under the Trade Practices and National Competition Act.

Ha, National Competition. Consider this opener in a letter, dealing with no-desto radio, I received last month from the NSW Ministry of Transport,

'As you may know the NSW Government has recently refused federal demands to deregulate a number of industries including the NSW taxi industry. NSW has refused and stands to be fined $51m for its refusal. However, we do have some real service problems with taxis in NSW. '

Let's have a look at 'some real service problems'. Lindholdt again,

..official figures show that complaints about 'failure to arrive/arrive late' for all of NSW have dropped steadily since 1999 (487) to only 260 in 2002. The NSW Taxi Council claims nearly 6,000 NSW taxis carry 170 million people a year. Being generous, let's say 30% are radio bookings. That equals 51 million passengers or 25 million fares. So out of 25 million booked fares we have had 260 registered complaints. Why do people put up with such 'terrible' service ?

What the official statistics do not show is that 1 in 8 bookings is an M3 (pass. gone) so of 25 million bookings, 3 million were a waste of the drivers' time. Why do we put up with such terrible network service and passenger behaviour ?

Otherwise, Cabbie magazine has plenty of evidence of drivers, like myself, simply shunning the radio for the lack of control it now offers. Like a driver on a rank told me last week,

Before they had a hundred complaints - now it will be a thousand !

I love cops

This morning at 1.45am I make a big mistake. I stopped for a hotel security bouncer who hailed me. Usually this means either he is loading me up with staff, or drunks. I was working my home district for the last hour, hoping for locals only. With the radio issuing destinations I was having a good run, after a gutless night.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t see who was coming as the bouncer held the door open, refusing to let it go. He knew if he did so, I would piss off. ‘No drunks !’ I yelled, but he assured me the guy only had one too many to drive home. No worries, I thought, a five minute local.

Out staggered a giant of a man, barely upright. ‘He’s alright, mate’, the security guy told me. What could I do. The bloke fell into the front seat and the cab tilted. He was a really dark Melanesian or New Guinean. Rascal, I thought. At 200cm and 100+kilograms the alarm bells went off as he slurred, ‘Regents Park man’. Gawd, out in the western suburbs and not an area I was familiar with. But I had to move on due to waiting traffic.

Blotto and belligerent he refused to nominate an address, a preferred route, or engage in any conversation, short of grunts. Classic signs of passenger malevolence. Tell the driver nothing, then at the end make out it’s the driver who has fucked up. I knew enough though to persist, until he nominated Regents Park shopping centre.

We had stopped in a well-lit area while I sorted it out. By rights, I should have demanded payment in advance but faced with a surly, pissed hulking Islander, I dogged it and headed for Regents Park. On pure faith, bordering on fear.