Different girls

Last week on twilight, a girl stood outside a convenience store on Elizabeth Street, clutching a plastic bag. Pulling over I judged this diminutive Asian, dressed in fake designer track-suit and thongs, just a girl. Yet in choosing the front seat it suggested she was comfortable in the presence of strange men. Such as cabbies !

I studied her carefully as she nominated Cleveland Street in Chippendale, after first stumbling in broken English over the pronunciation. In doing so her impassive face broke into a short girlish giggle, with an apologetic hand to the mouth before resuming her placid demeanor.

She was beautiful with ornate porcelain skin, yet very young and no more than a teenager. Plus very tired as she languidly rubbed sleep from her eyes, effecting a dreamy, drugged look. Men are suckers for that sort of seductive mannerism.

When I inquired of her heritage she answered, ‘Korea’. On further questioning she refused to answer, feigning no English. This is an old trick, so on stopping for a red light I pressed her. ‘You work today ?’, I asked. She looked across at me, brazenly searching my face, then sharply nodded her head with a Japanese style, ‘Ungh’. ‘Where you work ?’, I cheekily asked. She hesitated and stared ahead, either unwilling to say or unable to find the word, and so chose silence.

I waited, then repeated the question. At which she started to nervously giggle, once more raising a hand to the mouth. So I let her off the hook. ‘Doesn’t matter’, I said with a wave of the hand, ‘I understand’.

On approaching the destination she directed me with a series of grunts and hand signals. We pulled around the corner from a large Korean brothel and stopped. On receiving the change she said in perfect sing-song English, ‘Thannnk youuu, have a good niiight’, and opened the door. Bemused, I watched in the rear-view mirror as she flip-flopped her thongs back around the corner of the brothel. She was just a girl.

On Sunday night around ten, I was hailed by a bloke in the Eastern Suburbs outside a large gay dance party. He stood under a street light rolling a cigarette, with a milk crate and a silver, cubical, carry-box at his feet. A tall, striking DJ in black jeans, black singlet, a shoulder tattoo and a platinum blonde buzz-cut.

Hopping out I opened the trunk, only to have a female voice greet me. ‘You’re a girl !’, I exclaimed. ‘Yes, and you’re a cabbie’, she laughed, ‘not many cabbies pick that - this is going to be a good trip’. And so it was. Wisely, she sat in the back as we chatted ceaselessly to her next job, off Oxford Street.

Our chat covered cricket, hockey, table tennis, basket ball, the scourge of drugs and bicycle repairs. She was the same age as my son and as a kid had hung out at the same Moore Park basketball stadium he had. But her mother wouldn’t allow her to hang out at the nearby Alexandria stadium, fearing the lesbians would get her. We agreed we had probably crossed paths at the stadium, all those years ago.

At the end, behind the cab, she insisted I should have my own television spot, like the eccentric bus driver, Michael on SBS. She was so full of life, warm and funny, I wanted to hug her and wish her well. Instead I offered her a left-handed shake which she readily accepted. On departing I decided I’d love a daughter like her.

The very next fare was a pretty, Asian transsexual off Darlinghurst Road who sat in the front and proceeded to size me up. She was bored and going home to vegetate. After sleeping all day she insisted that my suggestion of watching a movie wouldn’t satisfy her excess energy. I then suggested reading, surfing the internet or smoking. All of which she didn’t do. Finally I advised her to, 'start drinking heavily'.

At Potts Point she paid the fare then refused to get out. Where was I from ? Where did I live ? What time did I finish ? Did I want to come in ? Sheesh, talk about up-front. I wondered - am I displaying a large neon sign, For a Good Time, Inquire Within. Is it that common amongst cabbies ? Last Friday night, a gay French tourist related how a Persian cabbie had performed a sex act on him. But me, I just like to chat.

She waited for my answer. ‘Sorry mate’, I told her, pun unintended, ‘I'm really not interested'. And I reached down to clear the meter with an emphatic, 'Gotta go...’. With that she rolled her eyes and said, ‘Okayyy’, in a husky tone implying it was my loss, then hopped out. It was a pretty wild weekend. There must be a moon coming on.

Comments

[rat]

wow, interesting night

[kimbofo]

Do you ever pick up normal, completely boring people?

[snaketide]

"Do you ever pick up normal, completely boring people?"

If he ever gets me as a fare, then yes :)

Although I'm learning from this site to try not to stare out the passenger window for the whole trip, and I always sit up front. My problem is that I worry about the strength of my arguments if it ever came to a decent discussion. I'm far too impressionable and leaving my opinions in the hands of cabbies could be dangerous. It'd be quite possible for me to exit a cab saying something like, "Yeah, I guess you're right - Hussein wasn't so bad..."

[briggs]

did all 3 sit in the front?
B

[bourbonbird]

i love a cabbie i can chat to - from my limited experience here in sydneytown, it's been a lot harder to come across than the cabbies in brisbane.

good on you for having a chat - sometimes it makes the night.

[Noswonky]

I reckon you should have gone inside with the tranny - for the sake of your loyal readers!

[adrian]

Thanks folks. Kim, boring fares account for around 80% of passengers, or 100% if I'm uninspired. Therefore, some nights I have nothing of worth to relate.

Briggs, only the DJ sat in the back. Additionally, the Korean was a teenager, the DJ late twenties, and the trannie around 40 years old.

Nosworthy, I've been inside a trannies Kings Cross apartment, though not via a proposition. A lasting impression was of a closet covered by a curtain, from under which poked a collection of ridiculous platform stilettoes. One day I'll have the courage to tell of this memorable yet tragic encounter. Maybe.

[Darlene]

Another good post, Adrian.

Suspect you see a lot more of life than some of the rest of us.

If you should happen to pick me up as a fare next time I am in Sydney it is certain I would not be post material.

Tend to keep quiet for most of the journey. If a cabbie starts a conversation happy to reciprocate.

[Darp Hau]

Wow GREAT POST Adrian.

You've really captured Sydney here. The imagery and locations mentioned of course help, but ...I dunno..there is almost something "Randwick Bells" about this post. Awesome stuff.