Cablog

Sabbatical

Just to let everyone know I've decided to take a short sabbatical from blogging. If academics get them so can bloggers, albeit unpaid. It maybe a month or even longer, or shorter, I dunno.

Not sure yet what's going to eventuate but something's gunna give after a thorough review. So rather than posting lame-arsed efforts I intend concentrating on some outstanding tasks, unless of course something extraordinary surfaces in the meantime.

Ciao for now,

Adrian.

Daylight Daze

Normally when I see early sunlight I know it's time for bed, like right now at 7.40am. Such is the lot of a night worker and why I can relate to this post by Aaron the truckie,

I was wondering why my skin has a pale light green look to it. I have not seen daylight for the past 102 days. Yesterday morning however i was driving when i would normally be sleeping. Instead of going south and then north and then south on i5 i took a right and went to Bend Oregon. I saw something called trees. And i saw something called a lake. I believe both of these combined in large quantities = wilderness. It was nice to see daylight...

Aaron records his work travel using innovative videos clips. Hit the link for his latest video of a truck jack-knife accident. More unique blog vids can be found in his archives.

Found and Lost

Around 1am last Monday morning I carried home an Irish girl and fella from the City. The woman sat directly behind me next to her mate on the passenger door. We dropped her first and proceeded to his place a few kilometres away. Being drunk he screwed up the directions meaning we had to backtrack, so I extended him a five dollar discount.

A few minutes later I picked up an Irish barman from a Paddington Hotel and almost immediately a phone started ringing on the back seat, where the woman has sat earlier. The phone had been on the seat next to the Irish lad but he never saw it.

I asked the passenger, ‘Mate, can you get that phone for me, it must be my last passengers’. He grabbed it and answered, ‘Hello ? No, I just found this phone in a taxi. Colleen must have left it here...who’s this ? Ah Fergus, that’s a crack, this is Shaun. Yes, they were in the pub earlier but I’ll hang onto the phone. Tell Colleen to come by tomorrow and pick it up’. Unbelievable ! In a city of over four million people you can trust the Irish to find each other. Call them lucky.

An hour later I came across a young couple sitting in the gutter at deserted Bondi Beach. Reluctantly they wandered to the cab and climbed in for a local address. They were Kiwis on vacation and returning home later that morning. Earlier in the evening they had left a camera in a Silver Service cab containing all their holiday shots and had been waiting in vain for the cab to return. Needless to say they were shattered, resigned to never seeing the camera again.

The taxi base had broadcast an appeal to drivers but to no avail. Most probably the Silver cabbie had knocked off by then and gone home. All I could suggest was they leave a contact number in case he handed it in the following day. A big 'maybe'. So I decided to waive the $6.50 fare in recognition of their misfortune before heading home. Instead the fella handed me a tenner insisting I keep it. He deserved better luck.

Cab Bits

A cabbie in a Mercedes E 270 arrives at an accident scene. Due to freezing temperatures he shelters the injured in his cab. Then rescue services arrive and cut off the cab's roof. 

Perth cabbie Becker outruns a road rager. His Bytes From the Back Seat is a well written blog worth checking out.

US cab company Blank Top employs Brian on phone bookings. Hilarious.

How about a 7" Sun Visor TV/DVD with FM transmittor ? Via Taxi Tales.

Iraqi born Adelaide cabbie Mohammed Jihad auditions for a video contest at Channel V.

Off Topic - The Police perform 'Roxanne' at the Grammys.

Home Free

People with no money employ various methods when seeking a free taxi ride. Some will ask, some will run, whilst others can simply demand. When requesting a favour from a taxi driver, or from anyone for that matter, there’s a right way and a wrong way to do it. Within the space of an hour last night I encountered both methods...

Down Time

People often ask why I don’t own/operate a cab plate. Besides the prohibitive purchase cost this would entail endless driving hours year round and maximum stress keeping the vehicle operational. Plus those unforseen events like accidents, repairs, driver reliability or any down time which means having the vehicle off the road and losing money. In short, there’s always something going wrong with cabs.

Last night I arrived to start work (I’m back in a heavy routine relieving a driver on leave) to find the vehicle wouldn’t start. After screwing around for an hour trying this and that with the gas supply, the cab operator stopped work and returned to give me his vehicle in order I could commence work.

Friday night is the busiest shift of the week, the night no driver or operator wants to be off the road. For me the lost time mattered little as I’d already started late and was resigned to making a modest wage anyway. However with my cab operator needing every dollar available - not that he pressures me for maximum pay-ins, ‘whatever you can pay’ he always says - being off the road on a Friday night is a financial disaster.

So it was depressing at the end of my shift this morning to find him still working on the disabled cab. The gas converter needed replacing and had taken over seven hours to get ready for the day shift at 3am. Scratch one lost shift of maximum returns. Heavens knows how he’d enlisted a serviceman and the parts after hours but he’d done it, at great expense too. Cabs; it’s less stressful simply driving the bloody things.

Too Easy

Twice this week I’ve jagged dream jobs. Last Sunday at 10.35pm in Kings Cross the radio barked into life - CABS NEEDED AT DOMESTIC. Initially I considered it too late to go flying out to the Airport for the chance of an average $18 fare. However as it was pretty quite around town I thought, bugger it, nothing ventured...

Thanks to the Eastern Distributor I rolled into Domestic within fifteen minutes to score a $100 fare to Berowra, way up on the northern perimeter of Sydney. Call me lucky. Even better the passenger was a really informative woman who’d just spent the weekend at a Spanish monastery in the West Australian bush. Hit the link to this unique story.

Then this morning at 2.30am, heading through Rozelle after a pretty ordinary shift, the radio issued a general call for cabs to a Balmain hotel. Arriving within two minutes I found 20 patrons and no cabs. Oh well, I thought, some local jobs to pay my gas bill.

A woman boarded then summoned two more and a fella heading in the same direction. One got out early in Abbotsford, a ten minute detour which caused some tension. After which I was directed to Parramatta via Gladesville and Homebush Bay. Bingo, maybe a $50 job in total and saving my night. But then at Gladesville it all went haywire.

‘Stop the cab !’, barked the really drunk fella. ‘I’ve left my house keys in the car back at Balmain. We’ve gotta go back’. At this point the meter read $38. To cut a long story short we went back to Balmain, he screwed around trying to waking up a mate to retrieve his car keys...it was friggin’ painful but the meter was ticking so I didn't care. All up the fare was $114 and I finished one hour late, tired and happy...

Unnecessary

Late on Monday afternoon I carried a young couple from Double Bay to the OpenAir Cinema at Farm Cove. This is one of the most spectacular outdoor movie venues in the world with the screen set in the water fronting a stunning harbour backdrop. A perfect distraction from any boring, moody, foreign films. The joint is heavily patronised by trendy, young, Sydneyites and on a balmy summer's evening it’s the only place to be.

Anyway the couple climbed in the back seat with the woman talking loudly on the phone. ‘I mean, I don’t know why they fuckin’ did that. It’s just so fuckin’ weird to run a business that way. C____ told me later he was like, really fucked off and also they were totally fuckin’ unorganised during the whole fuckin’ process. I mean, really...’. Quite.

Now I hear a lot of swearing from passengers, usually late at night after numerous drinks. So common is swearing that I never worry about it as it barely registers. Yet this woman was sober and speaking in an even voice with little rancour or bitterness. And it was really annoying with her sitting right behind me lazily blaring gratuitous profanities.

Obviously this was an exercise in attention-seeking so I decided to accommodate her and set about choosing an appropriate warning for the situation. Either...

1) ‘Lady, you’ve got a foul mouth !’. A real conversation stopper and maybe too strong.

2) ‘Excuse me, can you please mind your language, I’m a Christian’. No, too shaming.

3) ‘Lady, you’re not at home now !’. Too vague, inevitably requiring elaboration.

4) ‘No swearing in the cab !’. Yes, the best option, avoid argument by invoking the law.

With the next profanity I would interrupt her using #4. ‘Anyway’, she continued, ‘I’m over it, even though they want me back for a casting next Monday, we’ll have to see. Hey, why don’t we get together this weekend ? Maybe Saturday night...North Bondi Italian ?...yeah, we’ll get a nice table...okay, sounds good. I’ll call you Friday. Byeeee’.

Not only was that passage free of profanity but also her subsequent small talk with the boyfriend for the rest of the trip. This was puzzling as her swearing appeared to be only related to work issues. However it sounded totally inappropriate, especially for a relaxed Monday afternoon on public transport. Call me thin-skinned but it was like, you know, fuckin’ unnecessary.

Eggshells

Last night I picked up a drunken Irish couple and we immediately fell into some good natured banter. The Irish can usually be counted on for some fun and a good laugh, especially those here on vacation, the majority of my Irish passengers.

In due course the fella mentioned he’d been in Australia for twelve years. This surprised me as his accent was almost impenetrable. Without thinking I jokingly asked, ‘So how come you’ve stayed so long ? You got a specialist trade or something, or did you jump the visa ?’. When he hesitated in responding I checked the rear mirror to see him looking askance at his girlfriend. Uh oh, I thought, that was a mistake.

Sure enough, he lunged forward and barked in my ear, ‘Listen ! I don’t appreciate you saying that’. His sudden change in temperament alarmed me and I scrambled, ‘Yeah fair enough...’, ‘No, it’s not fair enough !’, he interrupted. ‘Just because I’m an Irishman living in Australia you think I’m a visa breaker !?’. He was right. I’d lazily used a stereotype, albeit in jest and so quickly moved to make amends.

‘Mate, I was only joking...’. He cut me off, ‘It’s like people getting in your cab and seeing you’re an Aussie they automatically think you’re a loser. Know what I mean lad ?’. It was tempting to respond I didn’t give a shit if passengers assumed that, but thought better of it and instead offered an apology. ‘I understand entirely mate and apologise for offending you’.

Yet this wasn’t enough and despite protestations from his girlfriend to settle down he continued haranguing me. ‘I’ve been a citizen for nine years’, he announced. ‘I’m more Australian than many Australians. Tell me this lad - where’s Gallipoli ?’. ‘Aw, Turkey’. ‘And which War was Gallipoli’. I answered correctly and somberly, anything to placate him.

‘Well okay’, he challenged, ‘I bet you haven’t done the Kokoda Trail ?’. ‘No’, I admitted, ‘but good on you for doing it, I’m jealous’. ‘Who’s the most racist nation in the world ?’. Now he was being ridiculous. ‘Um, Japan ?’, I offered. ‘No, it’s Ireland’. ‘That surprises me...’. ‘Why ?’, he demanded. ‘Aw, because of their natural friendliness...’. ‘Pffft !’, he snorted, ‘that’d be fookin’ right’. What could one say to a fractious drunk.

From thereon in it was a case of avoiding eggshells, even after arrival at the address and his girlfriend storming off. All I wanted him to do was get out and finally got a chance to request the $15.50 fare. 'Just make it fifteen', I told him. He gave me a twenty and said, ‘Keep it’, offered a handshake and was gone. Phew.

Kids

Only two encounters stood out last night, both related to babies, toddlers to be exact. Though another passenger, a young woman from Denmark expounded on the respective qualities of Sydney and Melbourne but you’ve heard all that before.

Early in the shift a thirty-something fella climbed in for the City. I asked him, ‘Big night ?’. ‘ I’m off to a mate’s bucks night’, he replied. ‘Sounds dangerous’, I laughed. ‘Up to the Cross at midnight, home by dawn ?’. ‘Not for me’, he said. ‘I’ve got a young daughter and want to be home by midnight’. She was his first child, sixteen months old.

He then rang his wife and had a brief conversation checking on the daughter. ‘It’s weird’, he then told me. ‘I stayed home as late as possible to feed the girl, bath her and get her into bed. But now I’m gone she’s yelling the house down and refusing to sleep’. ‘Don’t worry about it’, I offered, ‘your wife’s there’. ‘Yeah’, he moaned, ‘but I feel bad for leaving them alone. And later my single mates will give me a hard time for leaving early. Sometimes you can’t win’. To me, this sounded like real love.

Shortly after I took a radio booking at an inner-city address. Whilst waiting opposite the open front door I noticed a toddler, a girl around eighteen months old sitting on the floor inside the screen door. The terrace was elevated and close to the building line, affording the child a clear view of the street. She sat motionless staring at me with that dopey expression common to toddlers confronted with new scenery. Mesmerised by my flashing orange roof lights.

As it was still twilight I easily caught her eye by slowly raising a hand and effecting a silly wave, the sort reserved for babies. Recognising my gesture her expression changed and she suddenly beamed and tittered. On repeating my wave she giggled and gave two excited claps with her hands, twirling around looking for mum. We repeated the routine for a minute or so with her giggling gleefully at my waving and silly faces.

It was a delightful interlude where life was briefly suspended; passengers, traffic, radio, all disappeared for some momentary play with a little kid. As it should. So when the father snatched her off the floor allowing his wife to exit the door, I was catapulted back to the reality of an approaching passenger.

Fortunately mum sat in the back chatting on the phone, leaving me undisturbed to savour a surprising ray of sunshine, easily recalled later during an otherwise dull shift.