Cablog

Hysterical

Due to a buggered cab I'm currently off work, so here's a tale from last weekend...

Well after midnight at a quiet suburban rank a fight broke out over queue jumping, despite there being half a dozen vacant cabs and no other passengers!?

The participants were two young guys in the blue corner and a young couple in the red, all of Asian descent. Alcohol was involved, of course, mixed with fake pride and bravado.

From the back of the rank I heard a commotion, raised voices followed by a girl’s squealing. And if the following twenty minute melee was memorable for anything it was this girl’s guttural and primeval screams, at full volume, at two o’clock in the morning.

As I wandered up to see what the other cabbies were laughing about she threw herself to the ground at her boyfriend’s feet, in an attempt to block his movement. But he was a big guy and simply side-stepped her, so she commenced a frenzied lashing out with her feet, coupled with blood-curling screams.

This pantomime carried on whilst the two other guys commented from the sidelines, which I learned later were taunts and threats to the boyfriend. He responded by ripping his shirt to pieces and further freaking the girlfriend when they moved into the tunnel.

Next came the frightening roar of a Rottweiler security dog which, fortunately for everyone, was restrained by a hotel bouncer. So for the next ten minutes the guys yelled, the girl screamed and the dog roared as lunges and blocks occurred between the half-willing scrappers.

By the time the security guards forced them from the subway I’d made point car. Yet when the guards attempted to load the young couple into my cab I locked the door and refused entry.

I wasn’t interested as the boyfriend was bare-chested and totally enraged and she continued throwing herself to the ground, screaming, every time he made to confront the young fellas. “There must be something in the fuckin’ Constitution," he protested, "against being hit in the face for no fuckin’ reason.” Quite.

Finally I allowed the two young guys, the blue corner, to board, by now standing idly by and eyeballing the infuriated boyfriend. They climbed in and said, “Let’s go, here comes the police.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Aw, we were about to get in the taxi when that idiot pushed in, showing off to his girlfriend. So we called him out. He thought he was a hard c..., but fuck him, we gave him a smack in the mouth.” At every opportunity, it seemed.

After dropping them in a quiet neighbourhood, the cab radio came to life. The operator requested details of the drop-off, whether it was a house or a unit block. “Stand by,” she ordered. Evidently she was responding to a police directive and had monitored our trip with the GPS, camera and microphone.

Obviously the aggrieved participant was insisting the police enforce ‘the Constitution’. Though all concerned can thank the hysterical young woman's performance which quite possibly averted a lethal outcome.

Survivor

Late last night I was hailed by a young bloke with prosthetic arms and hooks for hands. He sat up front and we quickly got chatting about general stuff so that I didn’t get the opportunity to inquire about his condition.

Well, actually, I did get a chance when he mentioned he was a DJ and manager at one of Sydney’s top clubs. However, the fact he was a DJ indicated that, obviously, he managed to spin records with his clamping hooks. Furthermore, as I learned later, this fella, Thomas, also plays guitar,

...I have designed an attachment to go on to where my hook is that screws in in lieu of the hook that would wrap around the fret of a guitar, and I can clamp it on and off. So I’ll be able to tune a guitar so as I might be able to play just chords.

Thomas was fairly knowledgeable on the dance music scene and gave me a thumbnail sketch of various clubs and their respective owners and tribes. His own style of music was electronica; readers who club will know of this popular genre.

Amusingly he related how after once playing a DJ set at a major nightclub they’d offered him cocaine as payment. “Um, nooo,” he told them, “I don’t think so.” Yet it wouldn't surprise me if he was physically capable of undertaking the fiddly job of using cocaine.

We hit Maccas drive-thru so he could score a late dinner and he passed me a twenty dollar note for payment. Waiting for the change I joked, “I’ll just put it in the charity slot, shall I ?” “Well, that’s your fare,” he laughed. So the joke was on me as my charity didn’t extend to making a ten dollar donation on a lousy shift.

After work I tracked down Thomas on Google. Not only has he no arms but also no legs, lost part of his nose, ears and most of his skin, all at the age of nineteen. ABC radio did a special report on his incredible survival from a frightening disease, against heavy odds. A few weeks after leaving hospital he explained his outlook,

You always ask the question ‘Why has this happened to me?’ but then I think you come to the agreement with yourself that it’s got to happen to someone, and if I’m that person, then so be it, and what you choose to do with that is more important than why it happened to you.

Hit this link and listen to Thomas tell his story plus hear some guitar playing.

UPDATE: Australian Story

Sacrilege

Traditional Anzac Day two-up game in Kings Cross.

Last night a radio call was made for cabs to the Westin Hotel, overlooking the Martin Place cenotaph and focal point for yesterday’s Anzac Day commemoration. The request sounded like a bunch of Diggers may be heading home after a function at the hotel.

Upon arrival a woman in her thirties climbed aboard. As she sat in the back and didn’t seem Digger-connected I ignored her and continued listening to a special radio broadcast on Gallipoli, presented by Warren Brown.

When at the destination she requested a pen for a taxi voucher the penny dropped. The Westin Hotel is also the head office of Macquaire Bank.

"Have you been working?” I asked. “Yes, unfortunately,” she replied. “For Macquarie Bank?” “Yeah,” she groaned, “who else would make us work on Anzac Day.” I was surprised that any office worker, besides newspaper staff, would be required to work on a public holiday...or holy day.

So I made a request, “You tell your boss for me that he’s a lousy Commie, or something equally as derogatory.” “I’d be happy too,” she laughed as she climbed out. I called after her, “Working on Anzac Day is bloody sacrilege!”

With that I headed back to the City for more work.

UPDATE: Federal Treasurer Wayne Swan says National Australia Bank's decision to announce an interest rate rise on Anzac Day was "lousy". 

Diggers

A couple of old diggers lay wreaths on the Randwick Junction cenotaph this morning.

After driving all night I mis-timed the service thinking it was at dawn and arrived to find well over a hundred departing people. This was a pleasant surprise as I'd attended this small suburban ceremony a few years back and there were barely fifty people there.

Lest we forget.

Reactive

Today cabbies and bus drivers have something to cheer about,

THE mere act of throwing a rock at a vehicle - whether it hits something or not - will now become a criminal offence carrying a jail term of up to five years.

And about bloody time too as rock throwing has become a regular sport around town, in particular at Waterloo and Matraville. Every weekend drivers receive warnings to avoid certain neighbourhoods due to kids targeting taxis.

It will no longer be a defence for an offender to claim they didn't mean to hurt anyone.

It’s just unfortunate that our reactive State Government waited until a young motorist suffered serious injury before introducing these new laws.

Weird

This vehicle sailed past in the Harbour Tunnel last night. Plastered down the side was a startling logo, JEWS FOR JESUS. Say, what..!? Kinky Friedman's in town..? Weird, mate.

Lost

No matter how hard I tried over the weekend I just couldn't get away to the Ruddstock Festival in Canberra. So instead I canvassed numerous drivers at work on a Big Idea...

It should be mandatory that all residential and commercial premises display clear, reflective and eye-level steet numbering.

There was also general consensus that this be included as a Cabbie Clause in the proposed Bill of Rights.

Thank you.

Jersey boys

Vale Danny Federici, organist, keyboard and accordian player with the E Street Band. Some of his best known work here. Regarding Loose Windscreen, another favourite here showcasing his classic early songwriting.

Which brings me to a third New Jersey boy, Richard Shindell. Here he performs the evocative Last Fare of the Day, which could only have been written by a former cabbie...

Into the stream, we pulled away

I know it well, this old ballet

Finding the flow, minding the sway

Catching green lights all the way

Jumpin'

Here's another tale from the vaults, inspired by this week's photo digitizing exercise.

A couple of years ago my son and I spent a Friday afternoon wandering around Watsons Bay, an area he's very familiar with having grown up on South Head. On the way from Camp Cove beach out to the South Head lighthouse he stopped on the cliff (image below), some thirty metres above the water line and chuckled, "Me and some mates used to jump off here when we were kids." I nearly had a heart attack and stammered, "How come I never knew about that..!?" He simply shrugged, "You never asked." Fair enough.

Then last night I carried home a young woman who'd grown up in Watsons Bay. When I inquired if she had jumped off the same cliff my son had, she replied, "No way, I was too chicken, but plenty of kids did. A girl at our school did and she hit some rocks and pretty much broke everything possible. She spent two weeks in hospital, in a coma."

That's kids, but what can you do.

Slammed

In the last post I was carelessly dismissive of a world governed by insurance, where every action has a legal consequence. However it can also be argued that overt safety considerations are equally important.

When my son was around seven or eight years old he nearly died due to outright negligence by...some construction authority. Or, at the very least, he narrowly avoided life in a wheelchair as a quadriplegic. This, I’m embarrassed to say, whilst under my care.

We were fishing together in Watson’s Bay, off the end of the wharf, whilst waiting for his mother. She was finishing her lunch shift at Doyle’s restaurant on the same wharf.

At that time the wharf was undergoing renovations to accommodate the new Rivercat ferry service. This required the installation of a water-level boarding platform and stairway access, all constructed from concrete. The job was nearly complete except for the railings, yet no temporary safety barriers had been installed over the weekend.

I was fishing the northern side of the pier whilst my son stood behind me, facing the City. As we were using hand fishing reels the boy, unbeknownst to me, decided to pull his line in by walking backwards. We’ve all seen kids do this whilst fishing, though not in the manner witnessed by his mother.

She watched in horror from inside the restaurant, paralysed and unable to do anything as he slowly walked backwards off the wharf ! He completed a full reverse somersault to land three metres below, face first, onto the concrete deck.

The sound of his body slamming the deck with a sickening thud was possibly the worst sound I’ve ever heard and instantly had me running. I found him struggling to his feet, shocked and dazed with a only a minor cut to his chin. How lucky was that?

Needless to say I let Woollahra Council know about the situation the following Monday. Every kid, I’m sure, can tell a similar tale of misadventure and close calls. Spill it, kids !