Sweet

After dropping a fare in Alexandria on the weekend I was lazily heading back to the City when way up ahead silhouettes on the roadway hailed me. Normally I’d have my Vacant light off at midnight but this once tough neighbourhood had become gentrified over recent years and was now almost safe enough to relax.

As the hailees came into focus the vehicle ahead slowed and stopped next to them in the middle of the road. It was a police patrol car from neighbouring Redfern quizzing my potential fares, three young guys. Understandable really as they wore the standard street kids' uniform, despite the rain and cold – shorts, hoodies and runners without socks.

They climbed aboard, a full blood aboriginal up front, a half caste and a white guy in the back. “Waterloo, bro !” I groaned. Within a hundred metres I was suddenly ordered, “Turn here, boss, turn here !” I braked heavily. “You want me to go up a laneway,” I asked incredulously. “Yeah, yeah, shortcut bro, shortcut.”

We zoomed up the laneway for a few blocks and landed in front of a Housing Commisson terrace. “Wait here, bro, we gotta get something.” At this point I’d given up worrying about being paid and concentrated on whether I’d be bashed or robbed. Whatever, I figured, if anything happens I’d be able to tell police it was the kids they grilled earlier. If I survived, that is.

Whilst waiting for his mate a back seat passenger made small talk, or to my mind, eliciting information about how much money I was carrying. “Had a good night, boss?” “Nah,” I lied, “nothin’ special.” “You finishin’ soon?” I lied again, “Nah, I’ve only just started a couple of hours ago,” and changed the subject. “Where you guys been?” “Eighteenth birthday party, eh.” “Where yous going next?” He hesitated. “Umm...just next to Redfern police station.” Great, I thought, next stop The Block.

And so we headed for The Block, Sydney’s infamous aboriginal neighbourhood where, after the Redfern riots, taxis required police escorts into the place. Something was going to happen, I just knew it and put my faith in the fact the police vehicle had identified the kids before they’d boarded the cab. Yet whether they’d pursue a simple fare evasion was another question.

Upon arrival one kid commanded I turn into the Block but he was overruled by the dominant mate. Instead we stopped in the laneway next to the railway station. The meter showed $14.50 and as I switched on the cabin light the doors were flung open and they quickly hopped out.

However one kid remained, the dominant fella, seemingly to pay the fare. “Mate,” I told him, “just make it ten bucks.” “Aww, sweeeet, bro!” he exclaimed and handed over a crumpled ten dollar note. “You have a good night, eh,” he said.

Call me cynical, but I’d forgotten about these lovable rascals.

Comments

[Turner Mitteron]

I can imagine that some people who are not taxi drivers would consider this to be a racist posting.
But after 15 years as a Sydney taxi driver I can fully understand your thought processes. When I drove, Tongans were the main problem in my area and I would shudder when 4 drunk tongans got in my cab because I knew that most of the problems were caused by drunk Tongans and I would go out of my way not to pick them up.

If well dressed men in suits on the way home from work started to bash and rob taxi drivers then the same attitude would be taken to picking up well dressed men in suits from the city. It's called the art of survival for a taxi driver.

It's like when you see a man wearing a hat driving a Volvo in the car in front, most of us either slow down or quickly overtake them because from past experience you know they can be erratic drivers.

It makes you feel good, as in your story, when your fears are proved groundless.

[Goldstein]

Most of the times I picked up a koori hail at night (hail = someone not on a rank, just waving at me to stop) they were grateful that I just stopped and picked them up -most drivers just drive straight past..

I had most problems with boozed up Anglo-Celts who wanted to displace their frustrations by calling me dago/wog/Arab c**t -when I'm none of those ethnicities.. My runner (fare evader) was Anglo.. I was held up in the cab by a (middle class) Anglo..

It would be real convenient if all problems could be blamed on a particular ethnic group, but it just ain't so..

[Rainer the cabbie]

Funny that you let him off with a discount. I have carried plenty of Koories, and a few Murrys, in my cab over the years, and not one of them has ever paid the full fare. Nowadays I always offer a discount automatically, I consider it a native tax.