Cablog

SOP

Many years ago when my son was a boy he would regularly spent weekends at my place in Bondi. One of our Sunday pleasures was walking to the beach for a twilight meal of fish and chips, or pizza, sitting on the grass overlooking the beach.

Later I would hail a taxi for him to head home alone to South Head and each time I instinctively requested a business card from the driver with his plate number. Then I'd phone his mother and notify her of the details.

It was a simple system of risk reduction which never failed, our SOP – safety operating procedure.

Yet in some twelve years of driving taxis I cannot recall anyone ever requesting this from me. Rather they’ll plead, “Please, driver, look after my friend/daughter /lover ? They’re really, really special.”

This happened on a recent Saturday evening when an intoxicated young woman was assisted into the front seat by her girlfriends. After their pleas for special protection I brusquely replied, “Yes, of course,” wishing they’d quit the boozy goodbyes and pledges of undying love and close the friggin’ door before the blocked traffic went feral.

Yet I've often wondered, if these vulnerable passengers are so special, why don’t their friends request my cab number, if only to warn me that I'm on notice? 

This day last week, around 1am, I accepted a radio booking in the suburbs for a staff member from the network. She was travelling into work in our radio room. “We’ve probably talked together over the radio,” I chuckled. “Undoubtedly,” she replied from the back seat.

Then my radio came to life with an inquiry from the operator. After confirming that I’d picked up the fare I was asked to test my alarm button. This took a few minutes of text messages, a radio re-boot, plus camera and microphone activation before finally receiving the all-clear.

Again, this was something I’d never experienced in years of driving taxis. Whilst other drivers have since told me this is a random event, the fact that it occurred immediately after the staff member boarded was significant and I figured they were just looking out for a female colleague, travelling alone in the dead of night. And fair enough too.

What I’m trying to say is when helping those you care about get home alone, don’t be afraid to politely request that the driver provide his taxi plate number. After all, you are entrusting loved ones to the care of a stranger who may not have the same level of concern for their well-being that you expect.

(Further reading - The wrong approach)

What If

Yesterday afternoon when delivering four lively fellas to the Rocks the awesome sight of the Harbour Bridge caused a momentary break in their revelry. At moments like this one can't help but consider how nearly eighty years ago our forefathers had the inspiration and vision to build such a structure.

One passenger then remarked, "You know what? If the the Bridge was being built today the bloody Premier would cancel it halfway through and say, 'Bugger that, the West is more important.'€

Another bloke chimed in, "If the Bridge was being built today the Treasurer would order that costs be cut by eliminating every second bolt."€

To which a third fella added, "Yeah, and if the Bridge was being built today it would only be half as wide - two lanes each way. Idiots."€

It was all very amusing as each rapid-fire comment lampooned our useless State Government, currently headed by new boy, Nathan Rees. This week he waxed lyrical about Sydney's chronic traffic congestion,

"[If] you think you are in traffic, you are in traffic. It's not a relative concept...It's like being in love. If you think you are in love, you are in love. If you think you are in traffic, you are in traffic."

Rather than try to understand this rubbish you may find it easier composing a witty sentence commencing with - If the Bridge was being built today...

UPDATE: Actually, could they even get a bridge started..? According to today's Telegraph,

TEN years after unveiling its bold transport plan for Sydney, the State Government has failed to build a single one of the five major rail projects it promised.

Hopeless.

Short Bits

This week I conducted a Cabpoll for Face Off! @ US Election Watch 08. For your political fix on the US election campaign or to win a trip to the inauguration hit that link.

How about a short scary video involving a weird cabbie ? Check this clip from the vault.

For my New York readers, old friend Patti is an accomplished violinist who has joined a group of string sisters playing covers, soon to be gigging around town. A few tunes here.

A well-known, piece of advertising music which recently caught my attention is featured in this video, a possible ode to those unfortunate home mortgage casualties.

Finally, Harry Chapin's timeless ballad, Taxi. The good sure die way too young.

Gen Z

The newest Neylan, five days old.

On Risk

Early on Sunday morning I carried home two young women in separate fares. Both travelled alone, were moderately intoxicated and both elected to sit up-front. Whilst I engaged in easy conversation with one woman I refused to talk to the other.

The first girl wore a tight, revealing mini skirt and carried a bag of spirit bottles which clinked constantly on the floor. Having her sitting next to me with bare, tanned thighs was somewhat unnerving and I wished she cover them with the bag.

Also her timid posture and nervous small talk suggested that she was acutely self conscious of her exposed legs. They were the elephant in the room, if you like.

Sure, girls are entitled to dress for sex but a private party with friends and a darkened taxi with a stranger are totally different worlds. If a girl is blessed with beautiful legs or breasts and chooses to feature them on a night out, why jeopardise personal safety by sitting up-front in a taxi, especially after drinking ? It doesn't make sense.

Basic commonsense should mean it’s safer to sit in the back of taxis in order to reduce the risk of inappropriate attention, either perceived or real, from the driver. For the next 20 minutes I imposed my own safety measure by completely ignoring her and listening to country music from the radio.

Shortly after this the second girl boarded and sat up-front. She wore black jeans, slouched comfortably in the seat and chatted amicably. This was an unremarkable fare without a shred of sexual tension or physical vulnerability. Good.

(Further reading-Safeguarding)

South

Rather than hit the sack at dawn last Wednesday I boarded a CountyLink train for a four hour journey south to Queanbeyan. I was off to see an old work colleague from thirty years ago who has retired to a nursing village in his home district.

It was only at the last minute I decided to go and found the town pretty much booked out. So the only option was a nights accomodation in a classic country hotel which had clearly seen better days.

This provided many memories from the years working with the old mate throughout New South Wales, often staying in local pubs like this one. There was nothing better to cure (or compound) homesickness than to get smashed at the bar, then stagger upstairs to collapse into a welcome coma, ahead of another hard day trudging through the bush. It had been 25 years since we last saw each other so a few old photos helped jog the fading memory banks. Whilst dementia is a cruel disease the pain affects the connections as much as the patients, who often appear oblivious to their condition.

Besides the distinct hotel odours of beer, smoke and industrial cleaning agents, other senses were jogged such as music recollections. Whilst having a monster country hamburger for lunch the juke box played, When Tomorrow Comes which I recalled from that time but now learn it was released a few years later in 1986. That 'ol memory again...no matter, the tune contains one of the best opening minutes in rock history. Have a nice weekend.   

(images enlarge)

Dawn

This morning, down south @ 6:34am...

More tomorrow.

Cabpoll 08

Yesterday I chatted with Brendan, a Democrat Abroad volunteer living in Sydney. I started proceedings by giving 'ol John McCain a friendly back-hander before we moved onto the Democrats absentee voting campaign and Sydney's strong support for Obama.

Finally, at right, I attempted to entice Brendan into some premature triumphalism plus some gratuitous Hillary-bashing but he graciously defended her hard work and loyal supporters with a few well-made points.

(apologies for the variable technical quality in Part B due to the so-called 'Harbour Bridge road surface'. But really, it's a lame excuse so I've sacked my useless production team to ensure standards are maintained for next week's inaugural Cabpoll Face-Off

UPDATE: Brendan would also like to notify any American expats and others interested in US politics that Democrats Abroad offer a range of services, resources and contacts in addition to balloting and registration information. You're welcome to visit their website.

Honesty

Yesterday afternoon a young woman climbed in at the Coogee Bay Hotel for a local address. She was an English backpacker and recounted a tale of extreme generosity by a taxi driver.

“When I arrived in Sydney the first thing my girlfriends told me was to watch out for the taxi drivers," she said. "They’ll take you around the world if you’re not careful.” Yawn.

“They’re probably just being hospitable,” I joked, “and giving you a tour around town.” “A few weeks ago,” she continued, “I was in the Cross late at night and didn’t have much money-about $20-and needed to get to a friend’s house in Annandale.”

Twenty bucks was pretty close to the fare anyway but just to be sure she warned the driver before boarding the cab. The cabbie agreed to take her due to her being honest straight-up, rather than upon arrival which is what often happens in those situations.

With only a partial address they drove around until finally locating the house, but her friends weren't home. So rather than wait she decided to head back to Coogee...with no money. Once again, the driver willingly agreed to take her, for free, even stopping at Maccas for food and shouting her a cheeseburger.

All up this amounted to a $40-50 exercise. “Surely you had plastic?” I asked. “Nup,” she claimed, “my credit card was maxed-out and the savings account was empty. I was earning shit money and had spent the last of it on the night.”

Whilst I regarded the driver’s generosity hard to believe her spending was definitely irresponsible and placed unfair emotional pressure on the driver. Sure, she was a charming and vivacious girl, but still...

“Sorry, but I wouldn’t have driven you back to Coogee,” I flatly told her. “Maybe to a bus stop but not all the way to Coogee. Most drivers work for money, not charity.” She just laughed good-naturedly, “I guess I got lucky, then,” and gave a small tip. This left me feeling lousy for being so forthright.

Undoubtedly some people will freely help others who don’t necessarily deserve help, but I’m somewhat more judgemental. And it would be fair to say most cabbies are also selective with their charity, increasingly so given the frightening economic situation.

Wet

Elizabeth Bay, 6:40pm

Elizabeth Bay, 6:41pm

Kings Cross, 6:42pm