Ex-cabbie
The taxidriving thing has been going downhill for a long time. When I started in October 2006, aiming to gain enough money to feed my travel habit, it was great. There were only a couple of hundred cabbies on the road at any one time, and at peak times we’d be flat out. I worked [...]
Playing games with public transport
My day driver and his wife came over last night. Peskie, as he is known by other cabbies, routinely pulls in a bazillion bucks a shift and is adored by his passengers.
And his night driver. And the cab’s owner, who would likely marry him if he wasn’t already taken.
Two delightful people and we had a lovely evening – very rare for us to actually have some free time together. Usually we are ships passing in the night.
Cabbie as hero
I’ve been watching a movie about a heroic taxidriver. He saves hundreds from certain death, gets his passengers home safely – apart from one, who enters the cab in the first few minutes of the film and is still there at the end – battles with self confidence, makes love in the surf, and goes out to win one for the Zipper.
Long weekend
I’ve been reasonably discreet with the news, but I was involved in yet another cab crash on Friday morning. Just after midnight, on the way in to the Alinga Street rank with the city centre full of young folk and the prospect of three hours of work, a young lady made a right turn across traffic, imagining that the green light freed her from the duty of giving way to oncoming traffic – me.
Mistook
An open-air ninja concert featuring Amanda Palmer – Neil Gaiman’s brand new punk cabaret queen wife – and it looked like a merry scene as my passenger walked to join her friends, green gauze skirt brushing her thighs.
Finding the flow
I’m getting quite a collection of taxicab material. Books, memoirs, songs. Perhaps the best is Hack, by the New York Jewish lesbian nightcabbie Melissa Plaut. I heard her once, late at night, on NPR talking about her book and her first shift, which in one of those episodes of synchronicity, involved survivors of 9/11.
Remembrance
“Airport, please!” he said, helping his wife into the back seat. Red remembrance poppies in their buttonholes, and she was wearing a row of ribbons over her right breast. Armistice Day today, and there had been the annual ceremony at the Australian War Memorial.
A fine Scottish family restaurant
Maccas. It’s a big part of a night cabbie’s life.
Oh, not in the way you might think. Sure, every now and then I might weaken and hit them for a slender latte, or even a burger if I’m low, late at night. Or, like last night, just whip in to use their toilets.
Saturday night too far away
Friday night too tired,
Saturday night too drunk,
Sunday too far away.
Taxi 66
We talked Route 66 and the USA all the way. The food, the cars, the motels, the people. I mentioned that I’m planning my own father-son trip along Route 66 next year. From the other side of the generation gap. Myself, my son and my daughter.
