CabShots

1937 De Soto Taxicab 7 passenger (via IMCDB)

Here's an image for my New York expat readers. For anyone who has ever visited that wonderful city check out New York Taxi Photo blog. Besides a compilation of NY cab shots over the years, Lucky also posts fine images of New York neighbourhoods. Another NY blog is Pictures from a Taxi with shots not found in tourist brochures.

New cabbie, taxi grrrl wonders about runners,

C'mon, aren't females supposed to stick together and isn't their some carnal rule that says chicks aren't supposed to dick over other chicks?

Finally, for some weekend funnies head over to that guy who takes your cab booking.

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Dodgy

On Monday evening a passenger related how a Silver Service driver had recently offered his services on a private basis. In quoting a price for her journey he consulted a chart of listed suburbs and added a $10 flag fall. If he was busy, he told her, a friend would respond and it may be a luxury hire car. All of which is illegal.

This was old news to me as such arrangements are common within the industry and have arisen due to substandard white taxis and their drivers. “However that was some years ago,” I confidently stated. “Now white cabs are much better due to some embarrassing media exposure and increased spot checks by authorities.” Of course there is still room for further improvement.

Yesterday I took my own vehicle in for a service which necessitated catching two taxis. Both were substandard with obvious suspension, brake or steering wear. One cab had a front seat stuck in the full-forward position making for an uncomfortable ride pinned up against the dashboard.

It’s hard to blame individual drivers as these cabs may have been from a managed business with numerous vehicles and drivers, rather than owner-operated cabs which tend to be better maintained.

One driver wore a hearing aid and became increasingly frustrated at being directed through the inner west. He apologised for his poor hearing yet the front windows were fully open which did not help communications. But then he had been smoking when I hailed him so the problem was of his own making.

What did concern me, however, was that there was no Driver’s Authority on display. “How long have you been driving?” I asked. Once again he failed to hear me. “Sorry?” I pointed to the empty Authority holder and said, “You have no Authority..” He mumbled something about it being in his bag due to an earlier radio booking, blah, blah, but was clearly bullshitting.

Instead of a decent tip he only scored a rounded-up fare.

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Pilgrims

If you haven't heard about World Youth Day then you've been living under a rock (apologies to international readers) as Sydney is swarming with hordes of wide-eyed youthful pilgrims. Last night I came across a Mass congregation from St Mary's Cathedral milling on a forecourt which resembled a rock concert venue.

This group was one of the unusual sightings around town last night. They were spotted early in the evening carrying the US flag along Bayswater Road to their lodgings in Kings Cross. Most surprising was hearing the sound of gentle song emanating from the group. Given the location I surmised it was a hymn to ward off local evil. Later I came across a bunch of Pharisees wearing flowing robes, headpieces and carrying staffs, lurking on the steps of the NSW Art Gallery. In the Domain opposite a group of Centurian soldiers in full regalia huddled together in the evening chill. Yet the prize for the most hardy performers went to a troupe of aboriginal dancers rehearsing on a pontoon in the middle of Darling Harbour, wearing only loincloths, at 2am! A real test of faith.

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Snaps

There was plenty of media flak on Thursday over the underage dance party police raid. Here a young fella gets frisked by an undercover cop and is cleared to join the party.

It takes a special kind of 'girl' to hang outside on a freezing winters evening dressed to thrill. Unlike the nearby Bulldogs fan safe and snug in his footy jumper and trackies.

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Xchange

Last night whilst taping footage for a forthcoming video I was surprised by a hailee in the dark. Thus, perchance, I captured a mildy amusing exchange.

The passenger, a caring capitalist, first kindly offered to share the cab with a woman waiting in the rain, then unloaded upon his industry with an expletive-laden spray.

WARNING: Liberal use of the 'c' word...

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Indulgence

It doesn’t necessarily hold that cabbies are only ever victims of passengers’ excesses. Quite often we are large beneficiaries of their unusual behaviour which, more often than not involves sex and substances.

For example, early this morning in the western suburbs I accepted a radio booking to the city. I mean, who in their right mind leaves home and heads to Kings Cross at 2am on a Tuesday morning in the middle of winter? Only those seeking further party supplies, it seems.

When I had all but given up after a crap shift, this unexpected fare coupled with a return hail from Rushcutters Bay to Rozelle reaped an extra sixty bucks, thanks very much.

Another example occurred over the weekend. Around 1am a thirty-something woman hailed me in Darlinghurst. “First we need to collect someone from a bar,” she requested, “then take us home to Drummoyne.”

Under normal conditions this fare would run to around $25. However after adding booze, kebabs and cocaine it can approach three times that amount.

Once outside the bar our pick-up, Jamie proved elusive to nail down. If she called him once she called him a hundred times as she competed with the background racket inside the bar. But given she possessed something he craved, he finally staggered outside and into the cab.

From what I could gather she had earlier obtained some cocaine and their arrangement was to meet at 1am and return to her place. This is where the communication problem arose for he expected her to simply deliver the coke to the bar then leave him to continue partying with his mates. Yeah, right.

After she reiterated her expectations he called to me, “Mate, turn the cab around, we’ve got to go back.” It was all about loyalty, he told her, as he couldn’t desert a mate in a bar. Thus he was obliged to bring him along, despite him being a total stranger to her. “Loyalty...", she queried, "then, where do I fit in?” Silence.

Of course she was royally pissed off, especially when back at the bar we repeated the same tiresome charade. “Come out and get in the fuckin’ cab”, Jamie frantically pleaded on the phone, over and over. Although the meter was ticking nobody cared as they were professional types who could easily afford the excess fare.

Once aboard the mate decided he was hungry so we next stopped at a kebab shop which was crowded with drunken revellers. This detour involved another fifteen minute wait during which time the couple in the back seat fell silent, interspersed with strained whispering.

This may have been due to the sound of Jamie practising his coke routine with some sharp clearing of the nostrils followed by deep snorting. Me, I just zoned out practising patience at their expense.

Finally, at her place, the meter approached sixty bucks so they flicked me seventy and left me in peace. By employing a little tolerance $25 became $70. That’s cab driving where sometimes the path of least resistance is the easiest and most profitable.

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Passion

Once a year I take a Saturday night off work to attend a travelling workshop on passion.

UPDATE: Don't know how to get your team kicking more than 2 goals in the first hour ? Try some Passion 101...

UPDATE 2: Swans fly the friendly skies

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Hard-boy

Last Monday, after arriving back in the City from the previous fare, Lost, I stopped for dinner in a Surry Hills cafe. The establishment serves South Asian fare and is operated by fundamental Pakistanis with robes, theological pamphlets...and good lamb.

Shortly after sitting down to a plate of rice, meat and veggies, there was a commotion at the front servery where a fella was bargaining for a cheap meal. He was maybe twenty or forty years old; of South Asian or aboriginal descent; either drunk or on drugs. What was plain was his obvious toughness from a scarred face, bloodshot eyes, unkempt hair and bedraggled attire.

He glanced around at the empty diner, not so much in embarrassment at his impoverished state but in open defiance. As our gaze met his eyes lit up, ‘Ya wanna go!?’ In that instant I easily recognised a hardened street grifter and quickly returned to my meal.

Then a second ruckus occurred when a very drunken couple staggered into the shop. The boyfriend reminded me of that short INXS saxophone player, wearing a sharp casual suit and fast black-framed spectacles, Bono style. They were a trendy inner city couple aged in their thirties.

“Service, my man! Food for my little pappadum,” commanded the boyfriend, delivered in a convivial manner. It sounded pretty funny, actually, and both of them doubled up in laughter whilst the shopkeeper dealt with hard-boy. He, in turn, was surprised by the drunken couple’s rowdy entrance and deliberately stepped back to size them up. Uh oh, I thought...

Read on...

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