Cabdriver in Paradise

St John's Church Richmond,
originally uploaded by skyring.

A priest and a taxi driver both died and went to heaven. St. Peter was at the pearly gates waiting for them.

‘Come with me’, said St. Peter to the taxi driver.

The taxi driver did as he was told and followed St. Peter to a mansion. It had everything you could imagine from a bowling alley to an olympic size pool in the extensive gardens.

‘Wow, thank you’, said the taxi driver.

Next, St. Peter led the priest to a rugged old shack with a bunk bed and a little old black and white television set.

‘Wait, I think you are a little mixed up’, said the priest. ‘Shouldn’t I be the one who gets the mansion? After all I was a priest, went to church every day, and preached God’s word.’

‘Yes, that’s true. But during your sermons people slept. When the taxi driver drove, everyone prayed.

Screen test

One Happy Cabbie,
originally uploaded by skyring.

From the Melbourne Herald-Sun:

TAXI drivers have ended a city blockade after ugly scenes today, but vow to continue their protest over safety screens.

They called on the minister to change laws introduced this year that make it compulsory for owners to purchase and install safety screens, regardless of whether drivers want them.

Earlier, about 50 drivers were behind a related wildcat action that brought the Tullamarine Freeway to a crawl, with cars three abreast across the road from Melbourne Airport soon after 8am.

Thousands of city-bound motorists were forced to crawl along behind them at just 5km/h, causing morning chaos along the airport-city link.

Full story here.

I’m with the Melbourne taxidrivers on this. The day they make me drive behind some sort of plastic shield is the day I stop driving.

On the face of it, it seems like a good idea. Keep the driver safe from violent passengers. He doesn’t have to worry that someone’s going to pull a knife on him, or try to strangle him with the seatbelt.

Or kiss him.

The way to deal with crazies is to have the police deal with them. The message a safety shield sends is that it’s okay to have a go at the cabbie, we’re just going to make it more difficult to get to him.

For my part, I relish the personal contact with passengers. Sure I’ve been worried about some of them, but nobody’s ever offered me violence or threatened me. On the other hand, I’ve had a few kiss me or shake my hand, and that means the world to me. It means I’m doing my job right.

Funny runner

Corey,
originally uploaded by skyring.

Wednesday night shift, winding down. I was hunting for the last few fares to put me over budget, and after I dropped a merry couple in Hackett a job came up in Dickson. I was torn between wanting to gas up at the Dickson service station where I could use the taxi’s fuel card (as opposed to paying for fuel myself and waiting several weeks for reimbursement) or earning a few dollars.

I figured any fare coming out of Dickson early Thursday morning wouldn’t be going too far, and I’d end up about as far from the Shell servo as I was now, so I hit the button and got the job.

Corey from Dickson going to the City. Well, that was fine too. There was a bit of work in the City, so I could string the jobs together and worry about gassing up later.

Corey wasn’t waiting at the address specified. He was over the other side of the street, on a corner, flagging me down. That’s a bad sign right there - he calls for a cab and then doesn’t wait a single minute, no he’s off looking for any passing cab. If I’d been any slower I might have lost my passenger to another cabbie.

But I collected him, quoted the name on the job screen and we were off to the City. He must have been a comedian in his day job, because he launches into a standup routine in my front seat, and geez he was funny. Kept me chuckling all the way down Northbourne Avenue.

“Any places still open?” he asks me, and I name Mooseheads as a possibility, and the Casino as a certainty. We pull up outside Mooseheads and he peers at it, saying that if it’s no fun, he’ll look for me at the cab rank. Then he gets out, disappears inside and that’s the last I see of him. There’s $12.90 on the meter, but I’m not about to leave my cab where the cops will pounce on me if I go inside to hunt up the money.

Funny guy.

I go around to the rank, but there’s a passenger waiting, I take him off to a distant suburb and I never get back to the city before my shift ends. Normally I’d not worry too much about thirteen dollars, but in this case, I’ve got the feeling I’ve been taken for a ride. So to speak.

Never mind. I’ve got Corey’s address to investigate, and I’ll try the polite approach first.