All a flutter
Nov. 8th, 2006 01:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyring"You're not much of an Aussie, are you?"
She had hopped into my cab, sitting in the back like an American, and of course her accent gave her away completely.
I'd just confessed that no, I hadn't had a bet on the Melbourne Cup, and in fact, I hadn't particularly cared which horse won. She then described how she, and delegates from all over the world, had come to Australia for an important meeting, "and in the middle of the afternoon, we all went downstairs to watch the race on big screens and get sloshed."
The Chinese delegates, she said, had been particularly nonplussed.
Well, that's the way it is in Australia. The entire State of Victioria declares a holiday so people can enjoy the race without even the pretext of work getting in the way. Just about every workplace holds a Melbourne Cup lunch which segues into the race itself, a few celebratory or consolatory drinks, and by then the afternnon is wasted. And so are the workers.
The Canberra Racecourse has a race meeting on the day of the Cup, and everyone dresses up outrageously. And gets sozzled. The police know this, and block all the exits with random breath testing teams, so of course the lines for taxis are long and emotional. A couple of commissionaires move over from airport duty to handle the crowds and ensure that passengers are matched up to cabs fairly.
My shift began at three and I was one of the first cabbies to pull up at the temporary rank. I began picking up groups of racegoers, all togged out and ready to keep on partying. I took several to the "All Bar Nun" in O'Connor, which quickly turned into a Melbourne Cup day drinking mob. I could see people walking the kilometre on foot along David Street from the corporate offices on Northbourne Avenue, the woman teetering purposefully along the footpath in their heels, the men wearing once a year hats and lurid ties.
I decided that the O'Connor shops might be an interesting place for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
My next fare from the racetrack summed up my fears. Referring to his fellow racegoers, he said to me, "I think some of them want to deposit their lunch in your taxi."
I was thinking the same. Even with the fifty dollar "soilage" fee, it's still not worth it having a passenger throw up in the cab. I'd gotten a heavy duty bag and tucked it handily away in a seat pocket, and an extra box or two of tissues, but even so, I'd much rather not have to use them.
I kept on returning to the racetrack, because the queues rapidly got longer, in response to the desperate calls from the commissionaires over the Mobile Despatch Terminal: "20 cars needed for races, please assist" or "200 people waiting at racetrack rank", but eventually I got a job that took me away from the action and out to the airport, where there were so few cabs waiting that I was able to get a fare immediately, without having to go and stand in the cab yard feeder rank.
My work pretty much kept me south of the lake for the rest of the shift, though I could follow the progress of the drinking party over the MDT, as the calls for racetrack pickups dwindled, and those from the Northside clubs and bars increased. There were very few cabbes willing to go and pick up drunks from the "All Bar Nun" - any taxi would be immediately beseiged by the twenty or so drunks who had ordered a cab and weren't picky about getting into the correct one. A couple of innocents got caught up in the event, and I noticed frantic calls from base that there were two fares in O'Connor from private residences, including one to the airport. If I'd been closer, I would have responded, but by then I was long elsewhere, away down to Banks, at the far southern end of Canberra.
Well, it was certainly a grand day to be a cabbie. There was a vast amount of work around, and it wasn't until about two in the morning that I was scratching for more. By then I'd made nearly as much again as I had for the previous night. The late night jobs were remainders from the Cup, but they were no trouble, and I had a long and enchanting conversation with one chap I picked up from the Hyatt, who had been a cabbie thirty years before, and told me stories of his days before the age of computer despatch, when your voice relationship with the radio operators meant the difference between a good day and a bad.
"They soon learned which cabs - and cabbies - were good'uns, and if you went out to a difficult or distant job, they'd string you some fares back so you didn't have the cab empty," he smiled reflectively, the solid middleaged man looking back on his days as a skinny student working nights and weekends. "Made pots of money, too - you just had to let them know you were prepared to do the work."
I'd like to be thought of as a "good'un". I got plenty of tips from passengers last night, but the rewards above and beyond the fare that give me the most pleasure are the smiles from passengers who I've been able to help. Little things like holding the door open for a lady with a cane so she could exit the cab with some dignity. People don't have to pay me a couple of dollars to make me happy. A smile is enough.
She had hopped into my cab, sitting in the back like an American, and of course her accent gave her away completely.
I'd just confessed that no, I hadn't had a bet on the Melbourne Cup, and in fact, I hadn't particularly cared which horse won. She then described how she, and delegates from all over the world, had come to Australia for an important meeting, "and in the middle of the afternoon, we all went downstairs to watch the race on big screens and get sloshed."
The Chinese delegates, she said, had been particularly nonplussed.
Well, that's the way it is in Australia. The entire State of Victioria declares a holiday so people can enjoy the race without even the pretext of work getting in the way. Just about every workplace holds a Melbourne Cup lunch which segues into the race itself, a few celebratory or consolatory drinks, and by then the afternnon is wasted. And so are the workers.
The Canberra Racecourse has a race meeting on the day of the Cup, and everyone dresses up outrageously. And gets sozzled. The police know this, and block all the exits with random breath testing teams, so of course the lines for taxis are long and emotional. A couple of commissionaires move over from airport duty to handle the crowds and ensure that passengers are matched up to cabs fairly.
My shift began at three and I was one of the first cabbies to pull up at the temporary rank. I began picking up groups of racegoers, all togged out and ready to keep on partying. I took several to the "All Bar Nun" in O'Connor, which quickly turned into a Melbourne Cup day drinking mob. I could see people walking the kilometre on foot along David Street from the corporate offices on Northbourne Avenue, the woman teetering purposefully along the footpath in their heels, the men wearing once a year hats and lurid ties.
I decided that the O'Connor shops might be an interesting place for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
My next fare from the racetrack summed up my fears. Referring to his fellow racegoers, he said to me, "I think some of them want to deposit their lunch in your taxi."
I was thinking the same. Even with the fifty dollar "soilage" fee, it's still not worth it having a passenger throw up in the cab. I'd gotten a heavy duty bag and tucked it handily away in a seat pocket, and an extra box or two of tissues, but even so, I'd much rather not have to use them.
I kept on returning to the racetrack, because the queues rapidly got longer, in response to the desperate calls from the commissionaires over the Mobile Despatch Terminal: "20 cars needed for races, please assist" or "200 people waiting at racetrack rank", but eventually I got a job that took me away from the action and out to the airport, where there were so few cabs waiting that I was able to get a fare immediately, without having to go and stand in the cab yard feeder rank.
My work pretty much kept me south of the lake for the rest of the shift, though I could follow the progress of the drinking party over the MDT, as the calls for racetrack pickups dwindled, and those from the Northside clubs and bars increased. There were very few cabbes willing to go and pick up drunks from the "All Bar Nun" - any taxi would be immediately beseiged by the twenty or so drunks who had ordered a cab and weren't picky about getting into the correct one. A couple of innocents got caught up in the event, and I noticed frantic calls from base that there were two fares in O'Connor from private residences, including one to the airport. If I'd been closer, I would have responded, but by then I was long elsewhere, away down to Banks, at the far southern end of Canberra.
Well, it was certainly a grand day to be a cabbie. There was a vast amount of work around, and it wasn't until about two in the morning that I was scratching for more. By then I'd made nearly as much again as I had for the previous night. The late night jobs were remainders from the Cup, but they were no trouble, and I had a long and enchanting conversation with one chap I picked up from the Hyatt, who had been a cabbie thirty years before, and told me stories of his days before the age of computer despatch, when your voice relationship with the radio operators meant the difference between a good day and a bad.
"They soon learned which cabs - and cabbies - were good'uns, and if you went out to a difficult or distant job, they'd string you some fares back so you didn't have the cab empty," he smiled reflectively, the solid middleaged man looking back on his days as a skinny student working nights and weekends. "Made pots of money, too - you just had to let them know you were prepared to do the work."
I'd like to be thought of as a "good'un". I got plenty of tips from passengers last night, but the rewards above and beyond the fare that give me the most pleasure are the smiles from passengers who I've been able to help. Little things like holding the door open for a lady with a cane so she could exit the cab with some dignity. People don't have to pay me a couple of dollars to make me happy. A smile is enough.
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-08 04:50 am (UTC)Keep up the stories - you tell them so well.
You are obviously enjoying it which is great.
Please check out our convention Forum thread posts - Nomads is filling fast.