A good night
Nov. 27th, 2008 02:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyringIt started off bad. Real bad.
I had such a headache that I contemplated ringing up the owner and saying that I couldn't drive tonight. But I popped a couple of Panadol and got dressed, and when my head still hurt - "J'ai une mal de tete," I moaned to myself in le mirror - I took a couple more and that did the trick.
Note from the day driver when I got to the cab, saying that the meter and alarm button had been reconnected, and that the the in-built navigation software will "drive you to destinations". Hmmm.
At least the meter was fixed, so I could work more or less normally. I found a job almost immediately, Silver Service in the city, going to the airport (naturally). I arrived and there were three Silver Service cabs lined up for eight passengers.
"I'll just fill up my bus," said Dragan, whose Tarago can take seven passengers.
But we arranged the passengers between the three cabs and set off for the airport. They were happy conference attendees, glad to be off home, looking forward to a quiet drink in the lounge before catching their flights. I smiled at some of their jokes about Canberra, but as we neared the airport, my eyes pricked up.
It's about a kilometre of roadworks on the way in, and every day is a new adventure when new sections are finished. There have been some major changes over the past week, but today was the big one: they had opened up the overpass at the entrance. No more of the choked roundabout and angry drivers as the stream of officeworkers heading home battle it out with the flow of cabs leaving the airport.
I dropped my passengers at the terminal and tried out the new exit. Seems to work OK.
So I was in a sunny mood for the shift, and I had a succession of lovely passengers, all of whom managed to brighten my night. Probably the best shift I've ever had.
There was a call to the Parliament House underground car park, to take a genial old gentleman and his daughters to a nearby motel. I fussed over them, tucking them in and soothing their complaints about having to wait for a cab so long that they had had to call Silver Service for an immediate pickup.
Their motel was close to Manuka, and I pulled in for my regular coffee. "A huge, family size skinny latte," I'll say, my hands sketching an enormous cup, and they smile and make me a large size. I don't have to ask any more, actually - the barristas know what I want and they start work as soon as they see me. I also chose something sweet and fatty from the mouthwatering array of pastryworks on display.
I love a good cup of coffee, and Artoven makes the best. Served with a smile.
A lady from Campbell to the airport, who was ten minutes early (as was I), and she chatted me up all the way, leaving me smiling.
There was a pickup at the airport rank, a youngish chap who spotted the photographs of Ringbear at various locations around the world. He told me about a recent trip to Europe with his wife and four young children, where they had picked up a small toy Highland cow, whom they named "Mac the Yak" and photographed in front of landmarks. Eiffel Tower, Buckingham Palace...
I took my hat off to him. Travelling with four kids deserves a medal in my book, but he'd had a wonderful time, and I loved his travel tales.
Coming back, I got chipped for a Silver Service pickup at the airport. Normally I detest these, because I have to wait around with the meter running and if the passenger doesn't show, it's a disaster for me, usually while other cabbies are cleaning up a queue of passengers on the rank.
"Kaleen," this chap said, naming a street unfamiliar to me. I plugged it into the GPS navigator and we amused ourselves for the rest of the trip as it tried to steer us through the Glenloch Interchange, despite both driver and passenger agreeing on a far shorter route. As we neared the destination it told me to make a right turn into a cul de sac. From the wrong end. There was no way I could follow the instructions without going up someone's driveway and through their back fence.
I drove back to the airport and got another chatty passenger all the way down to Conder. Great big fare and we had a lovely conversation all the way. This is what I live for as a cabbie.
Then there was a call to the Ottoman restaurant. I was interested in this, because I'd booked a table for two on the following night for a dinner to celebrate my silver anniversary.
The passenger looked at me as he got in, saying "Our paths cross yet again!". I see a lot more passengers than he does cabbies, I'll bet, and he lost me for a moment. Then it came back to me. He was the grumpy passenger who swore at me when I balked at fitting a mountain of baggage into my boot. I'd written a blog entry putting my side of the story and left a copy in his mailbox. He referred to this and made an apology for being grumpy, saying that yes, it had been at the end of an international flight. I made my own apology too, for being so ungracious. I should have tried for a smile instead of sulking, but I don't get many people cursing me.
We got on just fine then. Realistically, with a crying baby and frazzled parents at the end of a long international trip and a crowded taxi queue, it's going to be hard not to be tense and ready to snap at a carping cabbie.
We shook hands, exchanged smiles, and I made a mental note to be a happier cabbie in future. Even if I've had a bad shift, that's not the passenger's fault, and my job is to deliver passengers smiling at their destinations. Happy passenger equals happy cabbie.
I dropped him off and got another job immediately. Turned out to be four Olympic sports referees at a bar, and we drove them home via the Australian Institute of Sports accomodation, before I took the local resident way out to the far end of Belconnen. They joked amongst themselves about the worst flights of their careers. Careers that had spanned decades and dozens of countries, and boy, did they have some horror stories!
By that time, stuck out on the edge of the city, I was almost out of gas, and I stopped at a servo to fill up. The owner has given each cab a gas card, and we have to use it at a certain brand of service station, of which only one or two stay open all night long. This one closed at midnight, and I was lucky to find it open.
As I pulled away, I got a call from Ken Haley, the famous wheelchair travel author. Could I pick him up from Fyshwick, and how soon could I bee there? Yikes. A long way away, but with no traffic on the roads and those mostly freeway.... "Ah, twenty minutes." I said, and it was so.
Something about Ken. He sets me laughing, charms me into doing little extra chores, and always sends me off smiling. He had a mate with him at pickup, a co-worker who was planning a long overseas trip and had asked me for advice, freely given. Some people have the travel bug and here we were, three kindred spirits in a midnight meeting.
Ken's got one of those happy personalities, and he knows exactly how to make me smile, with clever wordplay, travel anecdotes, historical trivia from his encyclopaedic memory, and a sympathetic ear. He's one of the few passengers I'd drive across town and battle other cabbies for the pleasure of having him in my cab.
He sent me on my way smiling and happy. My next job was to pick up a young lady in fancy dress at one of the new hotels in Civic. she had had a longer day than I had, but she was in a sunny mood, and set out to charm me, calling me "sweetie" and smiling. It worked a treat.
Final job of the night was a call to transport a pastrycook to Manuka. To Artoven. I've picked him up before, to start his shift as mine comes to an end, and he knows how much I relish his rockcakes. He's another darling man - the first time I dropped him at Artoven on a Sunday morning the place was still open and I could see, by the way the waitresses lined up for hugs, that he was a honey.
And that was my night. I went home humming and happy. I love my job.
I had such a headache that I contemplated ringing up the owner and saying that I couldn't drive tonight. But I popped a couple of Panadol and got dressed, and when my head still hurt - "J'ai une mal de tete," I moaned to myself in le mirror - I took a couple more and that did the trick.
Note from the day driver when I got to the cab, saying that the meter and alarm button had been reconnected, and that the the in-built navigation software will "drive you to destinations". Hmmm.
At least the meter was fixed, so I could work more or less normally. I found a job almost immediately, Silver Service in the city, going to the airport (naturally). I arrived and there were three Silver Service cabs lined up for eight passengers.
"I'll just fill up my bus," said Dragan, whose Tarago can take seven passengers.
But we arranged the passengers between the three cabs and set off for the airport. They were happy conference attendees, glad to be off home, looking forward to a quiet drink in the lounge before catching their flights. I smiled at some of their jokes about Canberra, but as we neared the airport, my eyes pricked up.
It's about a kilometre of roadworks on the way in, and every day is a new adventure when new sections are finished. There have been some major changes over the past week, but today was the big one: they had opened up the overpass at the entrance. No more of the choked roundabout and angry drivers as the stream of officeworkers heading home battle it out with the flow of cabs leaving the airport.
I dropped my passengers at the terminal and tried out the new exit. Seems to work OK.
So I was in a sunny mood for the shift, and I had a succession of lovely passengers, all of whom managed to brighten my night. Probably the best shift I've ever had.
There was a call to the Parliament House underground car park, to take a genial old gentleman and his daughters to a nearby motel. I fussed over them, tucking them in and soothing their complaints about having to wait for a cab so long that they had had to call Silver Service for an immediate pickup.
Their motel was close to Manuka, and I pulled in for my regular coffee. "A huge, family size skinny latte," I'll say, my hands sketching an enormous cup, and they smile and make me a large size. I don't have to ask any more, actually - the barristas know what I want and they start work as soon as they see me. I also chose something sweet and fatty from the mouthwatering array of pastryworks on display.
I love a good cup of coffee, and Artoven makes the best. Served with a smile.
A lady from Campbell to the airport, who was ten minutes early (as was I), and she chatted me up all the way, leaving me smiling.
There was a pickup at the airport rank, a youngish chap who spotted the photographs of Ringbear at various locations around the world. He told me about a recent trip to Europe with his wife and four young children, where they had picked up a small toy Highland cow, whom they named "Mac the Yak" and photographed in front of landmarks. Eiffel Tower, Buckingham Palace...
I took my hat off to him. Travelling with four kids deserves a medal in my book, but he'd had a wonderful time, and I loved his travel tales.
Coming back, I got chipped for a Silver Service pickup at the airport. Normally I detest these, because I have to wait around with the meter running and if the passenger doesn't show, it's a disaster for me, usually while other cabbies are cleaning up a queue of passengers on the rank.
"Kaleen," this chap said, naming a street unfamiliar to me. I plugged it into the GPS navigator and we amused ourselves for the rest of the trip as it tried to steer us through the Glenloch Interchange, despite both driver and passenger agreeing on a far shorter route. As we neared the destination it told me to make a right turn into a cul de sac. From the wrong end. There was no way I could follow the instructions without going up someone's driveway and through their back fence.
I drove back to the airport and got another chatty passenger all the way down to Conder. Great big fare and we had a lovely conversation all the way. This is what I live for as a cabbie.
Then there was a call to the Ottoman restaurant. I was interested in this, because I'd booked a table for two on the following night for a dinner to celebrate my silver anniversary.
The passenger looked at me as he got in, saying "Our paths cross yet again!". I see a lot more passengers than he does cabbies, I'll bet, and he lost me for a moment. Then it came back to me. He was the grumpy passenger who swore at me when I balked at fitting a mountain of baggage into my boot. I'd written a blog entry putting my side of the story and left a copy in his mailbox. He referred to this and made an apology for being grumpy, saying that yes, it had been at the end of an international flight. I made my own apology too, for being so ungracious. I should have tried for a smile instead of sulking, but I don't get many people cursing me.
We got on just fine then. Realistically, with a crying baby and frazzled parents at the end of a long international trip and a crowded taxi queue, it's going to be hard not to be tense and ready to snap at a carping cabbie.
We shook hands, exchanged smiles, and I made a mental note to be a happier cabbie in future. Even if I've had a bad shift, that's not the passenger's fault, and my job is to deliver passengers smiling at their destinations. Happy passenger equals happy cabbie.
I dropped him off and got another job immediately. Turned out to be four Olympic sports referees at a bar, and we drove them home via the Australian Institute of Sports accomodation, before I took the local resident way out to the far end of Belconnen. They joked amongst themselves about the worst flights of their careers. Careers that had spanned decades and dozens of countries, and boy, did they have some horror stories!
By that time, stuck out on the edge of the city, I was almost out of gas, and I stopped at a servo to fill up. The owner has given each cab a gas card, and we have to use it at a certain brand of service station, of which only one or two stay open all night long. This one closed at midnight, and I was lucky to find it open.
As I pulled away, I got a call from Ken Haley, the famous wheelchair travel author. Could I pick him up from Fyshwick, and how soon could I bee there? Yikes. A long way away, but with no traffic on the roads and those mostly freeway.... "Ah, twenty minutes." I said, and it was so.
Something about Ken. He sets me laughing, charms me into doing little extra chores, and always sends me off smiling. He had a mate with him at pickup, a co-worker who was planning a long overseas trip and had asked me for advice, freely given. Some people have the travel bug and here we were, three kindred spirits in a midnight meeting.
Ken's got one of those happy personalities, and he knows exactly how to make me smile, with clever wordplay, travel anecdotes, historical trivia from his encyclopaedic memory, and a sympathetic ear. He's one of the few passengers I'd drive across town and battle other cabbies for the pleasure of having him in my cab.
He sent me on my way smiling and happy. My next job was to pick up a young lady in fancy dress at one of the new hotels in Civic. she had had a longer day than I had, but she was in a sunny mood, and set out to charm me, calling me "sweetie" and smiling. It worked a treat.
Final job of the night was a call to transport a pastrycook to Manuka. To Artoven. I've picked him up before, to start his shift as mine comes to an end, and he knows how much I relish his rockcakes. He's another darling man - the first time I dropped him at Artoven on a Sunday morning the place was still open and I could see, by the way the waitresses lined up for hugs, that he was a honey.
And that was my night. I went home humming and happy. I love my job.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-11-27 07:02 am (UTC)I seem to get these! Guys who don't know where our main road is!
no subject
Date: 2008-11-27 10:03 am (UTC)Your tales are a joy to read.
'Mac the Yak'
Date: 2008-11-27 10:06 am (UTC)It's name is 'disbuzzerybee' :p
I love your job too :D
Re: 'Mac the Yak'
Date: 2008-11-27 03:40 pm (UTC)***groan***
no subject
Date: 2008-11-27 12:13 pm (UTC)Christmas in 4 weeks - good luck! with the best and worst of them :-)