![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyringWednesday night I took off. I wasn't going to spend my silver anniversary driving a cab. Instead we went to Ottoman restaurant, where we enjoyed the degustation. I had mine with wine, Kerri without, and we shared sips. Absolutely yummy all the way through. Oddly enough, I enjoyed the mushroom most of all.
For an old public service cafe, the place is grand. We were seated beside a window looking out onto a small Turkish style garden, water feature and tiled columns in the greenery. About half full of leisurely top feeders, senior public servants, lobbyists and the like. There were a couple of private rooms with heavy hitters. Security guys browsing up and down with tubes in their ears.
But it would take a lot to match the football team we had at the adjoining table in Rags in Brisbane, twenty-five years back, when we had a private dinner before our nuptials the next day. We sipped champagne and they swilled beer.
Friday night, I picked a passenger up at the airport. "Carwoola," he said. I looked blank. "It's about ten minutes past Queanbeyan," he informed me, and off we went.
Leaving the airport, I got a call from Ken, my regular wheelchair Friday passenger. He wanted an immediate pickup from Manuka, and though he's usually happy to wait ten or fifteen minutes for me, it would be the best part of an hour before I could pick him up and I regretfully advised him to take another cab.
Carwoola and back through kangaroo territory and the remnants of torrential rains that had put creeks over the road here and there. I swung back into the airport cabyard, joining the line.
Phone rings, and it's Ken. He needs a pickup from a motel in Narrabundah. I peel out, glad to avoid being tagged for a Silver Service job at the airport, narrowly missing my brother cabbie Dragan who is leaving the cabyard from the opposite side. He lives for these jobs, and I'm ever happy to let him have them.
Pulling up at the motel, I find Ken propping up the bar as best he can in his wheelchair. He's telling his story to the barman and the motel manager, and he orders me a Coke - "You can't drink, you're driving me home." - while he finishes his tale,
It seems that he got a taxi on Manuka rank, but the cabbie didn't want a disabled person in his cab. Ken's wheelchair folds up and the wheels come off, so it's only a matter of moments to pull it apart and stow it in the boot. Eventually Ken talked his way in - he's one of the most charming men I've ever met - and they set off for Narrabundah to collect his laundry from the motel. When they got there and Ken said that he wanted to continue on to his home in Queanbeyan, the cabbie jacked up and would go no further. There was a conversation with the base over the radio, but the end result was that Ken was left stranded at the motel.
Some cabbies must be idiots. Especially the Friday night driver in Taxi 481. But the bottom line was that I had the pleasure of Ken's company for another half hour or so.
I normally have weekends off, but the owner gave me the chance to drive a Sunday shift, which I jumpt at, and I cleaned up, as the night was full of Parliamentary staffers getting into Canberra early for the sitting week, and I shuttled people to and from the airport. Had more work than I could handle, despite a flat tyre, and was late getting the cab home after cleaning up.
For an old public service cafe, the place is grand. We were seated beside a window looking out onto a small Turkish style garden, water feature and tiled columns in the greenery. About half full of leisurely top feeders, senior public servants, lobbyists and the like. There were a couple of private rooms with heavy hitters. Security guys browsing up and down with tubes in their ears.
But it would take a lot to match the football team we had at the adjoining table in Rags in Brisbane, twenty-five years back, when we had a private dinner before our nuptials the next day. We sipped champagne and they swilled beer.
Friday night, I picked a passenger up at the airport. "Carwoola," he said. I looked blank. "It's about ten minutes past Queanbeyan," he informed me, and off we went.
Leaving the airport, I got a call from Ken, my regular wheelchair Friday passenger. He wanted an immediate pickup from Manuka, and though he's usually happy to wait ten or fifteen minutes for me, it would be the best part of an hour before I could pick him up and I regretfully advised him to take another cab.
Carwoola and back through kangaroo territory and the remnants of torrential rains that had put creeks over the road here and there. I swung back into the airport cabyard, joining the line.
Phone rings, and it's Ken. He needs a pickup from a motel in Narrabundah. I peel out, glad to avoid being tagged for a Silver Service job at the airport, narrowly missing my brother cabbie Dragan who is leaving the cabyard from the opposite side. He lives for these jobs, and I'm ever happy to let him have them.
Pulling up at the motel, I find Ken propping up the bar as best he can in his wheelchair. He's telling his story to the barman and the motel manager, and he orders me a Coke - "You can't drink, you're driving me home." - while he finishes his tale,
It seems that he got a taxi on Manuka rank, but the cabbie didn't want a disabled person in his cab. Ken's wheelchair folds up and the wheels come off, so it's only a matter of moments to pull it apart and stow it in the boot. Eventually Ken talked his way in - he's one of the most charming men I've ever met - and they set off for Narrabundah to collect his laundry from the motel. When they got there and Ken said that he wanted to continue on to his home in Queanbeyan, the cabbie jacked up and would go no further. There was a conversation with the base over the radio, but the end result was that Ken was left stranded at the motel.
Some cabbies must be idiots. Especially the Friday night driver in Taxi 481. But the bottom line was that I had the pleasure of Ken's company for another half hour or so.
I normally have weekends off, but the owner gave me the chance to drive a Sunday shift, which I jumpt at, and I cleaned up, as the night was full of Parliamentary staffers getting into Canberra early for the sitting week, and I shuttled people to and from the airport. Had more work than I could handle, despite a flat tyre, and was late getting the cab home after cleaning up.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-12-04 07:20 am (UTC)