Woeful Wednesday: Woes of A Taxi Driver

It’s Woeful Wednesday! Why woeful, you ask? Because weekend is still 2 days away, so it’s not really time to be cheerful yet. Okay, anyway…

My dad was a taxi driver (he still is), and he has been driving for as long as I remember. Being a taxi driver was what he worked as in order to provide for us as a father. When I was a kid, I used to see him only during weekends, because he would be either working (he was a mechanic in the day) or driving (taxi in the evening). So father-children time was very little. I can’t remember when, but at some point during my growing up, Dad turned to driving full-time, and that was when we got to see and talk to him more.

Few days ago, I was chatting with him, and we talked about the many situations a taxi driver would find himself in. Given the 20 odds years he spent working as a taxi driver, surely there has to be some interesting stories he could tell. Today, I’m going to share with you one (one, because there are going to be more Wednesdays 😛 ) story that my father told me during our father and son time.

The Gangster

My old man was driving night shift one evening. He couldn’t remember where it happened, so I’m not going to cheat by using the name of any location from the map that my finger lands on. Let’s just call the road as Random Road.

So my dad was in Random Road, and traffic was a little heavy. It was the evening peak hour rush. A man by the side of the road was trying to get a taxi, but he wasn’t having any luck. Then a taxi (not my dad’s) appeared, and he waved for it to stop. My dad was just about few cars behind them.

After the guy opened the door of the taxi that stopped for him, and was about to hop in, my dad noticed the guy standing and talking to the taxi driver for a while. Apparently it wasn’t pleasant, because the guy soon turned aggressive. His body language was showing how he felt. My dad was watching as he moved his taxi slowly in the traffic.

Then the taxi, for reasons that we do not know, drove off and closed the door using the speed of his cab. Strange how the taxi could drive to the speed fast enough to close the door during peak hours. I can’t comprehend that either. Let’s move on and just enjoy the story.

Back to Mr Stranger. He was pissed, and he wanted to get back at the taxi driver for… again, reasons we don’t know. He then got into the next cab he could find, and it was… you got it, my dad’s. My dad, being the gentleman who never liked trouble, decided that the safest course of action would be to drive according to where and what his passenger wanted. But that time, instead of going to say, brothel house, his instruction to my dad was, “follow the taxi in front”.

Did I forget to mention that he was carrying a huge stone the size of a Milo tin with him?

He carried the stone with him into my dad’s taxi, and instructed my dad to follow the cab which the driver had a disagreement with him just moments earlier. I would have rejected him if I were the one driving the ta… never mind. Stone.

He had an agenda, and my dad knew exactly what it was. He said nothing and gassed the pedal, trying not to further provoke this angry tiger he had picked up. His new passenger wound down the window, and was ready to throw the fucking stone at the taxi he had a grudge against. My dad instinctively knew that trouble was going to be inevitable.

Luck came very soon, as my dad wasn’t able to catch up with bad boy taxi. No, he didn’t slow his taxi down on purpose. Remember that it was peak hour? Don’t ask; I’m not sure why the traffic turned slow again. But it did, and the speed of the traffic plus the number of cars on Random Road made it impossible for my dad to play James Bond.

So my dad lost the taxi in front, and his angry passenger did not get to finish what he wanted to do. He reached his destination, and even though my dad was magnanimous enough to not ask for the fares, he paid up in the end.

It was a win-win for both, maybe?

What’s the most woeful thing that happened to you?

41c1d-originalAndy Lawson is the average man on the street that you’ll not even trouble yourself looking at him if he passes by you. He’s sensitive to bullshit, and he hates mediocrity in most people. He is the author of his self-published book: Facts and Fiction of Fengshui: Facts that Masters are NOT Telling You. He doesn’t have Facebook or Twitter, because he hates to be associated with people who tend to be passive-aggressive online, but he does have a very limited set of vocabularies, terrible grammar, a twisted mind that makes himself God in his own twisted world and an ability to communicate with people who wish to be his friend.

 

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