If I can’t understand one breed of individuals (well, let alone women), most definitely it would be Taxi drivers.
No matter which country you go to, there are some peculiarities you are bound to come across. The most evident of all is ‘I’ve got the wheel…’ well, sometimes they do successful wrap it all up with their nicety and in the hope of a handsome tip. But, you come on, you know it, I know it… it shows.
So, after such a boring pretext, I will touch the nerve…
I dropped my colleague at the airport at an unearthly hour and sipped on the horrible tasting stupendously expensive airport black coffee. I walked out of the departures hall and walked down to the taxi stand. Gazing at the early morning stars and wondering what time it might be in my country, where my beloved ones might be and what they might be doing, if they would take a moment to miss me and bla bla.
Well, I waited for my turn and the cab rolled in front of me. As I’m used to asking, I did “Can we go to Pearse Stree, Please.”
I waited, while he rolled his windows down. I repeated with as much politeness as possible. He just nodded and the good lord of cabs agreed to take me there.
There I was, clad with a jumper and a jacket that makes me look twice my size, trying to squeeze my ass into the front seat. (Now, this was the whole idea of sitting next to the driver and being polite and stuff) So, as I was sinking into the seat, there handle was out of my reach so I just tried pulling the door by grabbing the window. In a split second, I was shouting with agony. “Please, roll them down. My fingers. Jesus.”
Noel, the cabbie, just looked at me amused but least bothered about my state. I pretty much shouted, “My fingers are breaking, can you please roll the window down.” Looking back, I’m surprised, I didn’t swear, I didn’t call for the sweet Jesus neither did I shout at him. Man, what is wrong with me.
Anyways, I land my ass and my fingers in one peace in the cab. And the wheels roll.
I said “You pretty much broke them.”
I was expecting a not meant but well said “Sorry.”
However, Noel said, “You shouldn’t put your fingers in wrong place, man. There is a handle there.”
“Ahh, is there one, I missed it.” I was so set to go on the sarcastic spree.
“So where on the pearse street?”
“Gallary Qauay”
“Ahh, that new, emm …”
“Yeah those fancy glass apartments, I’ve to go there.”
“Do you work there? hann”
Sweet, so what did he think I was, garbage-man, house assistant or guard to go to one of his shifts? I replied, “Ahh, It is residential complex, so people live there and so do I. I work in
“IT?”
“Google.”
“You can’t sleep though, when you go home, it would tough to get to office then.”
The million dollar advice I was looking for. “True. I don’t think I’ll sleep.”
“Yeah, your fingers would keep you awake.”
I couldn’t believe that son of a gun said that, I replied, “Well, then I owe you the day. I need to thank you for doing the favor.”
Hardly did I know, it was just beginning to get interesting.
He rolled his side of window down and it there was a pleasant breeze outside and we were driving by the river. I too wanted to roll the window down. So, I did.
Expert’s comment followed “Watch your fingers though.”
I’ve to admit that he pinned the last nail on the coffin.
We pulled in right in front of my apartment and I asked for receipt. He said, “So you want to give the receipt to Google?”
“Most certainly.”
“Yeah that would cover your hospital bill.”
I said, “We don’t go to hospital for something like this, But I thank you for your invaluable advice.”
“No problem. Here is your receipt.”
Dam it, he’s got the wheel, I should have at least sworn.
Traveller
