Full Circle(1)
Last night I decided to liven up the shift with a change of scene from the usual boring finance workers, buried in their Blackberries. So after midnight I grabbed a coffee and camped outside the Empire Hotel in Kings Cross.
An Islander doorman applied an arbitrary selection criteria to prospective patrons, rejecting around 50%. They wandered off to find a less selective bar, except for one drunken young fella who hung around like a wounded pup.
At one point he challenged the doorman, "Hey, how come you let those guys in, they’re pissed too ?" Whilst I didn’t catch the doorman’s reply, it was short and unambiguous. This had the kid pathetically attempting to apologise, only to be totally ignored. All of which reminded me of Rob's attitude working the door of a New York nightclub.
A prostitute hustled to the cab and opened the passenger door. Pointing across the road she said, "I need you to go over to that doorway and pick up a girl." "Why ?" "Umm...cause she’s got bags." "Why don’t she come out first ?" "She doesn’t want to." "Mate, I don’t want to either," I said, "just grab a passing cab." Which she did, directing the cab to the doorway. A hooker in ridiculous heels appeared, furtively glanced around then scurried across the footpath into the cab, which roared off. She had no bags.
Finally a regular looking fella in his thirties climbed into the front seat. "Where to?" I asked. "Mate, this is going to be just...", and he paused, playing with his phone, "..um, sensational." "Yeah, but where to..?" "Just go straight." I headed off through the Cross.
Finishing with texting he asked, "Driver, what’s your name ?" "Stephen." Offering his hand he said, "Stephen, Ben, pleased to meet you." Fair enough, I thought, and shook hands. However it was around the sixth or seventh handshake in as many blocks that he surprised me by clasping my hand and planting a prolonged kiss on it. Thence patted my knee.
At Central he was so enamoured by my relaxed response to this behaviour, he requested, "Pull over somewhere, I’ve got something special for you." Immediately I stopped at the bus terminal on George Street. "No, no," he protested, "take the next left, there’s an alley around there." Yeah, right.
I laughed at him, "Mate, the only thing special I want from you is bucks; you got any ?" "Of course," he said and handed over a fifty dollar note. The meter showed $11 so I whipped out $40 for him. He refused it, "No, keep going, take me down to Broadway." Putting the fifty on the dashboard I took off whilst he whinged about not being trusted. "Mate, don’t be stupid," I said. "No cabbie will do laneways late at night."
At Broadway I stopped outside the Landsdowne Hotel with the meter showing $15. "This is it," I told him. Opening the door he said, "Just wait here, I’ll be right back." When he refused to take the fifty, I insisted with, "Don’t worry, I trust you." Taking it, he went into the Bottleo and I took off, happy to drop fifteen bucks just to get rid of the prick.
Within five minutes I’d collected a $15 fare back to the Empire Hotel in Kings Cross, where I’d started. No harm done.
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