Cablog

Dogs

There's not much one can do when passengers jump aboard, uninvited, whilst I'm dropping off a fare. The doors are open, I'm stuck in traffic, and vulnerable to whoever spots the cab first. It's the luck of the draw on Saturday night.

My luck ran out this weekend when scumbags caught me unawares by piling in the cab, then doing a runner. Twice in the space of two hours: Star Casino to Malabar ($45), thence Kings Cross to Marrickville ($40).

After a second visit to the police in one night I gave up and went home, three hours early. This plus an hour spent Sunday afternoon downloading camera images...all in all a very expensive weekend.

The only positive note from the sorry affair was witnessing the download process for the first time, and learning our new cameras retain images for three weeks. The excellent picture resolution and lighting make for definitive identification.

Also encouraging news for drivers is that images can be downloaded and police notified at our convenience. The network employs a camera technician who is licensed to download images prior to obtaining a police request. Another hurdle to drivers which has been removed from the process.

If these dogs are known to police thence some active resolve amongst investigators should see a result. Unfortunately, though, front line police don't have a consistent approach to taxi fare evasion.

As experienced in the past, police responses on Saturday night were either helpful or...challenging, literally. “Mate, what exactly do you want us to do?” Um, take fare evasion seriously would be a good starting point.

However that attitude should become redundant once the transport authority adopts Melbourne's regulation of mandatory pre-payment at night. Once that happens - possibly, not until the next cabbie is killed – then these runners, the bane of our lives, should disappear overnight.

A final thought - my last ten runners (four fares) have all being aged over thirty years old. Why? I only demand pre-payment from 'kids' as one doesn't automatically expect older adults to run from taxis. Yet they run just as much as kids run. Strange.

No matter, as I called out to two dogs and a bitch scampering away in the dark the other night, “You don't rob cabbies - that's a dog act!”

Speed

Saturday was one long run of 'outs', saved only by grinding it out until 5am. Sunday however was one long run of dream connections, each a home run. Yet the most rewarding fare was one of the shortest.

A fella in a wheelchair waited at at a suburban railway rank for me to swing around. The chair loaded without folding, a cut-down, high performance version and light as a feather. We headed off for a local.

“What happened to you?” I asked. “Motorbike, out west”, he replied. “Two thousand and nine.” “What do they say, is it permanent?” “Pretty much,” he said. “Can you sue anyone?” I joked. “Only myself”, he chuckled in a calm, good-natured manner. A very relaxing presence.

“But hey, I can't complain,” he continued. “Life is actually pretty good.” Indeed. The bloke had just returned from ski training in Japan, preparing for the the 2014 winter Olympics in Russia. “What event?” I asked. “Downhill and slalom,” he said. The big hitters of the program.

It sounded cool, and I told him so.” “Yeah,” he laughed, “I love going really fast.” A man at his happiest. On departure I said, “Mate, I'll be cheering for your maximum speed in 2014.”

From thereon in, reflection on his story throughout the shift produced an easy and profitable rhythm. I slowed down, figuring the best thing one could do for para-Olympians is not join them. Only support them.

Dumb

A dumb passenger stunt involves those sitting behind me who alight by flinging the door wide open, without any regard for passing traffic.

These idiots don't seem to realise or care that besides the potential for serious injury they are also responsible for any vehicle damage.

In particular mothers featured this weekend for dumb stuff involving children...

Smart

Sunday mornings at Kings Cross sees hordes of stranded and wasted kids desperately searching for a taxi. Many give up and start walking in the hope of jagging a cab on the way.

I encounter these kids outside a cafe on the perimeter of the KX zoo. “Are you a taxi driver?” they ask as I sip coffee and have a cigarette. Or they'll enter the cafe and accost me at the counter in an attempt to secure a ride, even offering to pay extra.

Last weekend a lone woman aged around 20 approached. She was surprisingly vibrant compared to the usual glum, strung-out clubbers walking home after a long night...

C***

Late on Friday afternoon I had a beer at the Watson's Bay hotel with a young Irish relative who had just arrived in Australia that morning. Our great, great grandfathers were brothers from County Clare.

“Australia needs more people”, I told him, “and given our migrant history we may as well take more Irish, rather than those who come here and milk our generous welfare system.”

Twenty four hours later, St Patrick's Day, I was accused by four young Irish women of 'racially abusing them'. I was dumbfounded and said to the policeman, “Mate, why would I do that? I'm Irish too!”...

Dragons

These kids sat in the back and requested to go out west. The cabbie asked to see the money. When they refused he threw them out, then gave as good as he got. Welcome to the Year of the Dragon...

 

Clowns

Well it's time for a update after being side tracked over a video project, finished just in time for Christmas. This precluded all else, including emails, blogging and other regular tasks. Except work, of course.

This damage above happened when a boy/punk stood in the middle of the road hailing wildly. He had already stopped one cab with the door wide open and upon seeing me approach he suddenly stepped into my lane. As I swerved he cocked his arm and punched the side mirror, smashing the glass and weather shield...

Jokers

For the moment Cablog has taken a back seat to a mind-boggling adventure in the world of high definiton video production. So with Christmas upon us delivery is a priority, hence the dearth of postings. My apologies. Yet the beat goes on in the cab world.

In cabbie parlance, 'there's a lot of bloody idiots out there'. I explained as much to an aboriginal girl last night. “Sydney has five million people so there's a lot more bloody idiots here than you have back home. Be careful.” Home was a border town of two pubs and two police stations.

She was pretty agricultural, fresh off the bus and heading to see some Bangladeshi joker willing to pay the $110 fare. Whilst such a job could often go wrong I never doubted her honesty. Or maybe a fare rip-off early on Sunday morning had me too jaded to care...

Queens

I don't suppose anyone made it to the Diva awards on Monday night at Fox Studios, or partied on at Kit and Kaboodle in Kings Cross? Fair enough, most would be reluctant to go out on a Monday night.

What irks me about carting drag queens is the amount of sticky glitter they leave over the back seat. Or fragments of feather. Yet those ankle-snapping 12 inch platforms are a worry.

A big shout out to Queen Liz, an old favourite. During my birth she did but pass by St Margaret's hospital in Bourke Street.

This site is now groovy apartments opposite the Beresford hotel, a popular queen hangout and a stones throw from Sydney's oldest drag spot, the Taxi Club on Flinders Street.

Brides

There are numerous transport options for a bride and groom on their big day. They can live the dream by going the horse and carriage mode, the original taxi cab... Or they can simply take off their shoes and walk across the road to a beach ceremony, as my son and his wife did in May. That's the beauty of Palm Cove, Far North Queensland.

Years ago on a Saturday afternoon I collected a bride in full regalia with her father and a bridesmaid. She was late, of course, but with the meter ticking who cares. They were headed to a park on the cliffs at South Bondi for a windswept ceremony thanks to blustery summer breeze.

Late last night I carried a bride, sans husband, home from the wedding reception in Centennial Park. My booking was for guests with a young baby. After some mucking around I got them loaded and strapped in only to spot the bride and groom wandering off into the dark, looking for a cab. We took the bride.

She sat up front, happy and tired and chatted with her friends. The bloke was absolutely stoked when I found his lost cuff link, a family heirloom, in the grass outside the restaurant. This plus setting up the baby seat for them landed me a twenty buck tip. Sweet.

And it was pretty strange having a brand new bride sitting next to me, shimmering in a strapless white gown and updating her Facebook page. That was a missed photo opportunity.