The Sh*t My Taxi Driver Says

At 6am on Sunday, with my wife in labor and terrible pain, we got into a black cab in London. I asked to be taken to the maternity unit, oddly enough, in UCLH. The driver then drove us to a completely unrelated office block quite a way from the hospital and said,

“There ya go ‘guv”.

When we pointed out it wasn’t the hospital he replied with, “I dunno, it used to be here years ago, will this not do ya?”

Knowledge my arse.

So some taxi driver picked me up…

…told me he thought I was a rent boy. It’s not my fault that I am young and have the appearance of a dashing gent about town. But he went on and on about my looking like a rent boy. But I said nothing. 

Then at the end of the journey, I asked him for a receipt and told him I was from the DOE and conducting random checks on taxi’s. At this stage he shits himself, and asks, in his words

“oh fuck! Whats going to happen about this then?!”

Remaining stoic I replied ” I cant really say mate. I need your driver number, registration number and that receipt please”

He then drives off nearly crying because all he did was give me abuse and call me a rent boy the whole journey.

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So..

…we get a taxi from the city centre to my gaff. The night is not going [redacted] way already. A set of lost keys means he is staying in my house. Its dark, we have no cigarettes and as we would find out, [redacted] was about to launch chemical warfare on the taxi-driving community. A group of well-meaning, cheery, helpful samaritans at this ungodly hour…yup.

The driver is actually quite a decent sort. Female. It doesn’t get off to a good start as we get in and say “A’right mate”

Lovely stuff.

On the way to the house via the all-night garage [redacted] releases what can only be described as a gaseous equivalent of an Adam Sandler movie and Jessy J’s back catalogue. The previously mute lady then states with the seriousness of Liam Neeson

“I can kick you out of the car for that”

“For what? Farting” I reply

“Yes, we’re allowed to” she retorts.

I don’t bother asking if there are a set of rules for such eventualities. Best take her word on this one. No other words are spoken.The window is opened.

Farters beware. Taxi drivers have skills. Special skills. They will find you. And probably overcharge as well….(tbf, it was a horrific release…like something crawled up his ass and died)

**Changes radio station from Cool FM to Radio Five**

“Just wanna see how Andy Williams is getting on in the tennis”

I lol’d. 

Jumped into a Taxi soaked through to the bone.

Me: Busy tonight Mate?

Driver: Is that some sort of sexually reference?

*It remained quiet from then on, luckily it was a short journey*

Driver: So, you working?

Me: Aye, but my job’s coming to an end. Soon be looking for a new one.

Driver: (pointing to local fast food joint) Get in there and tell them Lithuanian workers to get tae fuck! Thems jobs for the locals, thems is.

Me: How do you know they’re Lithuanian?

Driver pretends not to hear the question and returns to his monologue about ‘the importance of being kind to people’.

My driver emerges from the taxi rank office and silently we walk to his car. After both getting in the car and buckling up the conversation goes as follows….

Taxi Man - “That f***in stupid f**khead has boxed me in. Nothin’ but a f***in f**khead so he is”

Me - “Who is he?”

Taxi Man - “That f***in one thats just started”

Me - “Oh dear” (good afternoon to you too….yes i’m heading into city centre please…….oh sorry we’re not at that part of the conversation yet…I do apologise….please….carry on with this colourful portrayal of your newest colleague)

Taxi Man - “Hes parked on a f***in disability ramp an’ all too f***in             d***head……………………(drives past the front of taxi rank glaring at who I can only assume is the newest member of the team)……So…where’are we off to luv?”

The end.

I must say though…rant aside he did get me to my destination in tiptop time and it was a wonderfully smooth journey :)

I would like to dedicate this next song to my claustrophobic driving buddy… 

Glasgow taxi driver to me.

Have you been in that new bar yet on Renfield street?

Nah, I don’t think so - what’s it called?

Albaronne.

Albaronne?  I’ve never heard of it.

Aye Albaronne - speciality is wine to attract the wimmin clientele.

Do you not mean All Bar One.

Oh aye I thought it was Albaronne.

(Driver rolls down window and I poke my head in and ask if he’s free)

Driver: Aye. Where ye for?

Me: Antrim Road.

Driver: You’re not for Whitehead?

Me: No.

Driver: It’s just, I live in Whitehead. It’d be better if you were going to Whitehead.

Me: Sorry, Antrim Road.

(long pause while driver thinks)

Driver: Nah mate, can’t be arsed with that. (Drives off)