In the first part of this here little story of mine I gave the historical context of driving and me. Read it once more to refresh yourself on how we find ourselves here.
In the world of being a pedestrian even I can’t walk everywhere and sometimes the bus is not suitable for the requirements. It followed then that I would find taxis very convenient. A brief history of my time with taxis before the Stoke-on-Trent years was that I rarely recall using them at all unless it was back in the Wellingborough days.
There were those times when I’d be with my mother and other siblings and as every woman is wired to do she’d be shopping. (At this point I can imagine one or two members of female species who will state that they don’t actually like the shopping and leave it to their significant other to do … these rare women are being reported right now as part of the Geneva Convention for Women’s Inalienable Rights to be emotionally and mentally reconfigured appropriately.)
So with me Mum not being able to drive after getting her hands full of bags, she was not able to traipse back to the crib and so depended on taxis. I remember back in Wellingborough they had yellow taxis and there was a taxi driver we would use regularly in his yellow taxi, I think his name was Mike, which of course narrows it down significantly.
Other than that I don’t recall using the taxis in the university years even when I was in London (or considering maybe that should read especially when I was in London). So taxis became a big deal for me when I was in Stoke-on-Trent. Even then they weren’t that big a deal for the most part but they played a good part in my travel experiences especially in the later years of my time there.
The real turnaround in my relationships with taxis came as a result of my brother. I don’t think he holds the apathy to driving that I do, but he doesn’t drive, so he was used to the taxi business. I remember him coming to visit me in Stoke-on-Trent in 2005 and I shared a taxi with him. Up until that point I never really engaged with taxi drivers, I’d just go in the back, relax myself and let the driver chauffeur me to my destination with minimum fuss.
Yet on this trip as I settled in the back, my brother had the audacity of sitting up front with the taxi driver. Not only that, but he had the temerity to strike up a conversation with the driver. Well, this was new to me. Now my brother is hardly an extrovert, he’s not one to just start conversations for the sake of it and I always thought him to be a bloke who kept himself to himself. Here he was, though, passing the time of day with a complete stranger who, in all likelihood, he would never meet again.
This was an eye-opener for me. I picked up the habit myself and found the journeys went by a lot better when I’d established some connection with the driver and we got talking about a subject of their interest. I’d like to think I’m an alright conversationalist with a particularly good line in appearing interested in people, so it was great to get to know a little bit about these men who spend their lives driving people with their shopping, or their children, or their alcohol, and/or their egos to wherever they wanted to go.
I reckon there are some professions that we take for granted and in fact privately despise or demean and the taxi-driving is one of them. Yeah some of them can be rude and obnoxious, others can appear to have all the lifeskills of a dead parrot, but you’ll find people like that in all walks of life (except in the veterinary industry, anyone who is like a dead parrot maybe off-putting to some of their patients). These men and women do not get the credit they deserve or support they need for what they do.
This came home hard after a recent taxi trip where the driver shared about some of the dangers they face on the job. The verbal and physical abuse they can suffer as well as possibility of losing a day’s earnings with little come back or support from the local authorities or their own companies make it a hazardous profession indeed. In as much as they can be miserable, moaning and mealy-mouthed, consider some of the passengers they are asked to transport.
Think about a typical Friday or Saturday night where the lads are out on the town and pile into a taxi thoroughly inebriated and itching for a fight. Think of that irritating woman who will complain about everything and anything even debating the price of the taxi fare and kicking up a fuss that is more than anyone’s worth. Think about the sort of things these drivers have to endure with the crazy customers that can climb aboard and the driver can hardly stop and force them out of the vehicle.
The driver has little recourse when he is victimised, yet for many it is their source of survival, it is how they get bread on the table. They risk mental stability and physical safety enduring this and also driving in the same position for hours at a time causing further aggravation. To simply refer to the fact that they choose to do it and must live with it is not a good enough response.
So this here story acts as a tribute to the taxi driver. Thank you for all you do in carting ungrateful plebs to their destination. Thank you for enduring the suffering and tedium of your job. May your trade be given more protection and recognition in our society and may your lot be alleviated by grateful, interesting and generous customers who far outweigh the plebs.
Most of all thank you for always being available to take me for a ride.
For His Name’s Sake
Shalom
dmcd
Life With CD 
When I was in Ghana, I preferred my husband to do the shoppping. He was better at getting bargains and even now he is looking for a present for his mother-in-law’s birthday on behalf of the family. Does that mean Geneva is for me?
His name was not Mike. It was Keith