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| Restaurant mirror, KL, Brickfields |
I just knew, the minute I saw his face.
I was totally one hundred percent sure he'd make me an offer.
I just got into the taxi, at Royal Parade, outside my flat, "Spencer street. Southern Cross station," and deliberately I added,"skybus station."
I was still rummaging around, arranging my two backpacks in the crammed space between my long legs and the front seat. I hadn't had a chance to look at the driver's face.
When I did I was sure.
"You going to Geelong ?" he asked me.
'He's circling to eliminate clear no-goers,' I thought, 'there's no point to show his hand until he has to, clever.'
"No. Tulla. Tullamarine airport." I tell him and wait for it. I'm sure it'll come.
'If I'm right, he'll go for this and come out with it' I tell myself.
"Why ?" he asks me, "we are in Brunswick, you spend 12, 15 dollars going to Skybus. Pay Skybus. Why not go to Airport from here ?"
There it was ! Out in the open !
I have always wondered why no taxi driver ever tried this one on me. Everytime I took a cab to the Skybus I wondered. That's why I always mentioned the Skybus, never just Southern Cross Station.
It looked like I had found my man.
The others just did what I said. Zombie like they drove cabs, resentment of their situation apparent in every movement.
This guy was different.
He was still alive.
This guy was different.
He was still alive.
I felt I was in SE Asia already.
A good omen, I told myself.
"From here to Southern Cross is only ten dollars," I told him, "I've done this many times."
"But not so far to airport," he replied, " I don't take toll road, I go up Brunswick and Bell street then into freeway."
"Yea, I know that one," I tell him, " you mean Melville road."
My ego wants to make sure he realizes that I'm an old hand at this and know my geography, so no point to bullshit me.
"No, not ....ahh..yes...yes... Melville Road."
"Then left into Bell street and right into the freeway after the tollway section," I complete the description.
"Yes."
"How much is that ?" I ask him.
"Only $28 or so."
The airport bus is $17, the taxi to the bus stop is going to be 10 or 11.
The offer he's making me is attractive.
"No way," I look at him, laughing, "it's more than that. Give me a fixed price. Turn off the meter."
"Can't do that," he shakes his head.
He's quiet for a while.
"Ok, I turn the meter off at 28 dollars," he thinks another moment, "thirty dollars, we've been driving to the city already," he adds.
It's amazing how many thoughts can go through one's mind in a spit second. I remember AJ's theory of how the first steps in anything set the tone. In a company the first few people set the tone. No matter how big the company gets, it's go the fingerprints and character of those founders ghosting around in it forever. I like AJ's theory.
This is the start of my journey to Kuala Lumpur, part of a quest, part of another story.
Do I want to be bloody minded about a few bucks here and there ?
How do I want to start this journey ?
What direction do I want to give this trip ?
"Ok. If you turn the meter off at thirty dollars, lets go."
We do a U turn and off we go the path I'd outlined.
I'm a little surprised at myself. 'What if he doesn't stick to the deal ?'
'The world won't end' I calm myself. I can live with it. So I pay a little more, and I learn something.
Fine.
But I trust him. I feel that he's honest.
"Good for me, good for you," he tells me as we turn off Royal Parade into Brunswick Road.
"You have comfortable ride," he continues, "I have good fare to airport."
"I go shortest way," he tells me as we drive, "one passenger isn't going to make me rich."
"No, that's true," I agree.
"Whats a few dollars here and there ?" he asks me, "doesn't make big difference."
'True' I think, I've often thought the same. 'What's the point of stressing and straining like crazy for that extra 10% ? If I really want seriously more money I'd have to change my job, do a business, do something totally different. This guy understands that.'
I like his philosophy.
"I tell you truth," he tells me, "other drivers tell you, 'go freeway', pay tollway far, another four dollars. Its' not faster."
"No, you're right," I tell him, " I used to drive taxis, and they told us that freeways are not really faster unless it's exactly the direction you want to go. Too much time and effort getting on and off them. They were right. It's easier just to go slower and the direct way."
"Yes," he agrees," you drive fast, you feel you go fast, but you take time to get there, time to get out."
Exactly. I'm happy to have found someone who understands this.
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| it just fell like this, by 'chance' |
I'm warm, I don't have to listen to the airport bus's taped messages, advertising and the anally retentive safety warnings.
And I don't like that UV blue light they have at night on the bus.
"How many miles on the tacho ?" I ask him.
He mumbles something, not sure why I ask.
I tell him about a taxi I took which had 950,000Km on the meter, still with the same engine.
The driver told me the car was on the road 24/7, the engine never cooled down.
"This car, not like that. I drive it until 12 o'clock. I'm not young, I'm 54," he tells me.
"What's the point of a few more dollars, if you get sick ? The young guys they can drive until 5 o'clock," he adds.
We are on the freeway no, the non toll way part.
The meter gets to $30. I point to it. He turns it off.
The computer dispatch panel beeps.
"When I drove cabs in 1983 they didn't have computer dispatches," I tell him, "I had to be fast on the radio button, but they always gave the jobs to the old guys. I didn't bother much with radio work then."
"Nothing's changed," he tells me, "The good jobs go to the staff cars and people they know."
"Yea," I agree," that's why I used to just cruise. I loved to just keep moving, check out the places where I thought people would be."
"That's the way you do it. If you drove now, you be a good taxi driver," he tells me.
I laugh, "Yes, I liked the freedom, the choice to go where I wanted, where I thought I might find work."
"I used to drive while doing my Grad Dip. After lectures, I wandered down the Astoria depot and get the oldest most beaten up depot cars. Kingswoods that leaned to one side and floated all over the road in 'S' curves."
'....and the reason you didn't do radio work was because you hate competing, hate fighting others...' my little voice of honesty tells me.
The little voice is right. I loved cruising, and I avoided the messy business of fighting for radio work, it reminded me of sea gulls fighting for bread crumbs.
Ugly.
No thanks.
I know every job has that competitive part, and every job I've had I've run from the sea gull bits.
'One day I'll join in and ...' ..that thought always scares me, I might be too good at it, do too much damage... well perhaps one day.... .
"Do you own the car ?" I ask.
"No, we lease. Two people. He drive daytime, I drive night."
The little voice is right. I loved cruising, and I avoided the messy business of fighting for radio work, it reminded me of sea gulls fighting for bread crumbs.
Ugly.
No thanks.
I know every job has that competitive part, and every job I've had I've run from the sea gull bits.
'One day I'll join in and ...' ..that thought always scares me, I might be too good at it, do too much damage... well perhaps one day.... .
"Do you own the car ?" I ask.
"No, we lease. Two people. He drive daytime, I drive night."
I've had trips in which the cabbie never said a word, never looked at me, just drove.
I like this guy, and give him a tip that totally blows the hard negotiated economics out of the water.For me, it's a donation at a temple.
A good omen.
