Unsavoury Conversations With Taxi-Drivers Part 2

Twelve years later and I’m not late for work but I have just completed a long train journey.

I work in the North-East of England, it’s not a good job, I don’t do well and I live in a terraced house I can barely afford – small back yard, tiny garden, shitty kitchen, all that – and I’m penniless soon after I’m paid.

I grab a taxi outside the station. I’ve just travelled several hundred miles to the South-West and I’m not keen on the fifteen-minute walk to my lodgings.

Random Taxi Driver: FUCK ME! BEEN A WHILE. WHERE YOU OFF TO?

He’s one of those over-familiar sorts who pretend to know everyone. Brilliant.

Me: I’ve forgotten the street name. If you go to Name Pub, take a left up the hill and that’s it.

RTD: THAT’S IT, PAL – IF YOU KNOW WHERE IT IS, I’LL FUCKING GET YOU THERE!

That’s now two ‘fuck’s in as many minutes, it’s all a bit unsavoury and I’ve had a long day already.

RTD: STILL AT THE PAPER ARE YOU, CHIEF?

How does he know where I worked twelve years ago? And why is he speaking in Caps Lock?

I stare at the side of his face. It’s only bloody John The Taxi, isn’t it?

I try and figure-out the chances of this. It’s a small town in the South-West so I suppose it is quite likely.

Me: No, I left a few years ago. Moved away as well.

John The Taxi: FUCK ME. THOUGHT IT HAD BEEN A WHILE. HOW LONG, YOU RECKON?

Me: About twelve years I think.

JTT: [Briefly hitting the brakes] TWELVE FUCKING YEARS? USED TO LIVE IN THAT BIG HOUSE, YEAH? WITH THE FUCKING PRIVATE CARPARK, YEAH? WHERE YOU MOVED TO THEN?

Me: Christ could you just watch- Erm. Back up North.

JTT: WHAT YOU BACK HERE FOR, THEN?

Me: Well, I have a son and a daughter now. They live here. Me and their mother didn’t make it, she moved back here, so, you know….

JTT: [Briefly hitting the brakes] HOLD ON! WHERE YOU STAYING? NOT FUCKING WITH HER FOR FUCK’S SAKE?

Me: Really, could you just watch before you do that? The road, I mean. Behind us…I just want to get there in one piece.

JTT: YOU AIN’T FUCKING STAYING WITH HER THOUGH?

Me: Ah, no.

JTT: THANK FUCK FOR THAT. YOU DON’T WANT TO GO DOWN THAT FUCKING ROAD, CHIEF. TAKE IT FROM ME. FUCK.

Me: Ok, then.

I don’t ask him to elaborate. This is, after all, a man who prefers a bowel movement to actual sexual intercourse. God only knows what stories he has to tell.

JTT: FUCK. ANYWAY, HERE WE ARE THEN.

Me: Yeah, ah, thanks.

JTT: TWELVE FUCKING YEARS!

It’s like that scene in Grosse Point Blank but without the inherent likeability of all involved.

Me: Ah. Yes. Eight quid? It’s been five minutes. That's gone up.

JTT: Everything changes.