Taxi Driver
By bitingmylip
The alarm went off at 6.20. 6.20. That means I had about 4 hours sleep. God. How can anyone function on 4 hours sleep? Plus I felt like sixteen tiny men were hitting the sides of my brain with not so tiny sledgehammers. Thud thud thud went my head in time with the alarm’s beep.
He was not moving, so I reached over and picked up the beeping phone and held it right next to his ear. He moved then. After he’d shut off the bloody thing he looked at me.
“You going to work from here then?” he said. I thought about it for a few minutes. That would mean 2 more hours in bed. It would also mean going to work in yesterday’s clothes. I decided against it.
“No, I’ll get a taxi home then go in,” I said, tentatively. He shrugged and picked up the phone to order me a taxi.
It arrived about ten minutes later. When the driver knocked on the door it set my head buzzing with hangover again. I managed a brief peck on the cheek before shuffling out into the morning drizzle in yesterday’s clothing.
The taxi driver held the door open for me. What a gentleman, I thought. He was a nice looking gentleman too: kind face, rounded tummy, jaunty hat. I sat in the back and put my seatbelt on as he got in the driver’s seat. A sudden thought made me check my wallet and I realised I didn’t have any spare cash. How had I spent 60 quid on a Wednesday night? Had I been mugged?
“Excuse me, but it’s ten pounds right?” I asked, my voice gruff in that not-long-been-awake way.
“That’s right,” he said.
“I’ve just realised I’ve not enough money,” I said. “Can we stop at a cash point on the way?”
“How much have you got?” the taxi man enquired. I counted.
“Err… a fiver,” I said. “In coins.”
“Oh right,” he chortled. “We’ll stop then.”
“Yeah, there’s a cash point near my house if we don’t see one before,” I informed him.
“OK, we’ll find one.”
I sat back and closed my eyes briefly.
“Difficult place to find, this one,” the driver remarked.
“Yeah,” I said, my eyes still closed. A few more minutes passed.
“The worst thing that can happen to any human being happened to me the other day,” the taxi driver said conversationally.
I opened one eye warily. “Oh yes?” I said. He turned slightly in his seat to look at me.
“Yeah,” he continued. “And I tell you this because something shitty happens to everyone at some point in their lives, and you should be prepared.”
I must have made some noise that seemed to invite him to carry on.
“See, I just split up with my girlfriend, and I had to re-mortgage my house to pay her her share. And now I can’t afford the repayments on the house.”
Not knowing much about mortgages or live-in lovers, I made some sympathetic sound and rubbed my eyes. He turned to look at me again. We were in a traffic jam. How was there a traffic jam at 7am? Why wasn’t everyone in bed?
“Yeah, see now, 2 people, 2 people could afford the payments. But one person on their own – I can’t afford the payments.” He turned back to look at the road but continued talking. “And now the bank has repossessed my house. I’ve got four weeks to come up with 8 grand, or they’ll kick me out.”
“Oh no,” I said, “That’s awful.”
Encouraged, he turned around again, one hand on the steering wheel.
“I know,” he said. “So now I lost my woman, and I’m about to lose my house. I’m living at my brothers and all I do is work. Work work work. Trying to do whatever I can to get that money. Otherwise, you know, I can see myself becoming a tramp. Living on the streets. Can’t let that happen.”
“No,” I said, horrified, “of course not. How long were you with your girlfriend?”
“16 years,” he answered. “16 years! 16 years and one day she turns around and says we’re not together anymore. So I lose her, then I lose money, now I lose the house.”
He shook his head. Some radio talk show babbled quietly under the hum of the engine.
“That’s terrible,” I said after a few minutes. “But – er – I need a cash point…”
“Oh yes,” he said, “I’ll keep my eye out. So anyway – like I say I’m staying at my brother’s. Can’t think about it too much or it’ll drive me mad. But it’s terrible. How old are you, 20?”
“I’m 23,” I say.
“23. Well, that’s still young, but you know, it’s unfortunate. Something like this will happen to you at some point in your life. Something awful happens to everyone at some point. Oh look – cash point.”
With this he swerved the car into a Tesco petrol station and pulled up alongside a NatWest. As he stopped the car he turned fully in his seat.
“It’s just the worst thing,” he said again. “One of the worst things that can happen to a person. When it all goes wrong at once.”
I nodded, my head throbbing, and climbed out of the car. As I walked back with the tenner screwed up in my hand I could see him drumming his hands on the steering wheel. I cocked my head to one side. He turned to look at me. All my stuff was still on the back seat. I smiled wanly and got back in.
“Alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. He glanced back at me again as he drove out of the petrol station.
“It’s just left here,” I said as we neared my turning. He followed my directions wordlessly, but as we neared my house he gave me one last piece of information.
“You can’t trust anything to work out,” he said. “It can all be gone in a matter of days. And it all comes down to money.”
“This is me,” I said, talking over his last comment.
“OK,” he said, coming to an abrupt halt outside my flat. As he turned back to face me one last time I handed him the screwed-up ten pound note. It was all I had.
“Err… good luck,” I offered. “Really hope everything works out for you.”
He nodded. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. I climbed out of the car. As I fumbled in my bag for my keys, I turned around. He waved. Then, with a loud crunch of gears, he drove off.
Next time, I’m ordering my own bloody taxi.
short story
taxi driver
morning
The alarm went off at 6.20. 6.20. That means I had about 4 hours sleep. God. How can anyone function on 4 hours sleep? Plus I felt like sixteen tiny men were hitting the sides of my brain with not so tiny sledgehammers. Thud thud thud went my head in time with the alarm’s beep.
He was not moving, so I reached over and picked up the beeping phone and held it right next to his ear. He moved then. After he’d shut off the bloody thing he looked at me.
“You going to work from here then?” he said. I thought about it for a few minutes. That would mean 2 more hours in bed. It would also mean going to work in yesterday’s clothes. I decided against it.
“No, I’ll get a taxi home then go in,” I said, tentatively. He shrugged and picked up the phone to order me a taxi.
It arrived about ten minutes later. When the driver knocked on the door it set my head buzzing with hangover again. I managed a brief peck on the cheek before shuffling out into the morning drizzle in yesterday’s clothing.
The taxi driver held the door open for me. What a gentleman, I thought. He was a nice looking gentleman too: kind face, rounded tummy, jaunty hat. I sat in the back and put my seatbelt on as he got in the driver’s seat. A sudden thought made me check my wallet and I realised I didn’t have any spare cash. How had I spent 60 quid on a Wednesday night? Had I been mugged?
“Excuse me, but it’s ten pounds right?” I asked, my voice gruff in that not-long-been-awake way.
“That’s right,” he said.
“I’ve just realised I’ve not enough money,” I said. “Can we stop at a cash point on the way?”
“How much have you got?” the taxi man enquired. I counted.
“Err… a fiver,” I said. “In coins.”
“Oh right,” he chortled. “We’ll stop then.”
“Yeah, there’s a cash point near my house if we don’t see one before,” I informed him.
“OK, we’ll find one.”
I sat back and closed my eyes briefly.
“Difficult place to find, this one,” the driver remarked.
“Yeah,” I said, my eyes still closed. A few more minutes passed.
“The worst thing that can happen to any human being happened to me the other day,” the taxi driver said conversationally.
I opened one eye warily. “Oh yes?” I said. He turned slightly in his seat to look at me.
“Yeah,” he continued. “And I tell you this because something shitty happens to everyone at some point in their lives, and you should be prepared.”
I must have made some noise that seemed to invite him to carry on.
“See, I just split up with my girlfriend, and I had to re-mortgage my house to pay her her share. And now I can’t afford the repayments on the house.”
Not knowing much about mortgages or live-in lovers, I made some sympathetic sound and rubbed my eyes. He turned to look at me again. We were in a traffic jam. How was there a traffic jam at 7am? Why wasn’t everyone in bed?
“Yeah, see now, 2 people, 2 people could afford the payments. But one person on their own – I can’t afford the payments.” He turned back to look at the road but continued talking. “And now the bank has repossessed my house. I’ve got four weeks to come up with 8 grand, or they’ll kick me out.”
“Oh no,” I said, “That’s awful.”
Encouraged, he turned around again, one hand on the steering wheel.
“I know,” he said. “So now I lost my woman, and I’m about to lose my house. I’m living at my brothers and all I do is work. Work work work. Trying to do whatever I can to get that money. Otherwise, you know, I can see myself becoming a tramp. Living on the streets. Can’t let that happen.”
“No,” I said, horrified, “of course not. How long were you with your girlfriend?”
“16 years,” he answered. “16 years! 16 years and one day she turns around and says we’re not together anymore. So I lose her, then I lose money, now I lose the house.”
He shook his head. Some radio talk show babbled quietly under the hum of the engine.
“That’s terrible,” I said after a few minutes. “But – er – I need a cash point…”
“Oh yes,” he said, “I’ll keep my eye out. So anyway – like I say I’m staying at my brother’s. Can’t think about it too much or it’ll drive me mad. But it’s terrible. How old are you, 20?”
“I’m 23,” I say.
“23. Well, that’s still young, but you know, it’s unfortunate. Something like this will happen to you at some point in your life. Something awful happens to everyone at some point. Oh look – cash point.”
With this he swerved the car into a Tesco petrol station and pulled up alongside a NatWest. As he stopped the car he turned fully in his seat.
“It’s just the worst thing,” he said again. “One of the worst things that can happen to a person. When it all goes wrong at once.”
I nodded, my head throbbing, and climbed out of the car. As I walked back with the tenner screwed up in my hand I could see him drumming his hands on the steering wheel. I cocked my head to one side. He turned to look at me. All my stuff was still on the back seat. I smiled wanly and got back in.
“Alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. He glanced back at me again as he drove out of the petrol station.
“It’s just left here,” I said as we neared my turning. He followed my directions wordlessly, but as we neared my house he gave me one last piece of information.
“You can’t trust anything to work out,” he said. “It can all be gone in a matter of days. And it all comes down to money.”
“This is me,” I said, talking over his last comment.
“OK,” he said, coming to an abrupt halt outside my flat. As he turned back to face me one last time I handed him the screwed-up ten pound note. It was all I had.
“Err… good luck,” I offered. “Really hope everything works out for you.”
He nodded. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. I climbed out of the car. As I fumbled in my bag for my keys, I turned around. He waved. Then, with a loud crunch of gears, he drove off.
Next time, I’m ordering my own bloody taxi.
short story
taxi driver
morning
posted by bitingmylip at 9:24 AM
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