“It’s only a taxi!” those four words that make me rant and curse (silently), they make the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and look at the person uttering them with scant disbelief.
I drive a TX2, by the time its paid for one of my kids will have joined and left secondary school, the other will be a teenager. So you will appreciate that my cab will have to last it is therefore my pride and joy. In terms of the eventual cost of the taxi, it will cost more than my first terraced house, in finance terms it will cost more than my current house.
What you really don’t need, is to be sent for (as I was) a young mother with a pushchair, who decided it was wise to give her little scamp a “cadbury’s flake” chocolate bar on a warm summers day, when I wasn’t looking.
I was driving up the road in a pristine TX2, whilst the red haired tyke in the rear was playing patty cake with the interior.
Getting to the passengers abode, I do my duty, get out of the cab and open the door for the passenger (we tend to try to work for our tips here), to assist with her shopping, I am then faced with the red haired child from hell, face covered in chocolate, hands covered in chocolate, my interior covered in chocolate.
I start to shake my head, the passenger asks “what’s wrong?”,
“What’s wrong?” I exclaim, “look at the state of my cab!, your child has ruined my new taxi!”,
“Aww he’s only a boy” she say’s,
“Damien was only a boy” I say.
“Well it’s only a f***** taxi” she says,
“Yeah, my taxi!, I presume your going to clean it?”
“Yes”, she says, “I’ll just go get some bleach”,
I say, “forget it, I’ll clean it myself” (I didn’t think bleach and a new TX2 silver upholstery would be a good combination).
A little poem
Smiles from the mothers face, him happy and contented,
the cab driver negotiates traffic feeling half demented.
Buying her son that chocolate bar, she considered a good decision,
His chocolate covered hands all over the seats and partition.
I open the door to help them out, to be remunerated for my toil,
And I am faced by the child of hell, chocolate covered I start to boil.
Is your child the devils own, I enquire expectantly.
Its only a F****** taxi she retorts, with the child from hell on her knee.
Cab driving is an excellent job, that brings us satisfaction,
But when faced with the child from hell, causes all manner of detraction.
I end this ode with a small warning for all of you out there,
Beware of the devils own with bands of ginger hair.
For Cadburys flake is a tasty treat for any normal occasion,
But eating them in the back of a cab is to be avoided without persuasion.
|
