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Dieing for a lift
Another week gone, and once again I'm driving them around while they drive me up the wall.
Bugrit!
We have an older gentleman as a regular. He is usually quite pleasant to talk to and happily pays his fair without complaint or argument. Ideal customer right? Sure, but for two major flaws.
First, when you're not talking to him, he sits in the back seat and mutters to himself. Not the muttering of someone trying to remember something, but a nonsensical rambling or random words strung together. He doesn't have any mental disorder, he just mutters.
The second, and by far the biggest issue, is the smell. The guy has not changed his clothes in six months and has been nowhere near a shower in that time. It is a smell that is difficult to describe, a dreadful mix of BO, pee, assorted stale alcoholic drinks and something alien which defies belief. A usual trip starts with your nose shrieking and shutting down when he gets in the taxi. After a few minutes it will start to run, presumably because it can't run away. By the time I drop him off my eyes are watering and I can start to smell it through my ears.
Needless to say, we drive the taxi with the windows down and spray everything with disinfectant spray after that
Then, why did you call?
Me: Bugarup Taxi
SC: Hi, Could I get a taxi to [address]?
Me: Sure, on my way
Get to the address, no SC. So after waiting the usual five minutes, I move on with the next fare. Half an hour later, the phone rings, and it's SC again
SC: Hi, Could I get a taxi to [address]?
Me: I was around there about half an hour ago, and nobody came out. Is that the correct address?
SC: Yeah that's right. We're here right now
Me: Ok, I'll be there in a few minutes
Once again I get to the address, nobody comes out. By this point I'm getting annoyed. I run on a three strike system; you stand me up three times, and you forfeit your taxi privileges for the day. For most people this isn't a problem. Sometimes they get held up by a phone call or whatever and don't meet the taxi the first time. Twice is pushing it but hey, these things happen. Miss it three times and you are either a prank caller, an idiot or too drunk to move. I know that SC will call again, and sure enough, half an hour later...
SC: Could I get a taxi to [address]?
Me: I've been round there twice now and nobody came out
SC: Oh yeah, yeah. We'll be out on the footpath this time.
Me: [Internal sigh] Ok, I'm on my way. But if you're not there this time I will not be coming back
So for the third and final time I head to the address. Lo and behold, the SC is there ready for his ride. Once he was in and we were moving I asked him about the first two calls.
SC: Oh, I wasn't ready to go, so I don't bother coming out.
Just tell me!
Look, I'm flattered, really. I see what you're trying to do and am not interested. Can you please tell me where you want to go? No, quit staring at me like I'm the most beautiful man on earth, I just want to know where you want to go. An eyebrow waggle is not a valid answer, nor is a furtive wink. The first turn is up ahead, so is it left or right? Just, no. I am not interested. No you can't touch me. Yes, you are creeping me out.
He gave me the address... eventually.
No, I don't swing that way.
I'm Dieing! I demand special treatment!
I hinted at this story last week. A bit of background before we get into this one. During the summer, Bugarup can reach some quite insane temperatures, as such, locals know how to deal with it. Drink lots of water, stay out of direct sun, avoid heavy labor, ect.
Also, as a small town service, we only have a few taxis and drivers. Usually we have one or two cabs running about and if it get busy people may have to wait a short time for us to get to them. Normally, people understand and have no problem with it. But we don't deal with normal on this site, do we? (/background)
It was a sunny summer day. I was running fares in the town on my own at that point. I get a call for a pickup from the lake. On average, this run takes about 15 minutes and is one of the biggest fares we get that we consider "in town". Not a problem, I start heading out. I get another call just as I get onto the main street
SC: I need a cab at pub!
Me: Not a problem. I have one person ahead of you so I'll be there in about 15 minutes.
SC: (mumblegrumble) fine. (Hangs up)
People we pick up from that pub tend to be a bit surly, so I think nothing of it and continue on my way. Two minutes later, I get another call. It's a Well Meaning Bystander (WMB)
Me: Bugarup Taxi
WMB: Hi, I'm at the pub, did you just receive a call from an older man here?
Me: Yes, I'm still about ten minutes away
WMB: Well, he's just collapsed in the parking lot from heatstroke and wants the taxi now. He's refusing an ambulance and just wants to go home. Are you able to come now?
As I was still fairly new at the job, I turned the cab around and headed to the pub. Figuring I'll take him home or, if he's in bad shape, straight to the hospital and waive the fair. (We do that sometimes for people who are sick or injured, victims of violence who need to get out of there right away, ect. ) When I get there, I find the SC sitting in the shade, with several people around him, he wobbles a bit and looks feint. I recognise this SC. He's lived in Bugarup his whole life and knows the dangers of the summer. Still, heatstroke can still strike anyone, especially those who have been drinking. One of the group sees me pull in and waves me over. It's WMB.
Me: Hi, how is he?
WMB: He's a bit woozy but he seems to be ok. We offered him water but he dosn't want it.
Me: Ok, I know where he lives but it will probably be better if I...
*SLAM!*
While we were talking, the SC has stood up suddenly, strode over to the taxi without a single wobble or misstep, climbed in and slammed the door.
SC: It's about time you got here! Take me home!
WMB and I stared at him, then at each other, then at the group of gobsmacked people, then at each other again. The SC was fine, nothing at all wrong with him. He was faking an attack of heatstroke. Unsure of what else to do, I took him home. He was ranting and complaining the entire time.
SC: Why did it take you so long to get here! You advertise as a 24 hour service, that means I can get a taxi whenever I want! Rargablargle!
At least he paid with fair without argument. After that I made it out to the lake, but the customers there had gone.
You Broke my Manager!
Back again to the days at the Big Apple. I had a lot of managers in my time there, ranging from Super-Awesome to dumber-than-a sack-of-mushrooms. This story happened to my Super Awesome Manager, C. He was relieving me for lunch and running customer service. It is important to note that I gave him the front end keys when I left.
A customer is ringing out their groceries and pays for their groceries without issue. Then, she looks at her purse, at the floor around her, then starts clawing at the conveyor belt. The perplexed cashier, P, Asks what the matter is. Apparently, the conveyor belt had a $50 note on it, with was sucked into the gap at the end of the belt. this was a frequent occurrence, with things getting sucked down that crack ending up on the floor below the counter or occasionally in the cabinet under the belt. P looks, no 50. The SC is still searching around so she waves C over.
C: I'm sorry Ma'am but it looks like the money isn't here. Could it be anywhere else?
SC: No, It went down there! I saw it go down there! It must have been pulled right under the belt!
While these cabinets did have a small, hard to reach are under the conveyor, the odds of anything getting pulled into it are tiny. A piece of paper, or indeed a bank note could do it, but it would have to be pressed into something sticky and somehow avoid being scraped off by all the guards, wires and assorted other obstacles under the counter. In the case the belt was so clean it sparkled. P had declared war on all things sticky long ago and kept her checkout spotlessly clean. Still, C had to take the SC's complaint seriously, and began to search for the lost 50.
I returned from lunch around this point, and found an odd scene waiting for me. C was on his knees, rummaging around under the counter. Assorted tools and pieces of the counter and conveyor were scattered around him. A crowd of customers had gathered to see what was going on, with P trying to move them on to other checkouts. Over it all stood SC, catbutting so hard her face was in danger of collapsing into a black hole made of super compressed entitlement. I hurried to sign in and came back to the registers in time to see C stand up
C: I'm sorry Ma'am, but I've searched the whole register and can't find it anywhere.
SC: No! It has to be there, I saw it, I SAW IT!
C: Oh Cranky, you're back. Here's your keys.
I take the keys and pocket them. Unconsciously, the SC also slips her hand into her pocket. She stopped arguing and broke into a big grin.
Sc: Oh! here it is. It was in my pocket his whole time
And with that, she flounced out. Yes, flounced. I looked at C and his face had gone stiff. It's odd to see someone else brain going into a BSOD.
C: Cranky, could you please put the register back together? I'll be in my office.
t took most of the afternoon to get everything cleaned up. C didn't come out of his office for an hour, though I could hear him banging his head on the wall every time I walked past. And did the SC thank us or apologise? You can probably guess.
More next week!
Bugrit!
We have an older gentleman as a regular. He is usually quite pleasant to talk to and happily pays his fair without complaint or argument. Ideal customer right? Sure, but for two major flaws.
First, when you're not talking to him, he sits in the back seat and mutters to himself. Not the muttering of someone trying to remember something, but a nonsensical rambling or random words strung together. He doesn't have any mental disorder, he just mutters.
The second, and by far the biggest issue, is the smell. The guy has not changed his clothes in six months and has been nowhere near a shower in that time. It is a smell that is difficult to describe, a dreadful mix of BO, pee, assorted stale alcoholic drinks and something alien which defies belief. A usual trip starts with your nose shrieking and shutting down when he gets in the taxi. After a few minutes it will start to run, presumably because it can't run away. By the time I drop him off my eyes are watering and I can start to smell it through my ears.
Needless to say, we drive the taxi with the windows down and spray everything with disinfectant spray after that
Then, why did you call?
Me: Bugarup Taxi
SC: Hi, Could I get a taxi to [address]?
Me: Sure, on my way
Get to the address, no SC. So after waiting the usual five minutes, I move on with the next fare. Half an hour later, the phone rings, and it's SC again
SC: Hi, Could I get a taxi to [address]?
Me: I was around there about half an hour ago, and nobody came out. Is that the correct address?
SC: Yeah that's right. We're here right now
Me: Ok, I'll be there in a few minutes
Once again I get to the address, nobody comes out. By this point I'm getting annoyed. I run on a three strike system; you stand me up three times, and you forfeit your taxi privileges for the day. For most people this isn't a problem. Sometimes they get held up by a phone call or whatever and don't meet the taxi the first time. Twice is pushing it but hey, these things happen. Miss it three times and you are either a prank caller, an idiot or too drunk to move. I know that SC will call again, and sure enough, half an hour later...
SC: Could I get a taxi to [address]?
Me: I've been round there twice now and nobody came out
SC: Oh yeah, yeah. We'll be out on the footpath this time.
Me: [Internal sigh] Ok, I'm on my way. But if you're not there this time I will not be coming back
So for the third and final time I head to the address. Lo and behold, the SC is there ready for his ride. Once he was in and we were moving I asked him about the first two calls.
SC: Oh, I wasn't ready to go, so I don't bother coming out.
Just tell me!
Look, I'm flattered, really. I see what you're trying to do and am not interested. Can you please tell me where you want to go? No, quit staring at me like I'm the most beautiful man on earth, I just want to know where you want to go. An eyebrow waggle is not a valid answer, nor is a furtive wink. The first turn is up ahead, so is it left or right? Just, no. I am not interested. No you can't touch me. Yes, you are creeping me out.
He gave me the address... eventually.
No, I don't swing that way.
I'm Dieing! I demand special treatment!
I hinted at this story last week. A bit of background before we get into this one. During the summer, Bugarup can reach some quite insane temperatures, as such, locals know how to deal with it. Drink lots of water, stay out of direct sun, avoid heavy labor, ect.
Also, as a small town service, we only have a few taxis and drivers. Usually we have one or two cabs running about and if it get busy people may have to wait a short time for us to get to them. Normally, people understand and have no problem with it. But we don't deal with normal on this site, do we? (/background)
It was a sunny summer day. I was running fares in the town on my own at that point. I get a call for a pickup from the lake. On average, this run takes about 15 minutes and is one of the biggest fares we get that we consider "in town". Not a problem, I start heading out. I get another call just as I get onto the main street
SC: I need a cab at pub!
Me: Not a problem. I have one person ahead of you so I'll be there in about 15 minutes.
SC: (mumblegrumble) fine. (Hangs up)
People we pick up from that pub tend to be a bit surly, so I think nothing of it and continue on my way. Two minutes later, I get another call. It's a Well Meaning Bystander (WMB)
Me: Bugarup Taxi
WMB: Hi, I'm at the pub, did you just receive a call from an older man here?
Me: Yes, I'm still about ten minutes away
WMB: Well, he's just collapsed in the parking lot from heatstroke and wants the taxi now. He's refusing an ambulance and just wants to go home. Are you able to come now?
As I was still fairly new at the job, I turned the cab around and headed to the pub. Figuring I'll take him home or, if he's in bad shape, straight to the hospital and waive the fair. (We do that sometimes for people who are sick or injured, victims of violence who need to get out of there right away, ect. ) When I get there, I find the SC sitting in the shade, with several people around him, he wobbles a bit and looks feint. I recognise this SC. He's lived in Bugarup his whole life and knows the dangers of the summer. Still, heatstroke can still strike anyone, especially those who have been drinking. One of the group sees me pull in and waves me over. It's WMB.
Me: Hi, how is he?
WMB: He's a bit woozy but he seems to be ok. We offered him water but he dosn't want it.
Me: Ok, I know where he lives but it will probably be better if I...
*SLAM!*
While we were talking, the SC has stood up suddenly, strode over to the taxi without a single wobble or misstep, climbed in and slammed the door.
SC: It's about time you got here! Take me home!
WMB and I stared at him, then at each other, then at the group of gobsmacked people, then at each other again. The SC was fine, nothing at all wrong with him. He was faking an attack of heatstroke. Unsure of what else to do, I took him home. He was ranting and complaining the entire time.
SC: Why did it take you so long to get here! You advertise as a 24 hour service, that means I can get a taxi whenever I want! Rargablargle!
At least he paid with fair without argument. After that I made it out to the lake, but the customers there had gone.
You Broke my Manager!
Back again to the days at the Big Apple. I had a lot of managers in my time there, ranging from Super-Awesome to dumber-than-a sack-of-mushrooms. This story happened to my Super Awesome Manager, C. He was relieving me for lunch and running customer service. It is important to note that I gave him the front end keys when I left.
A customer is ringing out their groceries and pays for their groceries without issue. Then, she looks at her purse, at the floor around her, then starts clawing at the conveyor belt. The perplexed cashier, P, Asks what the matter is. Apparently, the conveyor belt had a $50 note on it, with was sucked into the gap at the end of the belt. this was a frequent occurrence, with things getting sucked down that crack ending up on the floor below the counter or occasionally in the cabinet under the belt. P looks, no 50. The SC is still searching around so she waves C over.
C: I'm sorry Ma'am but it looks like the money isn't here. Could it be anywhere else?
SC: No, It went down there! I saw it go down there! It must have been pulled right under the belt!
While these cabinets did have a small, hard to reach are under the conveyor, the odds of anything getting pulled into it are tiny. A piece of paper, or indeed a bank note could do it, but it would have to be pressed into something sticky and somehow avoid being scraped off by all the guards, wires and assorted other obstacles under the counter. In the case the belt was so clean it sparkled. P had declared war on all things sticky long ago and kept her checkout spotlessly clean. Still, C had to take the SC's complaint seriously, and began to search for the lost 50.
I returned from lunch around this point, and found an odd scene waiting for me. C was on his knees, rummaging around under the counter. Assorted tools and pieces of the counter and conveyor were scattered around him. A crowd of customers had gathered to see what was going on, with P trying to move them on to other checkouts. Over it all stood SC, catbutting so hard her face was in danger of collapsing into a black hole made of super compressed entitlement. I hurried to sign in and came back to the registers in time to see C stand up
C: I'm sorry Ma'am, but I've searched the whole register and can't find it anywhere.
SC: No! It has to be there, I saw it, I SAW IT!
C: Oh Cranky, you're back. Here's your keys.
I take the keys and pocket them. Unconsciously, the SC also slips her hand into her pocket. She stopped arguing and broke into a big grin.
Sc: Oh! here it is. It was in my pocket his whole time
And with that, she flounced out. Yes, flounced. I looked at C and his face had gone stiff. It's odd to see someone else brain going into a BSOD.
C: Cranky, could you please put the register back together? I'll be in my office.
t took most of the afternoon to get everything cleaned up. C didn't come out of his office for an hour, though I could hear him banging his head on the wall every time I walked past. And did the SC thank us or apologise? You can probably guess.
More next week!
I would avoid her neighborhood, but she lives near one of the large shopping malls and near a Mal Wart... a very good area for me.
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