Taxi Drivers With A Few Screws Loose

A Breed onto themselves, Have a peek into their world


http://z11.invisionfree.com/TAXIDOTIE/index.php?showforum=3

They abuse each other too

Doing the night shift drives everyone bonkers, because it goes against a persons natural rhythms.

But first, let me regale you of my memory of 9-11. Everyone remembers where they were when 9-11 took place.

In my case, I was in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

I was working the afternoon shift, starting at 3pm, ending at 11pm. It was, as you may remember, a Tuesday. At about 9:00, strange things started happening at the office. We closed down the website, and after that, my boss came in, "Dermo, you may as well go home, theres nothing happening for the next two days"

In my thoughts, I said......"Screw this, if WW3 is going to happen, I may as well get drunk and get laid.

First stop, the 7-11. Some condoms and manglide.

Next stop, ATM. Out of action.

Back home, scooped up 40 Sterling and 40 Irish Pounds, and headed to the money changer. Changed into 388 Ringgit between the two currencies.

Hit the town. Eventually landed up in KL's main gay bar....Blue Boy.

As luck would have it......well at the time I was better looking. So I landed a nice Malaysian, Azlan. We went to his place. Thats where the fun started.

We got in the taxi, and there was this familiar herbal smell.

Before you know it, we are ducking and diving. The driver is out of his biscuits and singing. He is holding the BIGGEST spliff I have seen in my life. Even worse, he is smoking it.

"Can you slow down a bit" (Hes doing 90mph or 145kph in a Proton Saga, which is an achievement in itself. Any faster, time travel will be possible).

"Dun worry lah, I Osama Bin Laden, I professional driver, I ex soldier"
(Cue another toke on his spliff)

Cue me......saying the Hail Mary, while Azlan is reaching for my tonsils.

If I die this night....may I die happy.

The 20 minutes from Starhill to Cheras feel like an eternity.

Then the **** really hits the fan. Theres a police checkpoint ahead.

There are 20 cars being checked. 3 pulled over. The police are off looking for their coffee money. I go into automatic "Do you want a drink or a transfer mode". Frankly speaking, I had enough power to have them for breakfast. I've got a stoned taxi driver, we are stoned on the fumes, and technically, for whats going on, its a 1,000 Pound fine, and 2 years prison for everyone in the car.

I insist that the driver turns on the aircon AND open the windows.

He does......"Relax Lah, small matter lah, I Osama Bin Laden, I ex soldier, I professional driver". The spliff at this stage is only 20% finished, and Azlan and I are practically stoned on the fumes"

We eventually reach the checkpoint. Our pal, Osama the taxi driver was correct. "Don't worry, small matter lah, they wun stop us"

Torches at me, then taxi driver, then Azlan, then me again.

The officer gestures for me to get out. I produce a colour photocopy of my work permit, my identity card, my work permit, and give him the evil eye. One false move sunshine, and your prawn food. He pretends there is something wrong with my photocopy, and that the work permit is forged. I say, "keep your life simple please". I could bribe him, but I will not give him the satisfaction. I reach for my phone, and at that point, he stops. "You can go". He does not fancy a transfer to some God forsaken village in the forest, or worse, and he knows who I am, who I know, and what I am capable of.

Back in to the taxi.

"Give me that damn spliff....now!"

Drag,

Drag,

Drag.....

Pass to Azlan

Repeat

Drag

Drag

Drag

Back to taxi driver.

"You like girls?"

No

"You like men?"

Sometimes, why?

"You like me?"

And he flashes a dazzling pearly white smile, we stop off at the off licence, and the day, or night that we all remember as 9/11 continued.

Heres my second post about Malaysian taxis, and the crazy ways of handling them.

There are many ways of dealing with the taxi drivers in this country. First, never convert to your own currency. If you come here, you will think in Sterling and Euro terms. The taxis are amongst the cheapest in the world.

However, you pay for what you get. You get some of the kindest people going. But by contrast, you get some of the most scheming snakes that ever crawled out of the jungle. To keep them out of the jungle, the Kuala Lumpur City Council, (DBKL) devised a unique strategy. Give them taxi plates.

There are some places you just don't go, and things you don't do.

Tourist traps. They will look at you, eye you up, and as soon as you ask, they know that its Sterling or Euro. They know that 2 quid is the price of a pint, and the moment you step in a cab at home, its 3 quid. Your screwed before you start. He knows its cheap to you, but its more, a lot more for him. On principal, don't let them screw you.

However.......a few words of Cantonese or Malay, (look at the driver first before shooting your mouth off), gets the prices down.

Considerably.

Down to normal local prices.

Where you can be nice to each other, and give a tip. But even then, theres no room for complacency. There are doctored meters, and they can hit a button. If you are drunk, and they hit this, they will accuse you of hallucinating on amphetamines if you complain. But thats besides the point. You know, and you've been warned.

But there are times it does'nt. At such times, walk away. Or if it gets bitter, remember who it was. It was with this in mind, I got lucky one night, and managed to serve revenge in fine style.

Our target is taxi plate, HWB3691. Hes Indian, Tamil Malaysian, 45 years old, fat, bald, and he could not score in a darkroom. He attempted overcharging a horrendous amount. 5 Euro I regard as standard bidding attempt to overcharge. But even after speaking Malay, he shoved the price up to the equivalent of 10 Euro. So he must have thought I was more than wealthy. He thought I was thick as well.
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Crazy Taxis, part 2. "Whos in da house....crazy Gweilo in da House"

Every year it is my companys annual dinner. At this stage, it is traditional for me to dress up in drag. Its an ordeal I would rather not subject myself to, but since I look like a particularly ferocious old bag, it is somewhat amusing. Plus, it happened once, and ever since, it has to happen again. It ONLY happens once a year, and thats the way I would rather keep it.

Needless to say, dinner was pleasant. After hosting Karaoke, and giving out prizes, I am pretty worn out. The wig is making me sweat, and the high heels are killing me. Not to mention two layers of plaster on my face, warpaint and fake eyelashes. I'm chainsmoking, knocking back copious amounts of Jack Daniels, and I've finished the 10th course in a chinese banquet. Its 30 degrees, and the gambling and drinking games are in full swing. Its getting loud, and I am on edge. Theres no way I am getting involved with the card games either. Or the arm wrestling. I just find a corner, and watch.

I'm Lily Savage with a beerbelly, and I am a crossbreed mongrel lookalike of Rose, Lily Savage, Onslow and Daisy from Keeping up Appearances, and I hate it. Every minute. I curse the day I decided to do this as a joke, and they made me the hostess. Miss Sharia Lawless, Queen of KL by the Grace of God, Ireland and all her territories.

My work colleagues and I end up clubbing after the conference room. We arrange the VIP area. I have jeans underneath the long skirt. The skirt goes in the bag, the wig comes off, the t-shirt goes on. Make-up and false eyelashes remain, as I am at a competition later on, and I'm the only non national drag act.

I walk out, and my luck is in. Guess what......7th in the queue....its our pal.

HWB3691.

I'll have you for breakfast, you fat pig........

I hatch a cunning plan.

I am going to send this guys reputation to hell. His fellow taxi drivers will be talking behind his back at every coffee shop as the taxi driver who got blown by the ugly white transvestite. I get behind a pillar, get the skirt, hastily wrap it around. T-shirt off, Blouse on, and GO.

Taxi One (English Language), in my most falsetto, lisping, effiminate voice).

"Tholly Dahlink, I haf no money....I dwank it all downthairth, but if I give you thum Kalaoke, (gesturing oral sex sign), can you bwing me to thenthral mawhket" (fluttering eyelids, limp wrists)

Of course he refused.

The same conversation in Cantonese......taxi two....refused.

Three....Malay.....refused.

And four....and five.

And finally....fat slob HWB3691, who has moved from 7th to 6th position in the grid.

Normal voice. Normal me.

"Hello again, good evening, how much is it to Central Market"

7 Euro"

(Its 5 times the price, but I just agree.....)

I pass by all his buddies giving the thumbs up. Their jaws drop in horror.

I make small talk. If it were not for this guys overcharging methods, hes actually a decent chap. But my heart is made of stone. Hes complaining about how expensive KL is, and how hard it is to survive with the meter. I explain that "I always give 20% extra as a tip, not everyone do that lah"

I take my wig off 100 meters later, put the skirt in the bag, and get to the club at Central Market. In I go.

I win the consolation prize for being the worst dressed, the cheapest and nastiest looking, and it takes the judges all of fifteen minutes to decide. I'm too masculine to ever make a good drag queen, and thats what makes it fun. Its also why I hardly ever do it. I'm off to the bathroom. When I return, my consolation prize of a bottle of Chateau Vino Collapso 2006 is on the counter, on ice, with a glass.

I go to my mates.....at the bar. Plonk myself down, and begin renewing my membership of the human race.

Revenge is a dish best served with the help of Jack Daniels and Coke.

Dutch taxis are by far the most expensive in the European Union and are controlled by the Dutch Mafia. There is a perfectly good public transport system in the Netherlands. You don't need taxis there most of the time.