Tuesday, 5 January 2010

Where Do You Think Your Going?

This is just a quick little story that popped into my head when I was blogging about punters doing a runner the other day.

I picked up this young guy about 20 years old from the city centre one night. He looked as if he had had a few but not so much that I would declare him unfit to travel. He asked me to take him to Shawlands although he couldn't specify exactly where. I agreed, but decided to keep a close eye on him for any signs of becoming ill.
We were just short of Shawlands on Pollokshaws Road when he piped up from the back...

"STOP THE TAXI! STOP THE TAXI! STOP THE TAXI"

I thought 'shit, here we go. But at least he has had the decency to ask me to stop so he can get out and spew his ring. Which is more than most Pukers can manage'.

(you wouldn't believe it but I have even had a girl who was standing outside the taxi, open the door and puke inside, so that the doormen of the club she intended to go to, accross the road, didn't see her being sick. WTF!!!!!!!!)

To my surprise however, he gets out the cab, but instead of doubling over and emptying the contents of his stomach onto the pavement, he turns and starts to march very purposefully off down the street in the opposite direction of our destination. I watch in my mirror in amazement as he charges off.
I swing the taxi round 180 degrees and quickly catch him up. As i kerb crawl down the wrong side of the road next to him I wind down my window and...

"Where do you think your going pal??????"

He doesn't break stride or even turn his head. He completely ignores me and just keeps marching down the street as if I don't exist.

me "Whats your fucking game???????"

punter "I don't know what your talking about"

He continues without even a glance in my direction.

me "Look pal, I don't know what you think your up to but there is £5.60 on this meter and I want my fucking money"

punter "Its nothing to do with me"

me "That's it ya wee prick I'm getting the fucking bat out"

I hit the breaks, as does he, and he comes straight to the window saying

punter "OK...OK...How much is it?"

me "£5.60"

He goes into his pocket, pulls out a ten pound note and hands it to me. I start to eject coins from my coin holder in the smallest denominations possible with a view to pissing the wee bastard off as much as I can, when I have a brainwave. I stop with only about 70p in 5 and 10 pence's in my hand and pass them through the window to the guy. I look up and finding the road ahead clear I push down on the accelerator and laugh a hearty goodbye to the chancer.
He even had the nerve to give chase shouting "OI. COME BACK. COME BACK"

I still laugh out loud when I think about the expression on his face as I drove off with my healthy tip.

I'm actually a very honest person and contrary to what some people like to think, I'm not out in the taxi ripping people off all night. On this occasion I just couldn't help serving this guy up a doze of his own medicine.

LOL. My bad.

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