How to not be a douche taxi passenger: Part 2.

You seriously didn't think that would be it???

Hell no hoes, I was only just getting started. I don't feel like I can barrage ya'll with a cacophony of Becky rant all at one time for fear that you may explode all over your computer screen with empathy.

FYI - we don't say ya'll in NZ. But I wish we did. Especially while eating fried chicken & grits. I don't know what grits is but one can only assume that if it accompanies fried chicken it must be a whole lotta amazeballs.

Without further ado................

Do you know where you are? Because my telepathic/psychic abilities seem to be busted today
Lets get one thing straight, unless I know you personally, I don't know where the fuck you live. Nor do I have a magic locator beacon GPS tracking system strategically place inside my person to help me try find you. Is this new news?

I frequently have conversations that go somewhat like this.

Me: "Blah Blah Taxis, good morning...."

Douche: "Yeah can I get a taxi" (Notice this fucker didn't say please)

Me: "Sure. Where abouts are you?"

Douche: "By that shop on the corner". (please bitch can you be any more vague)

Me: (whilst making stabbing gestures to my co-worker) "Ah ok, where abouts in Nelson are you?"

Douche: "Richmond". (Richmond is a suburb with about 15,000 people)

Me: (getting angry) "Richmond is a big suburb, what street are you in?"

Douche: (getting less patient) "down the main street by the the shops man!"

Me: "There are hundreds of shops down the main street of Richmond, which one are you outside?"

Douche: "You know the fucking SHOP, that sells stuff. Are you stupid or something?"

You get the idea. In the end I don't want to send this guy a taxi based purely on the fact he is the biggest fucking retard to ever walk the planet. But I do send him a taxi. Because my bosses pay me to not kill  their customers & give them what they want. I'm good like that.

On a bad day, I pretend that I am playing seek & destroy for real. And when the driver actually locates the customer, due to my frickin amazing instructions, the cabbie will whip out his semi automatic shot gun & cap his ass. And then he says 'That is from the muthafucking Becky. Bitch". This repetitive fantasy gets me through the day.

This piece of information I am about to give you is vital. Know where the fuck you are at all times. If you are standing on a street somewhere & you don't know where you are, chances are neither will I. Nor should I have to find you. Because I am not a people hunter. Although if I was I would be awesome at it.

Calling me a mother fucker is not going to get you anywhere. I am the taxi Jesus.
If you abuse me eg: tell me to go fuck myself or the like, I have the power to make your public transport life a nightmare. As in, for the rest of your life, you will be walking home from the party homeboy. Count on it.

The cabbies are close knit society. Even the missing teeth I live in my car hobo looking cab drivers from other companies. We have each others backs.

If you behave in a way that any of us may construe as unsavoury, we blacklist your ass. Forevs. The power makes me giddy.

Hygiene is paramount. Wash your ass.
Not long after I started working for the cab company I got to go out with a cabbie for an hour to get a taste of what life is like on the road. Well, the first passenger was a nice young man going to the airport. However, I spent most of the 15 minute journey to our local airport hanging out the car window like the family beagle because our young man smelt like he had spent the night asleep inside the carcass of a rotting wild boar.

He fucking reeked. It nearly made me sick. He was a nice looking young bloke too, on his way to the big smoke of Auckland to be with his lady & pursue his acting career. With a stench like that in tow I would be surprised if he was even let on the plane.

The worst thing was is the lady cabbie, who didn't know me from Jack, thought it was me.

Some people out there straight up smell like shit. Like you've rolled in fresh dog poo. Remember that even though you can't smell you, the taxi driver can.


My office isn't a mental health unit
I am often frequented by the mental disadvantaged folk of my city in the early hours of the morning. I think they like to go for strolls before the sun rises. Anyway they come in & say hey, tell me about whats up in their world, what's not working for them & just a general fat chew with yours truly.

One guy stands at the door & yells instructions at me because he is too scared to come inside. That same guy also roams the streets eating large bags of chips whilst wearing a white jump suit. Another guy tells me that I have the most beautiful hair in the world & that he wants to marry me. Oh good.

I welcome anyone with open arms. I want to help you with your transport needs. Just keep the crazy OUTSIDE.

Taxi drivers have feelings too
When you call your cabbie the C word to his face, with the word 'old' in front of it, that doesn't make him feel very good about himself.

I'm pretty sure he doesn't go home & cry about it but it's got to hurt his old man feelings right? Because he's doing something nice for you, taking you home & shit. They don't expect flowers & chocolates but a well placed 'thank you driver' wouldn't go a miss. It's not about the praise & glory to these hard working men & women. It's about courtesy & good manners & paying your goddam fare.

And while you're at it, thank the person on the end of the phone too. They know more than Macgyver.

Stop being a lazy fuck & walk.
We are facing a global obesity epidemic.(so not throwing stones at glass houses right now).
Do you know why this happened? Because people have stopped using their legs to go places.

I completely understand if the weather is rat shit or it's a fair distance to walk, but if you want to fill your gut with the fast food crack that is McDonald's, fucking walk there.

Walk the 500 metres down the road to McD's instead of getting a taxi you fat fat bastard. Exercise before you jam that shitrot in your gullet. At least you can feel like you kinda earnt it.

Know that I am totally sitting here judging you if you do this. I did it myself years ago, got a cab to KFC. But the whole time I felt bad about it just so you know. And getting cabs to KFC didn't work out so well for me. Don't be a statistic.

I know who you did last night. I will except bribes in form of money & itunes vouchers.
When you phone me at 7:20 on a Saturday morning wanting a taxi somewhere from an address you are unsure of & have to whisper to whoever is with you 'where am I?', I know what you have been doing.

You've been humping.

You went out last night & got really chopped. And while you were all chopped some random guy that you can barely see due to the seizure inducing flashy shiny disco ball starts grinding up in yo business & you are all like, hey baby that's quite nice I might stick my tongue down your throat.

This public display of pre foreplay foreplay continues outside the bar where your friends try to pull you in the opposite direction to the troll who's tonsils you are currently licking. But you ain't leaving because you want sex tonight. And you don't even care how really good looking this guy isn't. Once the ovaries have chosen their man prey, there's no turning back.

Taxis come & go & you don't even care because troll guy has his hand down your pants up an alley way somewhere close to the bar you just departed & the world is so fucking great right now. Even though you can smell vomit that you aren't 100% certain didn't come your mouth. All good bitches, you are getting laid tonight.

In the taxi dirty things happen. Unspeakable dirty things.

Which continues on into the wee small hours until finally you fall asleep in troll guys bed in his scungy flat. You wake up a few hours later feeling like some big hairy beast took a monster dump in your mouth. It was the cockmonster. It is scary.

You look at the hideous man specimen beside you & mentally slap yourself for your lack of taste. Troll boy stirs & has a semi panic attack as he realises that his lay has 'slept over'. It is now his mission to get you out of his personal space as quickly as possible.

Cue awkward phone call to me. I love it. I sit & clap like a retarded seal at the whoryness of it. You make my life interesting skanky people. Please don't stop.

This douche taxi series is dedicated to the cabbie drivers of the world, especially the ones that read my blog. You guys deserve big ass medals. Serious.

Disclaimer: I am professional & very good at my job. I respect my place of work & the people I work for. Anything mentioned within this blog is purely my own personal opinion nor do I actually speak or treat any customers/drivers in any way that could be construed as unsavoury. If anyone has any issues, then feel free to email me your thoughts or even better, tell me to my face instead of being disrespectful & attempting to slander my name behind my back.

Peace!