Thursday, 17 April 2014

Too sexy for this cab.

"So... Ever gotten it on with any of your customers?"
"Mister, I work on comission. Every minute I spend getting it on with a customer is a minute I'm not getting paid."

As far as the local populace is concerned, there are two kinds of cabbies in this world:
Those who successfully get into the pants of their customers and those who try to get into yours. I belong to a third cathegory that is rarely considered: Those who are too oblivious or too busy to do either.

There's an irony in having a sedentary job. You spend all your time sitting on your ass, all the while becoming way too exhausted to exercise once you go home. Its a vicious cycle that leaves most of us, be we slaves of the cubicle or steering wheel, with a round belly, a flat ass, and bruises around our eyes. I am no exception to this. My advice to you, dear reader, is this: if you want to become a drunken reveler's spur-of-the-moment-one-night-stand, keep yourself in shape. This will raise your chances.

As far as I am concerned, the only thing less sexy than screwing in a cab is screwing in a nuclear reactor. Not all my colleagues agree, of course. Some of them even got a relationship out of it. One of my colleagues even had the brilliant idea of letting the meter run during the act, and supposedly got paid after. I applaud his ingenuity and look down on his complete lack of shame.

As for my own experiences, I've been propositioned more times than I know. Literally. The exchange usually follows this model:

Trip starts:
F: So, how long are you working tonight?
Me: Oh you know... a couple of hours more, depending on how busy it gets
<insert smalltalk/intense discussion as the trip continues>
Trip ends. Fare pays. Sits a moment looking at me.
F: When do you get off?
Me: (somewhat confused) In an hour or two... What, will you be needing a ride?
F: (stares at me for a moment in surprise).... No... no nothing. Have a nice evening.
Me: You too.
Five minutes later realisation hits.

This has happened too many times. And while the above representation might suggest that it causes me dismay, it doesn't really. My annoyance comes from being slow on the uptake, rather than a missed opportunity. When I'm behind the wheel, the last thing on my mind is sex. If I got paid by the hour, I might consider it. But no. If the choice comes between paying my bills and getting my rocks off, I choose the bills.

Now, while I might find a cab to be less-than-optimal for getting down to business, that doesn't mean my customers agree. In fact, judging from the stuff that goes on the back seat, you'd think a cab is the sexiest place on earth. I usually let it slide. I turn up the music, dim the rearview and let nature take its course. most people have the decency to keep their clothes on while in the cab, resorting to foreplay. Most people.

A colleague (who shares my policy) of mine picked up a pair of young lovers. They were both very drunk and they were verymuch all over each other. At times during the trip, things got so intense, sloppy and heavy that he might as well have been driving a couple of incestous conjoined twins. Still, so far things weren't all that bad. Up went the music, down went the rearview.

But then something changed. The air grew thicker, you might say. Thick with moans and gasps, and the unmistakable stink of "unwashed cock" (his words).  Like Orpheus in the underworld, my colleague couldn't resist a glance behind him (in the mirror), and saw the male with his head thrown back in sloppy, savage ecstasy (since I have trouble assigning any humanity to drunken fares, I usually imagine the guy drooling and grunting). His girl was nowhere to be seen. But he could hear her. Or rather, he heard a sloppy gulping.

Putting two and two together, my collague was at an impasse. This was a long trip, which meant good money. Telling them to get a room (or throwing them out) might result in him not getting paid. But on the other hand, no fare was worth having to wipe somebodys happiness off the seat. And in a moment of clarity, it came to him. A way to put a stop to the debauchery, and still get paid.

Without hesitating, he bellowed: "HOLY FUCK!"
The car swerved back and forth, and then he hit the breaks. His customers threw themselves against their seats, grabbing onto anything that would save them from what undoubtedly would be a very messy end to their date.

"What the hell are you doing!" the guy screamed.
"Yeah, what-" said the girl, now sitting straight in her seat.
"Did you see it???"
"See what?!"
"The deer! It ran straight accross us! I barely missed it!"

A silence fell over the cab. Then my colleague got the car rolling again. During the rest of the trip, there was not a peep from his customers (aside from the sound of a closing zipper), and each kept to their side of the car. When they arrived, he was paid, and given a hefty tip for "being so quick with the brakes".

In the end, he wiped down the seats anyway, and kept his windows open until the scent of booze, sex and terror had subsided.

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