Taxi Driver
Just before Christmas I was laying in bed with my girlfriend, it was around midnight and we were on our way to getting some much need shut-eye for the day ahead. As we lay there we heard a car pull up outside on the street and pip his horn. Quite annoying at midnight, but my street is filled with annoying sounds such as drunks bellowing at the top of their lungs to smack-heads scuttering, muttering and sputtering around in need of a fix. I thought that someone would simply go to the car and that would be the end of it, but no the horn pips again, then again and another time for good measure. Now it's really starting to piss me off. Then the doorbell rings, I climb out of bed [not actually true, I don't have a bed, just a mattress on the floor – ghetto!], throw on my dressing gown and slippers and make my way to the front door as me and the missus are the only ones in the house. I answer it to see a taxi driver parked outside me house. “Taxi.” he says to me. I'm slightly dazed and confused seeing as I'm half asleep. “Nobody ordered a taxi, mate.” I inform him. Hoping that he fucks off, because it's absolutely freezing. “No, someone ordered a taxi for [*My Address – Removed to prevent Hate Mail/Death Threats*].”
“No they didn't mate, I'm the only one in and I've been in bed for the last hour.” I tell him, hopefully putting it to rest.
“Well who is that in the window then?” he asks pointing up to my window. It's my girlfriend having a look to see what's happening and taking so long. “It's my missus.” I tell him. “Has she ordered the taxi?”
“No, she's in fucking bed with me, we're trying to get to sleep.”
“Well someone's order a taxi from this address.” He was a persistent son-of-a-bitch. Clearly my first tactic was not winning him over, so I began to elaberate; “Where are you supposed to be taking people?” I ask.
“Spondon.” He responds.
“No body in this house has any connection with Spondon, none at all. Are you sure you're not supposed to be in Spondon right now? At a house that shares my number?”
“No, it's definitely this address.”
“No, it's definitely not.” I left it at that, before I lost my toes to frostbite, shit the door on him and went back to mattress [/bed].
About 10-15 minutes later, I heard another car pull up, I looked outside to discover it's a taxi from the very same taxi company [not one of the most popular ones in Derby either*], with some of my neighbours getting out... probably after having a fun night in Spondon.
Idiotic Customer #465
At my place of work customers have to pay 3p for a plastic carrier bag, this causes problems, especially amongst those waiting to die (old people). I myself understand that it is slightly annoying to have to pay for something that is free is most other places, but come on it's only 3p! Three pence gets you nothing nowadays. Plus the money goes to charity (Cancer Research), so it's for a good cause.
The other day while at work an old gentleman came up to me to purchase a newspaper, he asked for a bag, so I informed him; “Bags are three pence, sir. Is that OK?”, he responded by saying; “That's disgraceful, I can't believe it...” [he did have a Victor Meldrew look about him, so I found that amusing] “... if I'd have known that before coming in I wouldn't have bothered, I'm never shopping here again. That's disgusting!” Disgusting?! Disgusting!? He's acting like I just showed him a PowerPoint presentation featuring images of me molesting his grandchildren and dead kittens. I followed up with; “All the profits go to charity.” [I have this technique of my own; I inform customers that bags cost 3p, then after I inform them that the money goes to charity, most of the time it wins them over] He continued to stare at me and said; “Don't tell me about charity, my wife died of cancer, I give money to Cancer Research every week!” This was completely from left-field, I can't comprehend what point he is trying to make; he already gives to charity, so he shouldn't give anymore to charity? It was plain baffling to me, as the way I saw it we were fighting the same fight against cancer. Anyway, talking about his dead wife [for no reason] was getting him riled up [for no reason]. I attempted to connect with him; “I lost my grandma to cancer too.” I don't know why I said that, it's as if I was turning the conversation into Cancer Top Trumps, although I think he had me beat; Wife beats Grandma every time, the only Cancer Top Trumps that can beat Wife are Child or Baby … and they're like the rarest. I continued; “So I'd like to see as much money as possible go to Cancer Research.” This seemed to be a nice landing blow from me, as the old bastard switched from 'Dead Wife talk' back to 'Moan about the Bag Price' mode and he uttered something along the lines of; “You shouldn't be charging for bags away.” as he walked off, bag-less, with his newspaper in his arms … like some barbarian! As if it was all down to me setting the prices of bags and sorting out Cancer Research with money. As he left I called him a cunt under my breath, I've worked in retail for over six years, calling a customer a cunt is something you master within the first month, so I have plenty of experience.
A manager was behind me for the whole time and once the old cunt had left he had some banter about it, he asked me; “You alright?” I thought; “Of course, I'm not the one with a dead wife.” Seeing as that sounded a little harsh, I decided not to say it, self-censorship gets me out of trouble again. I just explained how confusing the whole situation was, why a man that gives to charity is complaining about giving another measly three pence to charity.
* probably due to their inability to arrive at the right place.
