A love affair with small change.

Hello again. It’s been a while I know, and I kind of hope I’ve been missed.

Harrison ready to start school.

But here’s the thing. My son started school last October and because of this it became necessary to bid farewell to driving a taxi at night because, well, I just wouldn’t get to see the little fella very much.

So I traded the world of drunken conversations, vomit, and rude passengers – the stuff of my book, in other words, for shopping bags, prams, wheelchairs and walking frames.

Which is why I’ve been a bit quiet.

Not much to write about, you see..

Except for this week..

Oh.. This week.

In reverse order then..

I picked up a couple of people from Lancaster University to take them to Lancaster Railway Station. At rush hour, with to be honest, not very long to get them there.. my work was cut out for me, but I love a challenge.

As we reached the inevitable lines of brake-lights I asked:
“Would you like me to cut down this side-road? It is slightly further, but at 15 pence per minute stuck in that traffic, it will be slightly cheaper, and you won’t miss your train.”

By the way, they were a bit posh, not students, that I could tell, not parents either..

The older one, a woman, wearing an odd Ascot style hat said “Oh, please get us there so we don’t miss the train.”

So we got there with a comfortable few minutes to spare. The fare came to £7.95.

My son thinks this is real money..

Now, I usually just round down to the nearest ten pence, because as you probably know – I really can’t be arsed with small change. I keep a few 5 pences and a bit of copper in my pocket, in case when fuelling, the pump drips a penny… don’t you just hate it when it goes to £15.01?!

But today, for some reason – I didn’t.  I guess I wanted something to write about.  Looking back, I may have provoked this.

But you benefit, so sod the tight arsed cow!

I said “£7.95 please.”

She handed me a £10 note.  And waited.

I said “Bear with me a moment, my 5 pences are in my pocket.”

By the way – I know it’s only 5 pence, but at this point, if she’d have said “No it’s ok, make it £8” she would have passed the test.

Test? I should explain.

If I had rounded it down to £7.90, as I usually do, I suspected that she would have waited for the 10 pence too. A tip is not expected or required, it’s just that in this job, when you make the effort to give good customer service (i.e. save them money and get them to their train on time) then you kind of feel a bit put out when your act of kindness is not acknowledged in any way.

And it is an act of kindness – and I let them know it was by letting them know that their chances of catching their train were slim, and it would have cost them more in waiting time.

If I was a mercenary individual, I could quite happily have thought “Fuck them, I’m gonna sit in this traffic jam – it’s the shortest route, so I’m not doing anything wrong.  They’ll spend more and miss their train, but on the plus side, I’ll make more money, so I’m alright Jack!”

Does that sound like something I’d do?

Okay, ask me in another eight years..  I’m kidding.

Seriously though – it’s not how I am.

I help people if I can.  It’s my default setting, you see.

I let people out at junctions, I let people cross the road, On a narrow street, I flash cars coming towards me to let them through first.

And I am unthanked.

The car drives out of the junction, the driver doesn’t make eye contact.

It gets me mad.

A parade of slow walking shoppers traipse (I still love that word) across the zebra crossing I’ve stopped at. One of them may wave a hand.  Even a nod and a grin would do.

Most do not.

It makes me want to shout out of the window “YOU’RE FUCKING WELCOME!” But I just simmer. As usual.

The car I’ve flashed through the narrow road has a few mates tailing him.

Two, three, four cars.

All.

Blanking.

Me.

This has happened an awful lot recently, since I started driving a taxi in the day, mainly.

One thing I have to say – and I’m sure this doesn’t apply to you personally, but in eight years of driving a taxi at night, you daytime road users really have evolved into a bunch of selfish tossers, haven’t you?

Like I say, I’m sure that doesn’t include you – does it?

Okay, I know it doesn’t help when the other road users know you’re driving a taxi, you hate us all, we drive around like we own the road and so on, yadda yadda, Jack The Ripper.  Whatever.

By the way – I’m thinking of writing to the Ministry of Defence with an idea I’ve had regarding a new type of stealth technology.

Want your military vehicle/aircraft/ship to become invisible to other ground/air/sea users?

Cover it in taxi stickers – no fucker will see it!

Watch this space.

But this lack of gratitude I’ve noticed recently has really been burning me up.  Can you tell?

When I’m blanked or not acknowledged this feeling comes over me that I can’t describe – it doesn’t even have a real word – I looked it up.  I’ll try and describe it for you.

When I do something for somebody as a favour and they don’t thank me or even acknowledge me this mixture of feelings passes over me:

• Ignorant Sod.
• I am angry at you for not thanking me for being kind.
• I wish I hadn’t been kind.
• I wish I could take it back.
• I am angry at myself for being so bloody petty.

As you can tell, this was really doing me harm.

It’s ok, I’m not going to go off the rails, wear a tea-cosy on my head and make my head stink of PG Tips.

Not yet.

I’ll get used to it.

Just not today.

So, back to my £7.95 lady.  I got a 5p out of my pocket, and passed it over.

I said “Bear with me, I’ll just get the £2 for you.”

Which was in a cash bag. In 5 pences. I passed it over.

She said “What’s this?”

“It’s £2 – in 5 pences” I replied.

“But I don’t want all of those!” she said.

“Well, I’m sorry but you gave me the impression that 5 pences were important to you – feel free to count it, but you might be late for your train.”

No, there isn’t a word for that feeling either.