I picked up two gentlemen from a rock pub in Morecambe. One of them was quite sober (Mr S) and chatty, the other it quickly became apparent, was utterly and completely wasted (Mr W).
I could tell Mr W was in quite a state because the only conversation his comparatively sober friend was getting from him were grunts, burps, and the odd random – “GARGGHH!”
Mr S got dropped off first, paid his contribution up to that point (£6) and left me in the scintillating company of Mr I.M. Wasted, Esquire as we continued our journey to Lancaster.
During the journey, Mr W achieved the following goals:
- Falling asleep vertically and snoring
- Proclaiming “GARGGHH!”
- Growling
- Waking up and trying to give me shoulder massages
- Lying down on the back seat to sleep
We finally arrived at our destination, a street of lovely old houses facing Lancaster Castle (which I have yet to visit.)
The fare had advanced another £13 so I woke up Mr W, and thus began the debacle of trying to get him to pay his fare.
He looked in both of his wallets (I could only see one wallet,) fished out his debit card and I passed over my card reader (as he did not have contactless payment.)
On the screen of my phone I could see that his PIN consisted of 7, 5, 3 and 9 digits, until he finally keyed in the correct 4 digit PIN, and his card was declined. I wasn’t frustrated at all, honestly.
The nearest ATM was the Spar on The Marsh, which is about a mile downhill from The Castle.
As you can see, the ATM is on the left. There are bollards, a bin, and left of the ATM is a drainpipe.
Mr W put his card in the machine, tripped on the bollard to the left of him, and managed to wedge himself next to the drainpipe. I imagine he looked a bit like this:
That’s right, my friends, once wedged in, he had a little nap. I reversed my car a little so I could watch the ATM give up waiting for his PIN, and swallow his card.
Finally he awoke, flipped out his willy and started messily pissing into the corner.
At this point I’m afraid I had run out of patience.
So I left him. I cut my losses and drove off. He was too busy pissing to notice. I imagined him attempting to drunkenly climb the various steep gradients during his walk home. Maybe fall asleep in a garden. Get pissed on by a dog.
Half an hour later the guilt started to kick in about leaving him stranded, and that Karma would pay me a visit at some point.
My next passenger was really lovely and gave me a £15 tip.
The Dave Price Blog 