The Other Side of Midnight (22 page)

When she got in the car, her boyfriend ran over and kicked the door. I gave him a shove, and then he took off. I looked back at the girl. Here she had a shiner on her face.

Her friend was just there by Bannerman Park in a parked car. “Stop, stop, stop,” she said. “That's my friend.” She just jumped out and went on.

Where were the police when she was getting the guts beat out of her? They're walking up and down George Street talking to the girls—that's where. There are chicks hanging out of the two cruisers, tits and legs hanging out of the cruiser. What kind of message does that send? It sends a bullshit message, that's what it sends.

A People Person

Leonard, driving for four years

I like the people. I'm a people person, buddy. Yes, sir. I'm a 100 per cent people person. If you're not, you shouldn't be in this industry.

I get people in the car that I drive regularly. They have ADD. They want to go from point A to point B. They want to make sure you stop at every stop sign. They want to make sure you make a left when you're supposed to make a left and a right when you're supposed to make a right. If there's not exactly $5 on that meter, buddy, they go right off the deep end. When I get those people in the car, I don't turn on the meter. They say, “You never turned on the meter! How much is it?”

They're afraid you're going to say, “$5.25.”

“How much did you pay last time?”

“$5.”

“Well, $5 is fine.”

I had a person in the car years ago. I got him down by Adelaide Street; he was stood up around a lot of people. They were intoxicated, basically. He looked like he was intoxicated, but he didn't fit in with the bunch stood up. People were waving and stuff, and I saw him. I knew he stood out for a reason. I picked him up and dropped him off at St. Clare's. I knew there was something wrong. I knew he wasn't drunk because he didn't fit in with the rest of them. I can't explain it to you. I just knew that. He ended up being a severe diabetic and almost died. Some guys will recognize that, and some guys won't.

Just to give you an idea. Do you remember that autistic kid that got arrested by the cops a few years ago? He was walking up Pennywell Road. Whatever way he was walking, the cops thought he was drunk, or something. They went over and confronted him. He was autistic; the cops were foreign to him. Whoever arrested him, and there were several involved, just couldn't get it. The cops didn't know, didn't care, had no training, or couldn't recognize that this young guy had some issues. They must've grown up under a turnip. Those people have no life experience, those young cops. We give them a gun and a badge and they start going around arresting people.

Hotheaded

Francis, driving for two years

You can't be confrontational with customers. That's what I've learned. When I first started, I ended up quitting three times because I was confrontational. You get people screaming in your face: “You do what I tell you to do, you dirty maggot.” Stuff like that. I had four older brothers. The way I grew up was if someone gives it, you got to give back twice as hard—no matter what. Do you know what I'm saying? So driving a cab was a little bit of an adjustment for me. I ended up doing a few courses at MUN, philosophy courses. It chilled me out quite out a bit. But if you're not good in stressful situations and you're unable to problem solve or to negotiate then driving a cab is not the job for you.

I dropped my buddy off at a wedding up in Shea Heights. Him and his girlfriend are regulars. I noticed there were two cop cars and two supervisor vehicles in the parking lot. I pulled in and said to the police officers, “Do you need a hand with anything? Do you want me to take someone out of here?”

“Sure, no sweat.” They turned around and started talking to a couple and some other guy: “Your best bet is getting in that cab and going home out of it.”

I ended up driving them from Shea Heights to St.Phillips. One of them was after getting into a racket with a nineteen-year-old. He himself was a forty-odd-year-old. I call people like him “repeaters.” They keep saying the same thing over and over and over again. Right from Shea Heights to St.Phillips, he kept saying, “Would you let anyone say anything like that to your wife or kid? Would you let anyone say anything like that to your wife or kid? I'll beat his head in; I'll kill him. I'll beat his head in; I'll kill him.” He just kept saying it over and over again.

The guy in front was a local businessman—I knew who he was. He was just rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Buddy in back then started classifying everyone from Shea Heights as scumbags.

His wife said, “Shut up out of it! Shut your mouth! That cab driver might be from Shea Heights.”

I started laughing.

Buddy in the front asked, “Where are you from, cabbie?”

“Shea Heights.”

The repeater said, “Where are you from, cabbie?”

“Shea Heights.”

“You're just saying that now because I said everyone from Shea Heights is scum. They're all a bunch of scumbags up there, aren't they, cabbie?”

“I suppose. They're all scumbags.” You got to agree and have fun with them. What are you going to do, disagree with them? You're not going to get anywhere very fast with that type of attitude.

You got to understand that there are people like that. I mean, he never directly insulted me. He never said, “
You're
a scumbag cab driver.” He was just generalizing. It just so happened that he got into a racket up in Shea Heights. It could've been Paradise, Torbay—anywhere. Even then, you can turn around and tell him to shut his mouth. But that's only going to lead to more nonsense. The best thing is to take your cellphone, dial the police and show him the number. That usually takes care of everything.

That same weekend, I could've had another altercation. We don't like to pick up groups of guys. They're too much trouble, especially if they're buddies. There's strength in numbers. When you come down over Queen's Road you look for couples. You don't want to be picking up three or four guys. You can pick up a bunch in suits, and it'll be the same thing. Just because they're in suits doesn't mean you're not going to get trouble. I passed a group of four guys, and this girl was stood out on the corner. I stopped, and she said, “Come on!” She's what we call a “baiter.” She stands up and gets a cab to stop, and the guys get in.

They got in the cab, and I said, “Where are you headed?”

“Empire Avenue.”

There's four different Empire Avenues. You got the one by the Taxation Centre, and you got the one by Columbus Drive. That breaks off and goes up by Mundy Pond and Blackmarsh Road. Then there's one down by the stadium. I knew they were headed up by the crosstown, but I didn't know which side. I said, “Can you be a bit more specific about where the house is to? Can you name anything around it?”

The guy in the back said, “It's Tucker's Superette. Come on, dumbass. You don't know where Tucker's Superette is? Do you know what I'm saying, dumbass?”

I looked in the mirror and as I made eye contact with him he looked away. I don't take personal insults. I'm pretty easygoing; I get along with everybody. But I don't take personal insults.

One Friday night, a driver radioed in and said that he needed help on Kenna's Hill. It's just down by the stadium. I stopped, and another of our cars stopped. Then a Newfound Cab stopped, and then a City Wide and a Jiffy stopped. Cab drivers help each other out. Remember that old guy that got that real bad beating? He ended up in critical condition. He was smashed up, and he was just an old guy. Some people have no bones about it. They don't care if you're young or old. We got to look out for each other.

Our driver was stood up outside with four young guys. To be honest, I don't know how to take this guy. He's had a bit of a history with altercations. A few times, he even drove people to the RNC building and got them arrested. He's a hothead, but he's harmless. What ended up happening was two of the customers were arguing and were about to get into a fistfight in his van. So he stopped the van and told them to get out. We were all stood up in the parking lot, and he was screaming, “I want my $10!”

The Newfound guy said, “Boys, it's either pay the $10 or you're going to jail, and you'll be in jail until Monday morning.”

At this point, an undercover cop came along. She saw the ruckus, jumped out and flashed the badge. The boys paid the ten bucks.

I was walking to my car, and another car pulled up. There were four of them inside, big brutish, grizzly bears. They were screaming, “Get the fuck off the road! You cab drivers are all a bunch of scumbags.”

They were obviously impaired, and they were driving. I tried to ignore them, and one guy said, “Get off the road, you fucker.”

I said, “My car is off the road.”

“Well, then, get them off the road.”

“That's none of my business,” I said. “Go around.”

Then he jumped out and started walking towards me and pointing his finger: “I'm going to rip your head off !”

“You can go right ahead, but there's a cop right there.”

As soon as I said that he went right into the ruckus.

I jumped in the cab, and then the three guys that were into the first altercation ran over to my car: “Any chance for a ride home?”

I was like, “Boys, are you serious? You were just giving that other driver a hard time, and now you want a run home?”

“We don't want to walk. It was his fault. We got a story to tell, too.”

“Give me twenty-five bucks, and I'll give you a run. I'm not messing around.”

“No sweat.”

They paid the twenty-five right off the bat.

On the way, they got to telling me that here they were just carrying on with each other, and the driver thought they were serious. When I drove them, you couldn't have asked for any better. They were hugging me and patting me on the shoulder. To them, I was the best thing since sliced bread.

You got people beating up your car and slamming your doors. How are you supposed to deal with them? Get out and punch them in the head? Then you're on charges. We had a guy who got out after some teenager, and now he's up on charges. The teenager was throwing snowballs at the cars, and the driver got out. The teenager came over and made a swing. The driver is a boxer and made short work of him. The teenager saw the car number and the company name, and his parents phoned the police, pressed charges and took him to court. He's looking at honorary discharge and two years' probation.

He told me last week, “The judge asked me if I had my time back would you do it all over again? I would do it over again. If anyone makes a swing at me, I'm swinging back. Straight up self-defence.”

The judge said, “It didn't occur to you to run? Why didn't you run away? Why didn't you call the cops and press charges?”

I know plenty of drivers like that. But that only leads to trouble. You got to feel people out. If you're hotheaded it's not going to work. For a good while, I was like that. I'm back at it full-time now, though, and I'm doing okay. But the major adjustment was with me.

Violence is Not the Answer

Bazil, driving for twelve years

It's getting to the point where someone is seriously going to get hurt for stiffing a taxi driver. It happens so much that the frustration level is growing and growing and growing. The taxi drivers are going to say, “We're fed up with getting beat up, picked on, used and abused. We're coming to our buddies' rescue.” Now maybe these guys will never rip off a taxi driver again because they know what's going to happen to them. Guaranteed that's going to happen. Guaranteed.

It's quicker for me to get a couple of my buddies to come by and beat the shit out of you than it is to get the cops. And sooner or later, that's what's going to happen. The cops aren't going to get there in time and someone is going to end up in the hospital with a serious injury, or someone is going to end up dead.

Violence is not the answer, but it's getting to the point where something's got to be done to tell people to stop fucking around with the taxi drivers. You can't be ripping us off. Someone is seriously going to get hurt. Some taxi driver is going to haul out a baseball bat and beat the fuck out of someone. Internal injuries, broken legs. I can see it happening. But taxi drivers got to remember one thing—that if you take it out you better be prepared to use it. If you don't, they're going to use it on you instead. That's why I don't carry weapons. You're better off talking your way out of it.

Epilogue

Honesty is the Road to Poverty

Theodore, driving for thirty-eight years

The neighbourhood stands are practically gone; they were gobbled
up by the fleets. Some were sold wholesale, while others died a slow
death. Some taxicab drivers might call this progress, or the inevitable
consequence of increased professionalization, while others would say
not much has improved and that the industry has lost much of its personality.