Taxi Drivers Past and Present - Any Stories To Share; funny, interesting, scary etc.?

[warren t claim]

I was doing the overnight shift for Frank, just me and the oppo, and it was quiet so I told the lady oppo that I was going to have a kip in my Mondeo for an hour. I parked at the side of the office, turned the taxi radio off, reclined my seat and lobbed Classic FM on at a low volume.

My slumber was disturbed by the NSR door being flung open and a couple of scruffy arseholes getting in telling me that the girl in the office told them to get in my car. Obviously, I lock my doors when having an in car siesta bit my Mondeo had non functioning central locking on the NSR door. 

Somewhat annoyed that the oppo had told them I'd take them when I clearly stated that I was having a sleep, I drove them the mile or so to the dingy ground floor flat they wanted to go to, it was the usual former shop converted into accommodation by a slumlord. They pay me, exit the car, walk over to their front door, go in and I see them through the window after turning on the light in their front room. 

I start to drive back when I realise that my trusty iPhone 4s is missing! The little cunts have robbed my mobile! I spin the car around and thrash it back to their gaff. Their living room has only net curtains and I can clearly see them examining my phone and trying to unlock it. As I now had proof of theft they'd waivered their rights to be given the benefit of the doubt so I surveyed my forced entry options. Putting their front window through and jumping in was considered but it's a double glazed unit meaning I might take some time getting in. I turn my attention to the front door, bingo! The front door not only was weak but also showed the signs of being forced open before, probably by a dealer wanting money.

One hard charge and it flew open. The lads inside shit themselves wondering if a local grafter they owed cash to had decided to pay a visit! I storm into the living room and grab my phone. minus its case for some reason, off the arm of their flea ridden sofa and scream at them "why the fuck did you rob my phone lads?" They protest that they "found" my phone in my car and were going to hand it in to the police, a likely story.

I walk out, get into my car and now being fully awake, go back to the office for a coffee. I walk in to see the lady oppo looking worried. Her side of the story was as follows, they'd asked for a taxi but she'd refused to let them have a cab as she'd heard them talking between themselves in the waiting room about the gun they had on them!!! After the knock back they'd started to walk but seen a taxi at the side of the office with a driver in it so tried their luck opening a door and struck gold as that was the door my central locking didn't work on. As I wanted a kip I'd turned the taxi radio off so the oppo couldn't warn me!

With the benefit of hindsight, I'm pretty sure even Evil Warren would've had second thoughts about raiding their flat over a mobile phone and I'll admit my arse went squeaky when I heard about the firearm! Obviously, I played down this to the oppo and Frank when he heard what I had done.

[warren t claim]

A tale from when I was working for Frank, the boss of a small local firm.

We were down to maybe eight drivers, and three of them went and got an operator's ticket to start pitching for their own airport work. They had cards printed that they displayed in their cars and it was pretty obvious that whenever we gave them an airport job they were handing out cards to cuff the work. At the time we were pretty competitive on distance jobs and I could see the regular riders not ringing up as often as they used to. It was obvious what was going on so I cornered Frank to complain about the three amigos cuffing quality jobs. Frank's answer was "I can't afford to lose their base rents, find me another three drivers and I'll sack them."

One morning I had a Man Air collection when June, Frank's bit on the side who was operating that day, found a piece of paper with the take out and flight details written in the handwriting of Danny, a driver who lost his badge due to an admin fuck up that Frank felt sorry for and gave him a job operating so he could feed his family. June made the reasonable assumption that Danny had forgot to put it in the book and sent me to pick them up. A fucking bonus as a back to back Man Air is the peppermint cream of jobs! 

I rock up to the take out address only to find that they'd just left! Fuck! As I was still having to go and cover the Man Air pick up I wring the neck of my Mondeo up the M56 to see if I can catch the driver who took them. At this time I was thinking that the punter had called two firms and jumped in the first car that arrived, a common problem back then. In fact, it is taxi code that if two firms turn up at the address of a double booker then neither car will take them and woe betide a driver that does! 

As I reach Chester Services on the M56 I see a familiar car, one of the three amigos displaying the door signs of their airport transfer company on his doors. I pull in behind and phone the contact number we had for the job. As expected, his passenger picks up their phone and tells me that they're already in the taxi. I politely thank them and continue to the airport to collect my passenger.

During the return journey, I ponder what's happened. Danny has clearly fed a decent job to his mates which really isn't the done thing! Once the passengers have been taken home Evil Warren phones Frank to explain the situation. Frank sounds pretty hurt that a lad who he gave operating hours to just to help him out would do such a trick. Evil Warren just wants blood! Frank summons Danny to the office. Now dear reader, as you've followed this thread and read about the antics of Frank, the Gene Hunt, Life On Mars taxi firm owner I'll let you choose from the following three options to guess what Frank told me to do.

1. I'll sort this out Warren. It was probably just a mistake.
2. This is clearly a disciplinary matter and I'll sack him unless he's got a fucking good excuse.
3. Danny will be here at 10am if you want to come over and give him a slap for feeding his mate's with jobs.

At 9.55 I'm back at the office waiting for my satisfaction. Danny turns up thinking that nothing is wrong only to be greeted by a VERY angry Frank! As the penny has now dropped that he's been caught, Danny makes a run for it only to have his escape route blocked by a seething Evil Warren! Evil Warren grabs him by the throat and chucks him on the sofa in the office. Evil Warren gives Danny a "how dare you!" monologue well worth of St Greta and demands a good reason why he shouldn't have the shit kicked out of him! Danny starts pleading "you'll get your money, you'll get your money" whilst held up against a wall. Evil Warren feels that he's made his pint and lets him go. Danny leaves with his tail between his legs. 

I turn around and look at Frank. He's got a smile wider than Katy Price's legs and puts his arm around me saying that he's proud of me for fronting up another driver and not willing to be taken advantage of. This, coupled with the fact that I actually gave a shit about the firm, cemented my position as "heir apparent" to the company.

And what about yours truly and Danny? Well, Danny was also quite old school, spleens vented, no grudges were held and we still chat to each other today as mates. He's got his badge back and is apparently doing quite well. Did I get my £50 airport payment as promised? Well no actually. He was going through a hard time then and no way would I take the bread off his table. Sometime's the principle matters more than the price.

TL:DR

W.T.C x

[warren t claim]

Although Montego door handles were a weak point sometimes they were stronger than you'd think.

I was scampering to Birkenhead town centre to pick up a punter going to Chester, a decent £20 fare at the time. I was caught at the traffic lights a couple of hundred yards before the pick up point and had my doors locked as I wanted the big money fare but some daft tart tried to get in at the lights. I thought nothing of it until I pulled up outside the nightclub only to hear a scream from my passenger, there was a fingernail caught in my rear door handle!

[High Jetter]

Am loving these recollections, Warren. I only cabbed for a bit over 3 years, but kept some connections with the trade and drivers, so can appreciate some of what you go through.

[warren t claim]

10 hours ago, High Jetter said:

Am loving these recollections, Warren. I only cabbed for a bit over 3 years, but kept some connections with the trade and drivers, so can appreciate some of what you go through.

Three years is long enough to be able to have acquired some tales to tell on here. 

[High Jetter]

Maybe, like the stuma from south coast to coventry?

[warren t claim]

The panic button. Code 13, yellow 1 and when to use it. 

Despite working Merseyside we drivers get less trouble than you might think but alas tonight was one of those nights. 

I drop off a lady on one end of a council estate with a less than glowing reputation and immediately receive a message on my datahead informing me of a driver having trouble with his passengers about half a mile away on the other end of the estate. Clearly I'll be the nearest car so I nail it to the driver's last reported location while on the phone to the office so I know what car to look for. En route I see another of our cars and he spins his 63 plate Insignia around and follows me as he's not too sure about the local geography. 
We turn up as the first on the scene leaving me decision on how to approach the problem, either try and calm the situation or go in on a shock and awe basis. 
When we arrive a fat bloke and tarty woman jump out of the car. They're most vocal about the driver refusing to take them any further as he'd billed them a tenner up front for the journey and they wanted to go somewhere else now where the money would be to pay him. 
Right then, I nip over to get the driver's side of the story only to see him fucking off sharpish in his Mondeo leaving me and the other lad to deal with the situation.  In all my years this is the first time that's happened. 
Now we're not exactly in the best possible position here, the estate is miles from anywhere where other driver would be and the only major route into the estate was a lever crossing that was closed for maintenance 10 mins ago. 
At this point his slapper starts insisting that one of us take them! No fucking way and her fella wants us to refund him! Even less chance!!! At this point myself and the other driver agree that just calmly driving away and leaving them to sort it out with the office is the best plan of action. 
We leave the scene and meet up around the corner. Needless to say, we were more pissed off with the driver we had come to assist for leaving us than with the abusive passenger.

[High Jetter]

Is he new?

[warren t claim]

As we're on the subject of When Passengers Attack I thought I'd give a belated update about the worst one I had to attend.

This was about late 2005 or early 2006. It was about midnight on a Friday night when my datahead screeched loudly to say a fellow driver had hit the panic button. On our old Auriga dataheads we had a silent alarm system where if a driver hit *0 at the same time all other cars were alerted but his set remained silent. The Auriga system relied on an external GPS, a datahead to display jobs and messages all linked to a two way radio. 
Sadly a few of us heard his last known address wrongly over the radio and headed to another location about a mile and a half away. Fortunately, the location we went to was high up a hill so we could hear more clearly his exact position so we headed off there. 

There was maybe four cars already there when I arrived. I walk over to his silver Peugeot 406 to see him slumped behind the wheel semi-aware of what had happened. He was bleeding heavily and the grey interior of his 406 was both covered in blood and smashed up, one of his attackers had opened his driver's door and kicked away indiscriminately even smashing the Peugeot's cowling on the steering column and breaking the key. 
Although this had happened a good 15 minutes earlier there was no sign of police or an ambulance in attendance yet and several drivers were desperately phoning 999 for help only to be told that an ambulance would be at least 15 minutes away and the police were busy at the moment.

Between lapsing in and out of consciousness the driver managed to give a description of his attackers and the circumstances that caused this. It turns out that he'd picked two lads and a woman from a Chinese restaurant and during the three mile journey his passengers had started fighting with each other. When he tried to break it up they all started attacking him! 

As we now have a decent description we pair off to look for the cunts. I get into the back of a TX2 belonging to a lad looking for blood and revenge! Fair enough you may think but this lad was maybe 27, looked a bit errrr.... effeminate (although he was dating a hot telephonist at our office) and now way looked like the sort of fella who you'd want backing you up in a fight. We drive around the estate and see some likely suspects. He jumps out and goes all psycho, fair enough but although I'm certain that this group of people knew what happened, and almost certainly know the names we're looking for, there's no blood on any of them and no way could a beating be justified. My hack driving, Rylan Clark-Neal impersonator colleague thinks otherwise and I have to drag him away from getting himself a criminal record. 

I get him back in his cab, telling him that although I agree with him it's not worth the fallout without proof and we drive back to the crime scene just as an ambulance is arriving to take our, heavily bleeding, colleague to hospital. The poor cunt waited a good half hour for an ambulance! Still no sign of the plod though. He's taken away and I call for someone I know to recover his car.

 Anyway, the following night I'm (illegally but it was sort of tolerated back then) plying for hire outside the row of local nightclubs in town when a mate who works on the doors runs up to my car desperately trying to get my attention. I lower my passenger window and he tells me that there's a young lady in the club who's having an asthma attack! She doesn't want to go to the hospital but wants to go home as she has a nebuliser there that'll get her breathing normally again and could I please get her home PDQ. 

He and a couple of other door staff in the club (not all bouncers are cunts) carry her into my car and I hammer it away from there to her home address about three miles away. 
My Mondeo at the time had a headlight out so I was running on fog lights as well so I was half expecting a pull anyway that night. I'm "making progress" and we're about halfway there when I see a police car heading towards me, not just any police car but the Merseyside Police puppy walking Fiesta manned by an inspector showing a new probationer the ropes. 

He sees a speeding taxi with a headlight bulb out heading toward him and thinks about swerving into my path to stop me but bottles it at the last moment and chooses to turn around and get behind me. I slow down a bit and he throws on his blue lights to stop me. I pull over. I, along with my still struggling to breathe, passenger get out. He gets out of the training car (the training car was the only Fiesta on the police fleet at the time, all other beat cars were Focii back then) along with the young WPC he was trying to impress and strolls over to me all red faced and, keen to look like Mr Big Man in front of his fit probationer starts to scream at me for speeding and having a headlight out. The young WPC can see that my passenger is in distress and looks genuinely concerned for her welfare. Inspector Big Bollocks is having none of my excuses for speeding and starts interrogating my gasping passenger demanding to know if she knows me! 

Inspector Arsehole is rapidly learning that he's starting to look like a massive bellend in front of a new recruit that he was trying to impress and is rapidly running out of prosecution options. He demanded to know why I didn't call an ambulance. I reply "About this time yesterday one of our drivers got severely beaten and the ambulance took at least half an hour to arrive, shit I know but it was still a hell of a lot quicker than it took for you lot to turn up". Inspector Limp Dick, knowing that he now looks like a bit of a twat, sends me away to complete my mercy mission with a stern warning to get a new headlamp bulb.

[warren t claim]

Back in the days when plod didn't give a fuck what we did as long as we didn't kill anyone or bother them, booting it to a panic alarm/Yellow 1/Code 13 was the high spot of many a Saturday night. Most passengers loved to come along for the ride and if they're handy lads then they looked forward to it!

On our old Auriga dataheads to activate the panic button the driver had to press * and 0 at the same time. A design oversight was that to clear your set after a job the driver had to press * and then 0 meaning lads who were a bit too quick with their fingers would accidentally trip the panic button. A feature of hitting the panic button was that it would open the mic on the radio meaning the operator could hear what was going on in the car so he or she could determine whether it was a genuine emergency or not. One night I was dropping a little old lady off at our local Mecca Bingo when I was a bit to fast clearing my job. The first thing I noticed is when I was boxed in by other taxis and another driver called Cigar Man (for obvious reasons) pulled up next to me in his metallic blue, R plate Mondeo LX diesel asking if I was OK. It was only then that the penny dropped as to what I had done! At least the other drivers attending had clocked that it was a lone, female OAP in my car and realised that it was a false alarm. I'm just glad that I wasn't dropping off a bunch of lads and the drivers jumped to the wrong conclusion!

The thing was, a fair few of these were driver induced fare disputes. Nowadays our dataheads are cheap Andriod mobiles with the despatch software built in including a GPS tracked meter but in the old Auriga/radio days fares were either calculated using a tariff sheet and your trip meter or a driver could buy his own meter and have it fitted and set to whatever fare structure his firm used. When you had your meter fitted into your car (£200 all in) the company would also program in something we used to call "Pirate Rate". Pirate Rate was your usual fare plus about 10% and we ran it when we were doing iilegal street pick ups, known locally as pirating. By some quirk, the answer to which I still don't know, when a driver switched his meter off time and motion to motion only whatever tariff number you were charging would not be displayed on the meter making it hard for the passenger to complain to your office.

One lad really used to take the piss. I'm not sure how high he set his pirate rate but almost every Saturday night between 2 and 3am he'd end up pressing his panic button when one of his fares saw their arse over their bill. He even used to charge pirate rate with regular passengers who did the same trip every day and knew exactly how much the trip should cost! He was known as Mark The Tub Of Lard, even though he'd managed to shed over five stone using the amphetamine diet program, and both him and his then wife Donna were drivers at our firm. 

Mark was one of life's nearly men, always trying to make money however he could although he owed money just about everywhere. He tried to be the next big thing in the local taxi rental game buy buying a couple of ex Merseyside Police Mk3 Astra diesels for £800 quid each. Not being clued up on cars the Astras he bought weren't the hassle free Isuzu powered ones but the Vauxhall powered Slow Blow fuckers. One of these he kept for himself and admitedly it ran OK and did provide exeptional fuel economy but the one he tried to rent out smoked more than me and was always breaking down. Undeterred, he went out and bought a seriously shunted Pug 306 petrol which to his credit he had repaired and started using that himself and rented his reliable Astra out. Mark went on to take his PSV test and went on to start a very sucessful small bus company. Unfortunately, he then caught Donna screwing around on him (she'd been doing that for years and he was the last to know) and let his bus empire turn to shit.

[warren t claim]

Here's a story that I'm pretty sure I've never shared before on here.

The Runner I let Get Away.

Normally a runner triggers Evil Warren into action within nanoseconds but in this case I let the scrote get away with it for his efforts. 

Allow me to set the scene. At the time I was working my Omega Elite 3.0 V6 petrol so this dates the story to about mid 2004. Although I'm normally a night driver on this day I started early. At about 5.30 pm I was despatched a job to collect a punter from New Ferry Job Centre who wanted to go to Birkenhead town centre. He's your typical Birkonian track suit trash lad in his mid 20s and he gets in the back and we set off for the three mile journey. About two and a half miles into the trip we get to this point on the very busy New Chester Road.

 

As we get to a speed camera the lad opens the door and bails out! I look in the mirror to see the following traffic scatter to avoid his body rolling down the road! And then to my surprise, I see him jump up and sprint away in the direction of a well-known block of flats that house many of the local smackhead community. The lad had clearly planned his stuntman act beforehand and knew that the best chance he had would be at the section of the road where the speed camera was because he knew I'd be driving at under 30 mph at that point.

To be honest, if you paid me enough I'd certainly consider jumping out of a car moving at 28 mph but I can assure you that the monetary reward required would be a hell of a lot more than £3.80!

[Supernaut]

Warren, that day.

 

[warren t claim]

Now and again a punter shows such breathtaking stupidity and ineptitude that even I, after well over two decades in the job have to question whether this has happened or not. Today such an occurrence happened.

I know that I've told the tale before about the lad who did a runner into his own house and then opened his front door on the chain to tell me that his failure to pay was a civil matter forcing me to pop the chain by using a spade conveniently left in his front garden but this "lady" earlier in today went one better. Not only did she do a runner into her own house before darting upstairs and shouting down out of an open window that she'll have to phone the office to pay, she also managed to do all of this whilst leaving her front door key in the lock! 

If it'd been a bloke doing this I'd have just let myself in and walked off with his telly but as I was dealing with what could loosely be termed a female I had to try another tactic. 

As her front door didn't have a Yale type lock being fitted with one of those either locked or unlocked types, I decided in the interests of her own home security I'd lock her in and launch the key onto her porch roof. I left a message with the operator to tell her where the key is when she doubtlessly remembers that paying for her taxi is something that slipped her mind and she phones up to pay by card.
 

[warren t claim]

Sometimes a driver can judge how his shift is going to be by the standard of his first passenger. Tonight was one such night.

My initial job cancels while I'm driving to the pick up but I get sent another job in seconds. The job is a two mile local trip and I arrive at the address in about a minute. I hit the callback and a blonde MILF of about 50 jumps in the back of Two Tier Kia and tells me where she wants to be dropped off. So far so good. 

We set off and it becomes apparent that she's one of those "touchy feely" type passengers who likes to put a hand on my shoulder whenever she talks to me. To be honest that's not that unusual with punters of either sex. She tells me that she's off to visit a friend for some drinks after a busy day at work. I casually ask her what she does for a living prompting her to reply that she gives colonic irrigation to people for a living! 

She tells me that she thinks I need a coffee irrigation for my liver followed by a wheat grass infusion up my arse! What really surprised me was her statement that she'd have to check and massage my prostate first but not to worry as every man she treats really enjoys that!

[High Jetter]

27 minutes ago, warren t claim said:

Sometimes a driver can judge how his shift is going to be by the standard of his first passenger. Tonight was one such night.

My initial job cancels while I'm driving to the pick up but I get sent another job in seconds. The job is a two mile local trip and I arrive at the address in about a minute. I hit the callback and a blonde MILF of about 50 jumps in the back of Two Tier Kia and tells me where she wants to be dropped off. So far so good. 

We set off and it becomes apparent that she's one of those "touchy feely" type passengers who likes to put a hand on my shoulder whenever she talks to me. To be honest that's not that unusual with punters of either sex. She tells me that she's off to visit a friend for some drinks after a busy day at work. I casually ask her what she does for a living prompting her to reply that she gives colonic irrigation to people for a living! 

She tells me that she thinks I need a coffee irrigation for my liver followed by a wheat grass infusion up my arse! What really surprised me was her statement that she'd have to check and massage my prostate first but not to worry as every man she treats really enjoys that!

It's a shite job sometimes 🤣

[warren t claim]

1 minute ago, High Jetter said:

It's a shite job sometimes 🤣

For the first time in my life, I've been hoping for a hose pipe ban!

[Metal Guru]

Any taxi drivers here ever used first gear?

[sierraman]

8 hours ago, warren t claim said:

Sometimes a driver can judge how his shift is going to be by the standard of his first passenger. Tonight was one such night.

My initial job cancels while I'm driving to the pick up but I get sent another job in seconds. The job is a two mile local trip and I arrive at the address in about a minute. I hit the callback and a blonde MILF of about 50 jumps in the back of Two Tier Kia and tells me where she wants to be dropped off. So far so good. 

We set off and it becomes apparent that she's one of those "touchy feely" type passengers who likes to put a hand on my shoulder whenever she talks to me. To be honest that's not that unusual with punters of either sex. She tells me that she's off to visit a friend for some drinks after a busy day at work. I casually ask her what she does for a living prompting her to reply that she gives colonic irrigation to people for a living! 

She tells me that she thinks I need a coffee irrigation for my liver followed by a wheat grass infusion up my arse! What really surprised me was her statement that she'd have to check and massage my prostate first but not to worry as every man she treats really enjoys that!

Just give me the £6.20 and fuck off. 🤣

[Metal Guru]

2 hours ago, sierraman said:

Just give me the £6.20 and fuck off. 🤣

I thought £15 was minimum fare these days.

[sierraman]

1 hour ago, Metal Guru said:

I thought £15 was minimum fare these days.

Not where I live or anywhere I’ve been, it’s usually £4.20ish minimum. Maybe in rural areas I don’t know. 

[Metal Guru]

33 minutes ago, sierraman said:

Not where I live or anywhere I’ve been, it’s usually £4.20ish minimum. Maybe in rural areas I don’t know. 

They must take me for a ride then!

[warren t claim]

Where the fuck do I start with the last day?

Part 1/4.

It was a pretty normal night shift until about 2.30am when I got sent a job to take a passenger from about the worst part of the worst part of Birkenhead to a thoroughly respectable middle class area a little over five miles away. The punter, a pissed bloke aged between 30 and 35, tries to get in the back with a full half pint glass of cola plus whatever 40% spirit he'd been mixing it with for the last several hours. I run a very informal taxi and don't really mind punters in the back drinking out of a beer bottle as long as they put a finger on the top between swigs but a full glass is forbidden as the spill risk is too high. 99.9% of punters in this situation won't only be pissed, but they'll also be brimming with "Colombian Confidence" and he was no exception. He doesn't see why he has to throw his drink away. I'm still outside the pick up address and his three equally sniffed and pissed mates are standing on the pavement waving him goodbye. I then recognise one of his mates as being an acquaintance of an "arms length" friend of mine who is currently away for another six years (or maybe six weeks if Starmer needs his cell space to bang up an OAP for calling a police horse gay) and make the tactical decision to tell him that as me and his mate have a mutual friend of **** ******** he can bring his drink but it stays in my cupholder for the entire trip. This shuts him up. When we get to his house he pays me. Via contactless. No tip.

[warren t claim]

Part 2/4.

The next job is only a few miles away. Not unlike the last job, this fare is going from a marginally rough estate to a VERY wealthy South Wirral area. I arrive at the pick up address and this pissed and rough looking 50 year old slapper staggers to the NSF door of Two Tier Kia and parks her arse next to me. She then tells me in her finest 24 carat Birkenhead council estate scrubber voice that she's sorry for being pissed but she was drinking with her sister as her fella kicked the fuck out of her four days ago. Trust me, this lady was a gnats pubic hair away from being a cash up front job but I gave her the benefit of the doubt as I'm a sucker for a battered wife sob story.

During the trip of about two miles she tells me that her BF who leathered her was out on licence at the time and has now been recalled to prison over his Dennis Waterman/Rula Lenska tribute act. She then tells me that she wished that her ex husband of 26 years hadn't cheated on her as he would never dream of raising a hand in anger.

Her next thoughts and deeds came as no surprise to this 24 years taxi service veteran who has had the pleasure of transporting plenty of pissed up victims of domestic violence before. Her right hand squeezes my left knee and I'm informed that she thinks that I'm a lovely fella who would never dream of hitting a woman. I reply saying that although I've never hit a partner I can be a right fucking twat if my ex's are to be believed. I honestly have zero fucking interest in being a revenge fuck to a rough scrubber in what I'm assuming will be a 15 year old Swift two berth parked on a field. She laughs. I was anticipating her next move of her sliding her hand up my left thigh and giving it a squeeze but maybe not for her to keep going straight on to cup my cock and bollocks through my Levis! 

This may come as a shock to you lot, but in real life I'm in a happy relationship and have fuck all interest in burying my knob balls deep into any members of the fare paying public! OK, maybe a select few if I wasn't spoken for but as I am this was definitely off the menu, especially for her! IMHO the best way to deal with unwanted advances like this is to lift the hand of said horny hopeful from my genital area and put their hand with mine over it onto the gear lever. This enables me to keep control of her "wandering hand" eliminating her chances of having a second go.

She fails to succumb to this strategy and swiftly moves her free hand on top of mine before deftly freeing her right hand and using the opportunity to slide my left hand up her slightly above the knee dress as a way to let me know that she didn't have the chance to gather up any underwear while escaping her now incarcerated former fella! To answer the question on the minds of probably more than a few of you reading this the answer is shortly cropped but covering a wide area. 

W.T.C "You fucking KNOW this is a bad idea and that you'll deeply regret when you wake up in the morning next to a three stone overweight taxi driver snoring and farting in your bed!"

Punter. "I don't care. I'm lonely".

W.T.C. "I think we both know that we're worth a lot more than this so don't you think that it'll be better to wait a couple of days and see how you feel then?"

Punter. "Yeah I know you're right but you being so respectful of me makes me want you more".

W.T.C. "I'm the only driver who works this area on the night shift (a lie) so if after a couple of days you still feel the same then all you need to do is phone for a taxi as it'll be me".

Punter. "OMG you're so respectful! Anyway, this is my road on the right".

Glad to be at the end of this job I take the next right and instead of the caravan pitched in the sort of farmer's field that had a Belfast sink dumped in the corner for his livestock to drink out of I'm treated to the pleasant vista of a small newish estate of five and six bedroom executive houses. She tells me to stop at her house, the second on the left. She fishes in her bag for the remote to her electric gates and when found she pushes the button to reveal a nearly new Range Rover on the drive which she says is hers before telling me that the 24 month old Jaguar F Type parked next to it was bought by her as a present for her now banged up ex boyfriend!

[High Jetter]

You can never tell!

[warren t claim]

Just now, High Jetter said:

You can never tell!

The burning question you're all thinking is "If you were single would you have changed your mind, Warren?"

The truthful answer is no. I'm not that mercenary.

[big_al_granvia]

clearly she got rich on the back of dodgy deals and if you aren't a gent there is a blade with your name on it

[sierraman]

This is reading like one of those horseshit stories in the back pages of Razzle. 😂

[warren t claim]

2 hours ago, sierraman said:

This is reading like one of those horseshit stories in the back pages of Razzle. 😂

Damn my fidelity and moral compass. 

[rml2345]

GR8 thread WTC, 112%/10.  

In idle moments I've considered taxi work as a career* but reading this has put me right off the idea. That and I'd wind up beating some scrote to death with a tyre iron over £3.75 or something... I'm not a people person. 

[warren t claim]

Sorry for the delay.

Part 3/4

After escaping the clutches of the female version of Micky Carroll I was despatched another decent job to collect a couple of members of staff from a posh hotel and take them home. Another £16 job. 

About halfway we encounter a broken down 10 plate Hyundai i30 broken down and partially blocking this road...

A blind corner on an unlit road in the dead of night isn't the best place to suffer a FTP. I ask the lads if we should stop and help and we all agreed to offer assistance. The driver, a 6'6" but very slim black guy, tells us that he's ran out of diesel. I have an empty fuel can in the boot so ask my punters if it'll be OK if Wirral's YTS Harlem Globetrotter tags along so I can run him to the garage for diesel once I've dropped them off. They agree and after I've taken them home I run not so Magic Johnson to the Shell garage.

My new best mate puts £8 of diesel in my can and goes to pay. After ten minutes he returns to tell me all of his bank cards have declined. I liaise with the cashier and my passenger agrees to leave his phone as security. The only catch is that it was out of charge so we had to wait another 5 mins for the cashier to find an iPhone charger.

We return to his car and pour the diesel in. I pop the Hyundai bonnet and pump the primer. He turns the key and after some severe cranking the i30 fires into life only to die 10 seconds later. We repeat this and the i30 just spins without firing. As he's on a pretty steep incline I suggest that maybe another gallon of diesel might do the trick. I know he's skint so I drive him two miles in the opposite direction to another 24 hour Shell Shop and pay £7 out of my money for another gallon of DERV. We return, put MY diesel in and this time I pump fuck out of the plunger before telling him to hit the starter. This time it springs straight into life and idles for another 10 seconds before cutting out. He then proceeds to flatten his battery pointlessly hitting the starter.

At this point there's little more I can do. I've invested an hour of my time and £7 trying to help him. The best I could do was take him the 3 miles home.