Sunday, February 24

I Don't Do Domestics

Sunday afternoon and I pull up to pick-up outside a local pub, just like I have done many hundreds of times before. All seems well as the couple walk up and he gets in the front and she slides into the back seat. I ask where too as usual and then think the guy is joking when he says calmly “I don’t want her in the taxi with me throw her out please.” Still thinking he is joking I smile and ask “where too” again and the lady shouts loudly “yeah where too, you two timing rat.” When I look in the rear view I see that the lady has been bawling and that her eye make-up had ran making her look like Amy Winehouse on a bad day. It’s then that the horrible truth dawns on me; I have been hijacked into a full blown domestic. It seems that she had followed him to the pub and was trying to catch him out misbehaving. Both seemed to have had more than a drop to drink and soon all hell was let loose as they started to argue. Both tried to get me involved, but as any taxi driver will tell you the unwritten rule is that you never ever get involved in domestics. After much shouting they both got out the cab, and then promptly got back in again, and then out and then in. After the fifth time I held my hand out to the guy and he handed me some cash. With that I was off leaving them both stood on the pavement arguing furiously away. All of this was very much to the amusement of the watching nicotine addicts chuffing away on the pub car park. I just don’t do domestics, but still I wish more passengers would pay me for doing nothing.

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