A SHORT STORY ABOUT A BELL-END TAXI DRIVER (PLUS ROAD SAFETY ADVICE)
One afternoon earlier this week – perhaps on the Monday, yeah probably – I was out with the now 4 year old Son 2, on his new bike. It’s a small, green affair with stabilizers… Not that I need to tell YOU that. You’re more than likely one of the 34 people who watched that video I put up on Facebook.
Anyhoo. We were out at Gosforth Central Park, on our way back from buying milk and shit from the shops, and generally having a bit of a ride around. Well, he was. I was on foot, with a rucksack full of milk (and shit).
This is all just establishing detail; the real action of the story takes place forthwith.
ON THE CROSSING OF THE ROADS IN GENERAL
One thing I’ve managed to drum into Son 2 of late is that he now stops an overly safe distance away from the curb. This was in reaction to him running or scooting up to the edge of the road on a number of occasions, then teetering over the edge and, as such, placing himself in mortal danger / near certainty of death by vehicle.
As a reaction to my frequent, and very public tellings off, Son 2 now stops his bike anywhere from 6 to 15 ft away from the road. He’ll then wait patiently as I:
A: Catch up, and
B: Hoick the bike up in one arm.
Following that, he’ll then:
C: Grab a hold of frame and carefully walk to the other side with me.
It’s a pain in the arse, I won’t lie to you. But it keeps him from being smashed to pieces under a lorry, so, you know…
OFFICIAL START OF THE TALE
So, on this particular Bank Holiday Monday, we arrived a safe distance away from the curb next to the roundabout, outside of the park. And lo, the crossing of the road did begin.
Looking up from Stage B, I noticed that – having witnessed me mid hoick – a large, silver, 4×4, off-road style vehicle had already stopped to help facilitate our crossing. I would find out later that this was one of the other Dad’s from the school run, but this wasn’t known to me at the time.
Friends, we’ve now arrived at the drama. Strap yourselves in!
As I engaged in a Highway Code compliant attempt at walking to the other side of the road, a local style Taxi – also silver in colour, and probably a Blue Star – sped up, right up to the arse of the 4×4 vehicle. After perhaps 1 second of being delayed, it revved its engine loudly, and pulled up – angrily – alongside the 4×4.
I stopped where I was, mid crossing.
Now, the driver of the Taxi – the Taxi Driver, if you will – was a sort of ‘Happy Shopper’ Jason Statham type. A bit more bulbous in the face maybe. He had a nice, white haired old lady, easily in her late 80’s, sat in the front with him: presumably his fare for the afternoon.
Aimed at the 4×4 driver – though blasted directly into that nice, well to do, little old lady’s ear – the Taxi Driver then shouted:
“HOWEH MAN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YUH DEEIN’??”
…I mean, it was muffled, but I could hear it. The 4×4 driver (and fellow School Dad) didn’t react.
Red faced, the Taxi Driver then glanced ahead – and only then did he appear to see me, and my 4 year old charge. I felt, at this point, that I’d best clarify what was taking place here:
“He’s letting me cross the road you bellend.”
There was yet more angry revving of engine – perhaps also in the wrong gear – and the Taxi Driver sped off at somewhere in the region of 50 miles an hour, his old lady passenger in a stake of shock beside him.
A NON VERBAL EXCHANGE OF GLANCES
At this point, I looked to the Good Samaritan 4×4 driver and pulled a face – hopefully one which displayed bemusement at the events that had just taken place. His response was to merely offer a shrug – “Taxi Drivers are arseholes.”
With that, I looked both ways, and successfully completed the crossing.
Where the Jason Statham-alike Taxi Driver went to next, no tale now tells.
And there you have it. A tale to amuse and perhaps – just perhaps – warm the heart too.
Thanks for reading.