To the BATMOBILE

Sunday, July 10, 2005

in the passenger seat

Everybody loves a good taxi driver.

Unfortunately enough, it's safe to say there aren't many around. Worse still within the past three days I have been subjected to, possibly the most inhumane dose of singaporean taxi drivers ever.

3 days ago

Collapsed on the curb of Dover road, I managed to raise a feeble hand to signal over a cab to drag my body home. Taking a moment to scan his face for any possible signs of insanity, I give him a pass grade (my marking scheme needs to be revised) and died on the backseat of his taxi, leaving my body in his seemingly-capable hands to bring me back to my parents and explain my demise to them ("Ah, I'm sorry ah Mr. Butler, your boyboy died in the backseat of my taxi lah. I show you a while? But please wear a shirt and some shorts before you step outside your house hor.")

Unfortunately, just before I got dragged through the gates of Hell, I was rudely awakened by my limp head banging on the door handle for the 50th time (judging by the amount of swelling it had gone through - I was quite surprised not to have sustained severe brain haemorrhaging), and I peered out the window to find myself nowhere near Mandarin Gardens, my beloved home. It seemed while I was blissfully getting my soul burned by Satan himself, my dear cabbie had attemped to bring me to the mouse, albeit not by the more conventional ECP route, but through the AYE to the CTE to the PIE, followed by ATU, the YUP, and finally the FUCK - Where am I expressway. When I finally arrived at the bottom of my block, I gave him the "I know what you did within the last hour" look and told him I wasn't paying anything remotely close to the $16 fare. (Until I realised I had my school uniform on).

Enter - Dennis Butler, 64 (I think), hairy chest (and everywhere else to boot), and dragging the family dog along for its walk (much to its consternation), and clad in a pair of faded red shorts and shoes. Even superheroes have to rely on parental guidance once in a while.

2 days ago

Its 11.30 at night, and my hearts racing, goosebumps arising from every millimetre of my body, and hormones pulsating (explicit details censored). I'm not doing drugs, thankfully enough. However, having just watched Fantastic 4 - Jessica Alba, well, has that effect on most guys.

Desperate to catch a cab to beat the midnight surcharge, I promptly flagged down the first cab I saw, which included the winner of the Most Incompetent Taxi Driver award consecutively since it was inaugurated when LTA was formed.

The following is a log of the dialogue that transpired in the taxi - starting from where we disembarked at Great World City.

Him : "So where to ah boy?"
Me : "Mandarin Gardens."
Him : "Orh. Mandaling. I know."
Me : "You better bloody do."
Him : "That one is the Hotiaow one right?"
Me : "No, thats Mandarin Hotel. I meant Mandarin Gardens. Siglap. You know?"
Him : "ORRHHHH." - and proceeds to throw the driving wheel in a mad spin to the right in bid to make an illegal U-turn , all the while cackling "I know liaoz" to himself.
Him : "That one is the one near... Ehh... ECP right?"
Me : "Theres quite a bit of stuff near the ECP, but yeah."
Him : "Aha! Told you I know" - Before driving into oncoming traffic on an one-way road, occasionally skidding onto the pavement to avoid collisions with 20ton trucks.

I arrived just in time for the last 20 cents to be charged 50% more, drenched in cold sweat and clutching the arm of the very man that tried to kill me. Weary and feeling oh-so-mortal, I collapsed on my bed, happy to be alive.

Having expected to wake up to the headlines of "High Security Woodbridge Mental Patient escapes and steals cabby and haunts River Valley", I passed the recent two days in relative security and safety. Though, I would love to distribute several lethal injections to put the two beasts, that probably raised my chances of having a stroke by tenfold, down.

Still alive and kicking-
TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 8:22 pm
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