Taxi Driver II

         (Originally posted on Oct 29, 2007 - 21:39)

         Taxi drivers seem to be a class on its own, no matter what country you go. I know we can't blame them much for what they are because traffic is a very stressing environment to work in, but still... They are making a living out of it and we clients are providing their income. 

         And in the rank of bad taxi drivers of the world I think Romania takes the biscuit.
But again we're not going to talk about this. Maybe another time, but not today. 

         Today I have three more amusing taxi driver stories to tell.
         The first one is probably one of the most amusing taxi drivers episode I've ever been part of. 

         One night I was at a friend's place and I was about to leave at past midnight. She called me a cab and when I went downstairs the car was waiting.
         I got on the car and told him my destination and off we went.
         I noticed that he was constantly flicking his eyes between me and the road and I though "oh no... I know what's coming... He will ask me if I am Chinese". It always happens. And I have an instinctive automatic allergic reaction to this but as the driver was huge, skinhead, big moustache, though guy type I thought I'd better not react at all. 

         He stared at me again and I knew the question was coming... I took a deep breath and held it to keep myself from reacting... Then he shoots point blank: "Esti Mexican?" 
         I almost choked on my own breath!
         Between laughs I asked if he was kidding me and he just say innocently: "Pai... Arati ca un Mexican"
         After recovering from the laughs I tell him that no, I am not Mexican. I'm Japanese.
         Then he tells me that he is an ex-judo champion and he started asking me many questions about Japan. 

         When we're getting close to my place he asks me if I would like to have some coffee and he's quick to add that its on him. So we stop at the magazin alimentar close to my place and he orders two coffees and says "let's drink it Romanian style" and he sits the two cups of coffee on the bonnet of his car and we drink and talk more about Japan.

         After the coffee he says he will take me home and again is quick to add that the remaining of the ride will be for free. We get on the car and he turns on the taxi meter and adds quickly "Don't worry! I won't charge you. I just have to turn it on because if one of my colleagues see me with a client and the taxi meter off it may be trouble, but don't worry, you're not going to pay for the ride." 

         When we stopped in front of my bloc he said: "Fii atent!"
         He reached into the glove compartment and took out some sort of device. It was a dismantled piezo-electric cigarette lighter. He put the wires in contact with the taxi meter panel and clicked it. The taxi meter crashed like a Windows computer and when it restarted the meter was zeroed!

         He looked at me, winked and said: "Iti dai seamna cat bani fac in fiecare noaptea asa?"
         I couldn't believe!
         I mean... Come on! How many people (besides a Romanian) would ever try something like this to find out if it works?? 

         Revised Romanian version of an old saying: "The necessity to cheat is the mother of invention."

         The next is one of  the craziest specimens I've ever met in this planet.          A friend of mine from Brasov had sent me a book by post and for some mysterious reason I was supposed to pick it at a post office near Gara Basarabia. 
         Come on, I live at Stefan Cel Mare. There are two post offices nearby. Why do I have to go to the other side of the city to pick a book? 

         Anyway, I took a cab at Barbu Vacarescu.
         The driver was a big, fat guy with big glasses and a big moustache and a deep basso laugh like John Rhys-Davies.

         We're riding and every time he sees girls he goes: "Uite, uite! Fete!!"          When we were around Gara de Nord he sees a blonde walking on the sidewalk and "Uite! Fete!" I look and notice that the lady was mid 40s and I ask him if he doesn't think she's kinda old and he replies "inca merge, inca merge" and laughs like Rhys-Davies. 

          He also drives like crazy at high speed. No heavy traffic is an obstacle to him. He doesn't mind zig-zagging between lanes and invading tramvai lines like a courier biker. And whenever he's about to do it he says: "Inchide ochi! Inchide ochi!" then after the life-threatening maneuver is over he says: "gata, poti sa deschide acum".

         And so it was the whole ride.
         Girl-spotting and extreme driving.
         Well... At least the guy was joyful and funny.

         The last story happened last week.
         I was taking my guitar to a repairman. I carry it in a black hard shell case, rectangular, not the guitar shaped type. It's very heavy so I decided to take a cab. When the driver saw me opening the back door to put my guitar on the back seat, he shoots a look at my face (you could read the panic in his eye: "Chinese!!") then he looks at the black case and his eyes go wild with terror: "Chinese MAFIA!!"

         He asks me what's in the case.
         I swear I could see the image of an AK-47 Kalashnikov assault rifle form in his retina.
         So to put his overdriven heart at rest I opened the case and showed him the guitar. He breathed a long sigh of relief like a punctured bagpipe. 

         It was brown trousers time for him.
         Can you imagine what could have happened if the guy had a weaker heart?
         My guitar playing sucks but I never thought my guitar could kill without me playing it.