From Iceland — The Continuing Adventures of "Taxi Driver"

The Continuing Adventures of “Taxi Driver”

Published May 28, 2009

The Continuing Adventures of “Taxi Driver”

A hysterical shriek of abject terror pierces the still moonlit night. A girl comes running round the corner perhaps fleeing what she has wrought, perhaps running for help.
    Curious, I put down my book and get out of the cab. There is a road by the sea where, as elsewhere, pedestrians have the right of way. Rounding the corner I discover the screaming girl thought different, as under her idling Yaris lies a heavyset chick concealed up to her waist by the car. The panicking driver draws a slew of bystanders who stand frozen in observance of the blood seeping onto the asphalt. Someone finally snaps out of their trance and calls an ambulance as I and two other men hoist the vehicle of off the fractured lady. A good start to the shift.
–“Dude, you saw how I got all of ‘em right. Not a fucking mark on me!”, exclaims crew cut bleach blond number one.
–“Yeah, I got a punch in on that big guy too before the bouncers showed up”, replies his pumped up fugly companion.
–“I´m telling you, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the next day, but we’ll get those cunts. You get some guys you can trust, I´ll get my friends and we´ll find those guys. All seven of them. And fuck them the fuck up!”, says perp number one.
–“Yeah, the bouncers probably know who they are. We´ll ask ‘em….Dude, I need another hit of that shi…”, starts fugly guy. “Sssshhhhh, not in front of the cabbie”, bleach blonde cuts him off.
 –“What you talking ‘bout. Just offer him some. He´s cool, right?”, asks fugly, turning to me. “He´s probably nose deep in it tryin’ to stay up these night shifts”, he carries on as he scoops out a key´s worth from a portion sized bag and extends it my way.
–“Naw, I´m good”, I reply. “Strictly chronic for me. You go ahead though”.
There are two seventeen year old girls strapped for cash trying to pay the fare with a pair of used panties. One of them is shit hot and she is slipping down her underwear from under her skirt. The
perv thing to do would be to accept. Maybe when I´m older and more sexually starved. Had she offered a BJ, as the fat chicks often will, it´d been a done deal.

Outside Bar 11, I pick up a hag of a woman on the verge of middle age who wants to be chauffeured to the ghetto highrises of Breiðholt. She asks what the hell kinda shit music I´m listening to, and will I turn it the fuck off? That´s strike one. I will not have people deriding Mastodon in my taxi. Then she starts commenting on my tics. She says she´s been in my cab before and it´s the same shit. I must be on drugs ‘cuz I´m showing all the physical signs. Amidst explaining to her the particulars of my ailment, I ask her if this expert knowledge of hers doesn´t reflect more on her than me, since I do in fact have a condition but she ain´t got no excuse for knowing what she knows. The woman will not be told though. She insists that I´m lit up on amphetamines. Deciding that there are no strike threes in my vehicle, I eject her ass at the next lights.
–“Flókagata first”, the woman stresses.
–“No, Ægisíða”, the guy urges.
–“Hey, the cabbie knows it´s always ladies first, don´t you”.
I am non-responsive.
–“Dude, it´s Ægisíða”, he argues..
–“No, I ain´t going to your place. Drive to Flókagata”.
This goes on for a while until I put my foot down.
–“Look lady, the guy hailed me. You´re merely hitching a ride”.
–“Ok, Fine”, she replies.
At Ægisíða, it´s the same old spiel.
–“Come in for one drink. Just one drink”.
–“No, I ain´t coming inside”.
This goes on, with variations, ad infinitum, until the woman finally goes:
_“Ask me one more time”.
–“Why, what are ya gonna say?”.
–“Come on, try it. Just ask me”.
–“Ok, why don´t you come in for a drink”.
–“No. Got it?”, she replies, and the douche finally exits.
–“What a goddamn bore”, and more to that effect, she informs me all the way home to Flókagata.

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