Claim's Cabbies Corner. Repo Revenge.

[Warren t claim]

Most days, or rather nights, pass uneventfully, just the usual shit and nothing interesting happening at all. Once in a while, I get a fare that I'll never forget. Here are some examples.

I started early that Saturday afternoon. I get sent a job on the local social services account to collect a 15 year old girl outside a park in Tranmere. I was driving a Pepper Red Mk2 Mondeo at the time which dates this to probably 2004.

I arrive at the scene to be met by a tarty, know it all 15 year old, a couple of coppers and a drunk hobo being flung into the back of a Focus panda car. Being curious as to what the fuck is happening, the teenager says that the hobo had flashed at her in the park. The tramp turns around and glances at my car which causes one of the plod to open the back door of the Focus and scream, DON'T YOU FUCKING LOOK AT HER YOU DIRTY CUNT before slamming the door and looking at me with a grin expecting my approval.

Although I'd be the first person to nail a nonce's bollocks to a table, part of me can't help thinking that he may have been having a piss in some bushes and Tasha Slapper overreacted to get some attention. I take her back to her social services home for wayward teenagers and explain the situation to her case worker. I tell her that this journey has been well weird. This makes her case worker go full on Corbyn snowflake and demand that I go for trauma counseling! Fuck that! I make my excuses and fuck off sharpish!

Another teenage girl and police interface happened in the summer of 2006. I get a call to pick up a couple of 14/15 year old girls from the now closed down Hoylake police station on the Merseyside Police account. Apparently, the girls had got on the wrong train home and needed to get to Rock Ferry and the last train had finished. Sadly, earlier that evening my front pads had worn out and I was working my shift on gears and handbrake meaning I parked away from the police station. I trot up to the front desk and a kindly PC in his mid 50s leads me through to a back office to sort the paperwork out.

Within a few minutes the Inspector, a copper known locally as being a fucking cunt, walks in demanding to know why there's a taxi driver in here. The PC explains the situation to his gaffer only to be screamed at for not thinking through what could happen! He did have a point though, his beef was what happens if I drop the girls off and there's nobody home? Does he expect this <said in a raging stutter> taxi driver to take care of them?

The inspector starts to suggest that the PC goes with me to make sure that they get home safely, cue W.T.C to quickly think on his feet to avoid a copper hearing the fucked brakes in my Mondeo. Only one thing for it, I've got to up the ante and get thrown out of there so I can not get banged off the road. I forcefully tell the Inspector "It doesn't matter if you're a policeman, plumber of fucking porn star, you NEVER chastise a member of your staff in public". I followed this up with some shit about expecting higher standards from an officer of his rank.

Luck was with me. Not only did one of the girl's parents listen to their voicemail and phone the station saying that they'll come and collect them, but the Inspector also demanded that I leave his station at once meaning I could fuck off out of there sharpish!

[mercrocker]

Well played!

[Warren t claim]

Not all W.T.C/Plod interfaces are bad though as I'll tell in this story.

I get a call to pick up a well known old lady from the hospital on the NHS account. She was a woman in her 60s who went to A&E pretty much every night for various made up reasons as she liked it there.

I turn up in my 306 diesel of cambelt snapping fame that I've mentioned earlier here, to find her hysterical because they weren't going to give her a bed for the night. At the scene were a couple of nurses and a young PC in his mid 20s. As you can imagine, there's no fucking way I'm going to take her home in that state as I knew full well that she'd refuse to get out of my car!

After agreeing with the PC that if he went with me I'd run him back to the hospital he agreed to ride along as that was the only way she'd get into the back of my 306. We take her back to her flat, pictured below, a block of flats built on the site of a former Lada dealer.

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Throughout the trip she was saying shit like "Will you take me back if I feel ill?" and of course we agreed to shut her up! I arrive at her flat and instinctively reverse up to her front door. As we're all getting out the PC suggests I leave the engine running! We walk her to her door and the PC opens it with her keys. As she's waiting for him to unlock the door she says "you two are going to help me get on the toilet now aren't you?" PC says we will, pushes her through the door, throws her keys in, slams the door and screams RUN!

We both jump into my 306 that had it's engine running and both front doors open, and wheelspin out of the car park both heaving a sigh of relief!

[treehugger]

So the old woman wanted you to help get her knickers down? Hmmm

[Warren t claim]

So the old woman wanted you to help get her knickers down? Hmmm

Yep, with me and the copper!

[Warren t claim]

Being a night driver means that sometimes you can be thrown into some difficult situation.

Sadly, a fair few times I've had to deal with the aftermath of domestic violence. Here's a couple of cases to illustrate.

I get a 3am call to pick up at a shop in a very posh part of Wirral to take a passenger to Birkenhead. One look at the job was enough to set my "cash up front" radar off. I arrive at the address and hit my callback button to let the passenger know I'm there. After a couple of minutes a middle aged lady appears from around the corner holding a small suitcase. I hate to sound judgemental, but a lady with a suitcase requesting a pick up in the middle of the night from a different location from where she usually meant that she's a brass leaving a punters house. I have a quick mooch in my float to make sure that I've got enough change to break the inevitable £50 note that call girls always pay with before getting out of the car to open the boot.

When she gets closer it becomes clear that she's not on the game so once she's in the back I ask her what the score was. She looks a bit roughed up and starts to cry. It turns out that her husband likes to slap her about a bit and therefore she's off to the Premier Inn Birkenhead to escape. She waves a wad of notes at me to prove that she's got means of payment. During the journey, I do my best to tell her that she's done the right thing and everything will start to get better.

When we get very close to the hotel she asks me if there's a 24 hour garage local that sells wine as after all the shit she's gone through tonight she could do with a drink, fair enough. When I tell her that the nearest booze garage is maybe four miles away she asks me to take her there. Along the way I tell her that any bloke who leathers his missus deserves a good slap for his troubles and she agrees, apparently, he's about 5'6" and gets "short man syndrome" after a few pints.

We arrive at the booze garage and while she's buying wine I make a mental note to shut up and let her talk for the journey back as I had this sneaky feeling that she was fishing around to see if I had a hero complex and was willing to give her hubby a slap, no fucking way do I want to get involved in shit like that!

We drive back to the Premier Inn and just as I'm about to get paid she changes her mind and demands to be taken back to her house and arsehole spouse! I tell her that she must be crazy but she says that she owns half of the marital home and is determined to stand her ground! I try and reason/bribe her. I tell her that if she gets out of my car and checks in to the hotel I'll waiver the fare, about £30 so far so not an insignificant amount, but she's gone all defiant. Throughout the journey back I do my best to tell her that I think she's making a big mistake and it's not too late to change her mind but there's no talking her out of it.

I drop her off at the same place I picked her up from, she handed me the £45 fare and we went our separate ways. I've never seen her again.

Just getting a beer and I'll lob the other tale up. xx

[Warren t claim]

The next story happened at this location...

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I was working for Frank at the time and it was about 8pm on a summer Sunday night when we get a call off a lady requesting a journey from that street corner going to the far end of Edge Lane in Liverpool. As it was my turn for the next star job, (a star job is a job that clocked over a tenner) I left the office and drove the .75 of a mile to the pick up location.

When I get there I see a lady in her mid to late 20s with a load of cases and bags, fuck! Never mind, we load her stuff into my Mk2 Focus estate while she tells me that she's escaping her violent boyfriend who keeps slapping her about and threatening to kill her.

We're halfway through loading her stuff when I notice her fella appear from the road opposite where the Polo in the above picture running at us at full speed whilst holding two fuck off large kitchen knives, one in each hand! Now there's no way Warren, either normal or evil, fancies trying to negotiate with this bloke so I throw both her and her shit into the car and wheelspin away with him maybe ten strides from stabbing us! This really was a "clutch control don't fail me now" moment! As I'm driving away I can still see him running after us Terminator 2 style with a knife in each hand!

We arrive at her family's house in Liverpool and as she's got a load of luggage we start carrying it up to the door. When one of her relatives answers the door he looks less than happy and refuses to let her in as apparently this is a regular occurrence and he wants to pay me to drive her back! It takes me a good twenty minutes to explain the gravity of the situation before he reluctantly lets her in.

And like the lady in the first story, I've never seen her again.

[Hooli]

That second one doesn't sound fun.

[Warren t claim]

My council used to have a strict topographical knowledge test for new drivers. Sadly, nowadays it's been diluted to four multiple choice questions with a pass mark of 50%.

To pass my knowledge test I had to learn 40 different routes and be 100% perfect on the random half a dozen that appeared on the exam paper. The runs I had to learn represented the fucking wet dream routes that Wirral Borough Council thought would be everyday trips, shit like the seaman's mission to East Float dock, the main railway station to a golf course and the one we all dreaded, Dee Sailing Club on one side of the Wirral, to Tranmere Sailing Club on the other side.

On top of the runs, we had to learn the exact address of 100 spot locations, pubs, clubs, churches, hospitals, etc. Even when I sat the knowledge test nearly twenty years ago there were plenty of locations on the list that had long closed down.

Next task was to learn the town and country miscellaneous provisions act. This is the legislation that governs taxis outside of London.

Now the easy bit, 50 Highway Code questions!

And that's just for private hire! When I got my hack badge I had to drive four of the runs in my car with a licencing officer on board!

[Warren t claim]

I was having a quick mooch at my Mk4/5 Mondeo thread over on the beige when a post was made that reminded me of an incident that happened maybe five years ago.

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I was doing the overnight shift for Frank, just me and the oppo, and it was quiet so I told the lady oppo that I was going to have a kip in my Mondeo for an hour. I parked at the side of the office, turned the taxi radio off, reclined my seat and lobbed Classic FM on at a low volume.

My slumber was disturbed by the NSR door being flung open and a couple of scruffy arseholes getting in telling me that the girl in the office told them to get in my car. Obviously, I lock my doors when having an in car siesta bit my Mondeo had non functioning central locking on the NSR door.

Somewhat annoyed that the oppo had told them I'd take them when I clearly stated that I was having a sleep, I drove them the mile or so to the dingy ground floor flat they wanted to go to, it was the usual former shop converted into accommodation by a slumlord. They pay me, exit the car, walk over to their front door, go in and I see them through the window after turning on the light in their front room.

I start to drive back when I realise that my trusty iPhone 4s is missing! The little cunts have robbed my mobile! I spin the car around and thrash it back to their gaff. Their living room has only net curtains and I can clearly see them examining my phone and trying to unlock it. As I now had proof of theft they'd waivered their rights to be given the benefit of the doubt so I surveyed my forced entry options. Putting their front window through and jumping in was considered but it's a double glazed unit meaning I might take some time getting in. I turn my attention to the front door, bingo! The front door not only was weak but also showed the signs of being forced open before, probably by a dealer wanting money.

One hard charge and it flew open. The lads inside shit themselves wondering if a local grafter they owed cash to had decided to pay a visit! I storm into the living room and grab my phone. minus its case for some reason, off the arm of their flea ridden sofa and scream at them "why the fuck did you rob my phone lads?" They protest that they "found" my phone in my car and were going to hand it in to the police, a likely story.

I walk out, get into my car and now being fully awake, go back to the office for a coffee. I walk in to see the lady oppo looking worried. Her side of the story was as follows, they'd asked for a taxi but she'd refused to let them have a cab as she'd heard them talking between themselves in the waiting room about the gun they had on them!!! After the knock back they'd started to walk but seen a taxi at the side of the office with a driver in it so tried their luck opening a door and struck gold as that was the door my central locking didn't work on. As I wanted a kip I'd turned the taxi radio off so the oppo couldn't warn me!

With the benefit of hindsight, I'm pretty sure even Evil Warren would've had second thoughts about raiding their flat over a mobile phone and I'll admit my arse went squeaky when I heard about the firearm! Obviously, I played down this to the oppo and Frank when he heard what I had done.