Short term parking at Perth Airport costs $26/day.
A taxi fare costs me about $50 each way.
So… for short trips it’s more cost effective for me to take my car.
Also…
This is the queue to get to the taxi rank. The front half of the queue.
This is BEFORE you get to the taxi rank at 9pm on a Thursday night at the Perth Domestic Airport.
I reckon that guy on the phone is saying to someone: “Can you come and pick me up? This queue is insane!”
This is the back half of the queue.
You know, usually, when you leave something in a taxi, you get that sick dread feeling that you’ll never see it again.
That’s how I felt when I realised getting ready tonight that I didn’t have my camera.
I’d even done a cursory check of the backseat to make sure I’d left nothing behind… it was like I knew…
Luckily I had a card from the taxi company and I called them…
I couldn’t tell them the taxi number or driver’s name or even the exact time I was in the cab.
All I remembered was that we’d been at the National Portrait Gallery and that the driver was from Queensland.
Anyway the guy on the enquiries line was quite sweet and he took down my number and promised to send out a message to the fleet.
I didn’t hold out much hope and tried not to think about how I was going to explain to Groover that I had lost his camera.
To my great surprise, not an hour later they had found it!
It had fallen to the floor of the cab and George, the cab driver brought it round to me while we were still at dinner.
Doesn’t it just give you faith in people again?
Yay Canberra! You rock.
Even if some of your taxi’s could do with a little TLC.
This is her problem not mine and yet… and yet…
Let me tell you the story. I flew into Perth today from Geraldton where I’ve been the last couple of days – stories coming soon – I met so many interesting people – but anyway…
The queue for a taxi was exhaustingly long but I had my book and was quite happy to read it as I shoved my bag with my foot.
As we waited a voice apologised over the PA system and said that taxis had been called.
Fine, whatever… I’d got to a good bit.
Anyway eventually I’m at the front of the queue and I have a woman driver who looks friendly, she pops the boot and helps me load my small case and laptop.
“Where to love?”
“Please take me to work in the city.” I had to pick up my car.
Was it my imagination or did she sigh?
Anyway I settled back and read my book and sooner than I wanted – I’d got to another good bit – we were pulling up outside my workplace.
I hand over my cabcharge.
These days they are those little cards with a magnetic strip down the back – thinnish cardboard.
“Do you have another card?”
“Er yeah,” I say getting another out.
“Thanks, I hate these cards, they never work in my machine – even when I use two together.” She swipes the cards repeatedly.
“Dammit I’m going to have to use a slip.”
So making conversation – as you do in the awkward silence while waiting to sign the slip – I say “Are you just starting your shift?”
“Yes just started. And I came all the way down Dianella for this.”
As if it were my fault.
I was speechless.
“Can you get your own bag out of the boot?”
“Er yes… of course.” I say and scoot out of the cab.
And I’m SO angry.
Angry at her for making me feel bad because she didn’t get a big fare to, I don’t know, Bunbury or something and even more angry with myself for feeling bad!
And the ironic thing? As she drives off I notice that she’s the driver of a Silver Service cab.
Yeah. Right.
