2:50pm Sunday 14th March 2010
By Eris
I love my job. However, like any job, sometimes I just have a really bad day. I had one of these last Thursday, so, as is my habit when I have a bad day, I got a taxi home rather than the bus. I figure, it costs less than £5, and sometimes I am happy to pay for the sake of getting home quicker.
Now, as background, I should explain what happened to me a couple of months ago when I got into a taxi. It was one of these bigger ones that has disabled access, from the rank by the Eden bus station. I got in, said hello to the driver, and sat down. Unfortunately, I sat down in the spot where a seat had been removed for a wheelchair previously. So I ended sprawled on the floor of the taxi, crying with laughter (it is either that or crying with embarrassment; I humiliate myself in public in such a falling down / bumping into things fashion fairly regularly, so I have to laugh. Once the driver had ascertained that I wasn’t badly hurt, and that I was laughing about it, he started to laugh as well, and the two of us chortled all the way home.
Since then, whenever I have got a taxi home, it is often him at the front of the rank. And he remembers me each time; I open the door and he immediately asks ‘are you ok? Would you like some help getting in? Have you got your balance?’ It’s nice to be remembered, and it’s now become a running joke every time I see him.
Anyhoo, last Thursday, after my bad day, he was once again at the front of the rank. We chatted a bit, but I was mostly sulking over my day, and looking forward to a large glass of wine in front of Buffy when I got home.
I paid, said goodbye, and got out of the cab.
At 11pm that evening, there was a knock on the door. I had gone to bed by this point, so my Dad answered the door. Apparently, there was a man standing there, asking if I lived there. Cautiously, my Dad replied that I did, but that I was asleep.
It was the taxi driver. He had been knocking on the door of houses down my street that still had the lights on after he finished his shift; he knew my street but not my address. He was holding my purse. It turned out that it had fallen out of my bag as I got out, and he saw it once he got back to the rank. I hadn’t noticed it was missing; I had no call for it once I got home. That purse is my life, as so many other people’s purses / wallets are. It has my cards, cash, swipe card to get into the office, as well as my newly acquired provisional driving licence and about £40 in cash at that point; I had just been to the cash point.
In all the times I have seen this driver, it has never occurred to me to ask his name, and goodness knows when the next time I want to take a taxi and he is at the front of the rank will be so I can thank him.
After a really really bad day, a random act of kindness like that really cheered me up. It’s moments like this that you realise not everyone is a selfish so-and-so. In the unlikely event that he reads this; thank you, you made my day so much happier!!!
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