Friday, October 9, 2009
May 8, 2009. Friday: A drunk man
Two and half in the morning. On my way home, I saw a man wobbling along Cross Street in Chinatown. He stopped me when he saw me and threw himself on the back seat while murmured “Ang Mo Kio Ave 9”.
After I arrived at AMK Ave 9, I asked, “Where is your place?” But there was no answer. I turned to see that the man was sound asleep. I pitched my voice higher as I repeated the question. No use. He was as motionless as a hibernating bear. I pulled over at the curb and got out of my seat.
I opened the door to the back seat, and patted on his shoulder. “Wake up, man.” There was no response. I patted harder. And harder. Still couldn’t wake him up. I tried to set him upright but it proved to be a very arduous task. The man was about my height but he was much wider, and heavier. With all the energy I had left with me after a long day’s work, I finally put him in a sitting position. The man, with his head dropped forward, remained as sound asleep as a newborn baby.
I didn’t know what to do now. I looked around. The street was quiet and deserted. I stopped the meter first. It seemed awfully inappropriate to charge him for his sleeping time. Then I lit a cigarette and contemplated my options. After a while, another taxi appeared. I leaped forward to stop it. I told the driver of a Comfort taxi that I got a drunk customer in my car who couldn’t be awakened. I asked him what he would suggest me to do. “Call the police” was all he said before he sped off.
“Call the police.” That seems to be the solution to all the problems we taxi drivers have. As I was thinking about it, a phone rang. It’s the dead man’s phone. I hastily searched his pockets and found the phone, and quickly pressed the answer button.
“Hi,” it was a woman’s voice.
“Hello,” I said gratefully, “I am the taxi driver with your friend here. He is sleeping and I can’t wake him up. Do you know where his home is?”
The woman said she was so sorry about her husband and asked me to take him to a condo on Ave 9. “After you reach here, you come to block xx, and I will meet you at the entrance of the building.” She said.
The condo was actually nearby. I went directly to the block the lady had told me. And waited. Ten minutes passed and still no sight of the woman. I took out the phone from the man’s pocket and called her again.
“You are here already?” She sounded surprised. I realized I didn’t tell her that I was in the neighborhood last time we spoke. “I am coming down now.” She said.
A minute later, a woman in her late twenties emerged in shorts and T shirt. She didn’t look like she had been sleeping. She had probably been waiting for her husband for all night long.
She apologized to me and paid the fare first, and went to wake up the man in the car. She did everything she could, shaking, pulling, slapping, grabbing, shouting. It was, however, all in vain. The man was as lifeless as a trunk of wood, only now in a level position again.
Exhausted at last, the woman acknowledged to me that she would go upstairs to get their maid to help her. The maid, seemed to be a Filipino, was much more skillful than any of us. She bent down and squeezed the nose of the man and that did the trick. The man finally came back to the real world. He still couldn’t walk properly, though. Sandwiched between two ladies, he was half-carried to the elevator.
I looked at my watch. It was almost 5 o’clock. “What a waste.” I sighed, and drove away.
Posted by Mingjie Cai at 1:07 PM 18 comments Links to this post
May 8, 2009. Friday: A drunk man
Two and half in the morning. On my way home, I saw a man wobbling along Cross Street in Chinatown. He stopped me when he saw me and threw himself on the back seat while murmured “Ang Mo Kio Ave 9”.
After I arrived at AMK Ave 9, I asked, “Where is your place?” But there was no answer. I turned to see that the man was sound asleep. I pitched my voice higher as I repeated the question. No use. He was as motionless as a hibernating bear. I pulled over at the curb and got out of my seat.
I opened the door to the back seat, and patted on his shoulder. “Wake up, man.” There was no response. I patted harder. And harder. Still couldn’t wake him up. I tried to set him upright but it proved to be a very arduous task. The man was about my height but he was much wider, and heavier. With all the energy I had left with me after a long day’s work, I finally put him in a sitting position. The man, with his head dropped forward, remained as sound asleep as a newborn baby.
I didn’t know what to do now. I looked around. The street was quiet and deserted. I stopped the meter first. It seemed awfully inappropriate to charge him for his sleeping time. Then I lit a cigarette and contemplated my options. After a while, another taxi appeared. I leaped forward to stop it. I told the driver of a Comfort taxi that I got a drunk customer in my car who couldn’t be awakened. I asked him what he would suggest me to do. “Call the police” was all he said before he sped off.
“Call the police.” That seems to be the solution to all the problems we taxi drivers have. As I was thinking about it, a phone rang. It’s the dead man’s phone. I hastily searched his pockets and found the phone, and quickly pressed the answer button.
“Hi,” it was a woman’s voice.
“Hello,” I said gratefully, “I am the taxi driver with your friend here. He is sleeping and I can’t wake him up. Do you know where his home is?”
The woman said she was so sorry about her husband and asked me to take him to a condo on Ave 9. “After you reach here, you come to block xx, and I will meet you at the entrance of the building.” She said.
The condo was actually nearby. I went directly to the block the lady had told me. And waited. Ten minutes passed and still no sight of the woman. I took out the phone from the man’s pocket and called her again.
“You are here already?” She sounded surprised. I realized I didn’t tell her that I was in the neighborhood last time we spoke. “I am coming down now.” She said.
A minute later, a woman in her late twenties emerged in shorts and T shirt. She didn’t look like she had been sleeping. She had probably been waiting for her husband for all night long.
She apologized to me and paid the fare first, and went to wake up the man in the car. She did everything she could, shaking, pulling, slapping, grabbing, shouting. It was, however, all in vain. The man was as lifeless as a trunk of wood, only now in a level position again.
Exhausted at last, the woman acknowledged to me that she would go upstairs to get their maid to help her. The maid, seemed to be a Filipino, was much more skillful than any of us. She bent down and squeezed the nose of the man and that did the trick. The man finally came back to the real world. He still couldn’t walk properly, though. Sandwiched between two ladies, he was half-carried to the elevator.
I looked at my watch. It was almost 5 o’clock. “What a waste.” I sighed, and drove away.
Posted by Mingjie Cai at 1:07 PM 18 comments Links to this post
