Writer: Deanne Pogrund

Driver: Paul, Bendigo

‘I picked up a big fella with a tat on his neck at 6.30 in the morning from the BP service station,’ says Paul from Bendigo. ‘There were tears in his eyes and he was quite agitated when he got in. He told me to turn up the radio and drive quickly, so I did. He told me that he had only been out of jail for two-and-a-half weeks. He said he had just driven a knife into a chopping board and had thrown coffee at the wall after an argument with his wife. He had been jailed for twelve years for murder. He looked me in the eye and said, “I didn’t do it, I was set up.” He admitted he had driven the victim to his murderers, but never thought they were going to kill him. It had all been over $4,000 worth of marijuana.’

‘When I asked him what happened, he said: “They cut his head off.” He was on parole for nine years. Now he said, “If the police ring, you dropped me in Bridgewater.” I said, “Correct.” So, I dropped him where he had to go. He was an agitated fella; I was quite concerned about that one.’

Although Bendigo is a rural city, Paul has seen more in his twenty-one years of driving than many Melbourne drivers ever will. Passengers often open up to the compassionate man who admits, ‘I don’t get stressed much. I haven’t got a temper.’

Paul worked as a clerk in the office at the Railways when his brother-in-law convinced him to buy a taxi. He borrowed $100, 000 at an interest rate of 21.75% to get started and initially worked day and night to pay it off.

‘I guess my motivation was to run my own business: a new challenge in my life; trying to get ahead. It was a challenge – a risk – I put my house on the line.’ He wouldn’t change anything though, ‘I really like going to work; I like my job.’

Paul knows that many people see being in a cab as an opportunity to talk. ‘They spill their insides to someone they may never see again. It gives them a chance to get something off their chest; we’re a confidante I suppose.’

Paul’s favourite customers are the elderly he sees on a regular basis. ‘Probably one thing is that the old ladies don’t have family they see very often. We become their family in a sense, they only get out once or twice a week and we’re the ones they talk to for a period of time. You get close to them; we’re like hairdressers in that sense; they tell us very personal things.’

One of his favourite passengers is Dora.

‘She rings me up to let me know how she’s going. Every time I pick her up, she used to bring me lollies. I said, “Now look Dora, you can’t bring me any more lollies – I’m trying to lose weight.” So now she brings me out fruit. She brings me rags from the RSPCA shop to clean my taxi and she gets books sometimes. I know all about her family.’

Paul knows that not everyone is like him. He believes that no matter what industry you work in, if you enjoy your job – it shows.

‘The most important thing for me is wanting that person sitting in the seat to feel comfortable, and to get them back in that seat again. There’s not a better job for meeting people. There’s such a diverse group of people out there – I can’t go ten metres up the road without having a chat!’

It’s clear that Paul cares about the people who tell him stories. He speaks of a woman he picked up who was leaving her abusive husband. She had all her belongings in seven garbage bags and was sitting outside the house with her young daughter waiting for the taxi. Paul speaks softly and slowly as he recounts her story. He tells how she was bashed and kicked by steel- capped boots, but it was the child’s words he found heartrending.

‘It was right on Christmas and the seven-year-old daughter was sitting in the back seat. She said, “But Mummy, Santa won’t know where to come.” That brought tears to my eyes as I drove off down the road. It’s really stuck in my mind.’

Paul’s stories of life in the driver’s seat are as diverse as the people he drives. He has been offered work driving a prostitute to and from her clients; he has heard about the side effects of Agent Orange on Vietnam veterans and their families, and has had more than his share of angry male clients.

‘You have to learn how to handle aggressive people if they hop in. If you ask them, how they’re going and they answer: What’s it to you? You get them home as soon as you can. You learn from experience.’

Paul talks about how, early in his career, he had two guys ‘do a runner’. He gave chase when one of the men turned on him and said, ‘I could cut your throat right here and now where you stand.’ Paul recalls ‘It was only as I was walking away that I realised how foolish I was… this fella could have cut my throat and for what? Nine dollars? I would never chase anyone again. It’s not worth it. That was inexperience, I believe.’

While Paul is happy to talk about the negative experiences he’s had, it’s the ones where his passengers tell stories of overcoming adversity that he wants to emphasise.

He speaks of a Ugandan student he drove in 1998, ‘by the name of Ambrose. He was a delightful young kid. He told me his father was killed by Idi Amin; his mother had died when he was younger. He won a scholarship to study computing. You could tell by his personality that he was going to go a long way in life – he had a smile on his face and he was really happy. He had a lot of confidence.’

Even though Ambrose was only in his taxi for a brief time, Paul has taken him into his heart and it sounds as if. When he recounts this story, he’s talking about a nephew. Then he pauses to reflect and says simply, ‘I would like to know where he is now.’

www.taxiproject.com