Tesi Johnson, Gleaner Writer
You never know who you are likely to meet or what interesting tales thay will have to tell on your bus ride every day. - RICARDO MAKYN/STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER
SO I'VE spent 35 minutes waiting at the bus stop for a robot taxi that is heading to Half-Way Tree. Two buses are approaching, but I won't take them because I would certainly be late. I think I'd rather wait for the taxi.
After 45 minutes, (by which time I was already late for work), I was finally picked up by a regular taxi man who I knew, and he had a red plate. Phew! At least I won't have to worry about being raped ... I hope.
I hopped into the front seat, and said a prayer thanking God for small mercies, as I had dreaded the prospect of sitting in the back with the foul and overly attentive fellow who was seeking my attention as we stood at the bus stop. The driver only took (gasp!) three persons in the back seat - rather than the customary four or five - to avoid trouble from the police, he says.
The same foul fellow was left behind and in anger exclaimed, "a woman alone you wa'an carry!" The car was filled with females. I'm not complaining though. By the way, they're legally allowed to carry only two passengers in the back, but I suppose that's inconsequential to him.
Upon entering the cab, a rotund lady, who appears middle-aged but dresses like a teen, with multicoloured skin, warned the driver, "Nun badda go kill we off like di driver weh day, yuh nuh." He laughed and assured her, "no man me nuh drive suh man," and a conversation ensued about the accident that took place some time in the previous week.
HIGH-SPEED CHASE
Apparently the police signalled a cab that was filled with passengers to pull over, and, being an illegal taxi, the driver decided he wouldn't stop, but would outrun them. A high-speed chase ensued, and the taxi crashed into a wall, killing one person (not the driver), and critically wounding the others. They're still in the hospital now. Everyone expressed how sad they were to hear of the troubles, but I felt a bit guilty, knowing that I was one of those who supported such careless drivers.
I consoled myself by blaming it on the JUTC. They force me to take these taxis because the buses are too slow and too few and far between. I kept silent and listened to Ron Muschette's "Rasta Rooster" on the radio signalling Jamaica to wake up in an attempt to block out the noise of the conversation going on behind me.
Twenty-five minutes later we arrived at the taxi stand in Half-Way Tree, and as I alighted from the cab, the driver asked me for his fare. I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I had forgotten to pay him. I handed him thousand-dollar bill. "Lawd Gad lady", he exclaimed, "yuh couldn't tell me seh u nuh have no change." I sheepishly replied, "I'm so sorry, I thought I did, but apparently I don't." Grudgingly he went into his pocket and out of a bundle of money he came up with my $950 change. I accepted it, straightened my pants, kicked up my stiletto heels and proceeded to the next bus stop where I would catch a bus, not a robot cab, to go downtown.
