Tambah Lima

Confessions Of A Serial Cabbie

If you’ve ever taken a cab in KL, you’d know that its not meant for the faint-hearted (diva’s alike). It’s almost like some unspoken rule, a-true-Malaysian pre-requisite (i.e the art of toilet bowl squatting), that KL cabs have to be infested with occasional cockroaches and month old stench of urine/puke (or both)- in which case, I’d opt for either over really bad B.O on a hot day with a faulty air-conditioner. For the love of God, fix that damn thing! We’re in a tropical country. I don’t care if you sweat Silver by Ralph Lauren, being stuck in traffic with exposed pores is not a treat for my senses! I should be getting paid to inhale what can only be described as George Michael’s ball sacks dipped in pork broth. 

I have been subjected to cab sadism in KL before – been taken on numerous joy-rides, been ripped off by supposed ‘faulty meter’ and been in cabs exposed to what can only be thousands of farts trapped in a single space for decades upon decades to rot in all eternity. But nothing beats my worst experience of NOT being able to get a single damn cab on my first day at work in Sungai Besi. Yes, my office is located in some dodgy area in town where there’s a hen house around the corner and illegal construction workers holing up in shop lots behind my office. Charming isn’t it. 

Mind you, it was my first time ever in that area of town. I rocked up to work with my handbag and laptop, dressed in my knee length skirt, a proper shirt and heels to match. I was briefed on my contract, handed a company laptop and come knock off time at 6pm, I went down the road, naive that my mate Kareen would be there to pick me up – no hassle like yeah alright mmmhmmm yeah cool no worries mate. 

That day I officially put the ‘I’ in naive.

So it appeared that I wasn’t the only one foreign to that dodgy part of the city cos Kareen got lost somewhere in woop woop and after an hour of circling the area like a somewhat blind vulture, she calls me and tells me I’m better of cabbing home. So begins the grueling 3 hour stand on heels on the side of a busy road with a laptop over each arm and me clutching on to my Fendi handbag. I felt like I was wearing a spear target with the words “ROB ME” scribbled on my perspiring forehead. Trudging up and down the road for a cab is no joke especially when there aren’t no lamp lights around the area, exhaust fumes is all you’re inhaling, your blistering feet about to bleed through your Tony Bianco’s…need I convince u any further that its no easy feat? 

“Man o man I don’t care if your car reeks of ejaculation and cockroach eggs, I just want to go home and I promise I’ll never whine about it again pleaseeeee god pleaseeee give me a cab!!”

3 hours and still no cab. It’s hot, I don’t know where the hell I am, I’m in pain, my back hurts, my feet is killing me, my knees are about to give way, no cigarette…

Needless to say, I cried. And boy did I CRY!

I finally got into the cab after crying to my mum and since that day, I toughened up the little princess I was. Now rain or shine I get my way back home in any crickety crack that comes my way and i shed no more. 

About a month or so later, I hit the jackpot. I was picked up in a nice big swanky clean odorless car one day and I got his number like a overtly excited giggling school girl and he’s been my regular cab guy since. I didn’t realize how fortunate I was to have met him until one day, when I told him I didn’t need a ride to the office cos I was sick and working from home, he sent me a text that read “I send you clinic? Free of charge 🙂 ” What a sweet guy! And before you jump to conclusions, he’s a 50 year old married man with teenage kids. 

Friends ask me why don’t I just sort out my license and rid myself from putting myself in “danger”. Like my Diva sister lectures me on cabbing around KL and refuses to cab it after reading articles in our local newspaper on cabbie robbers and rapists. *Rolls eyes* Danger lurks even on the brightest days in holy sanctuaries. All I can say is, if I can survive cabbing it in KL, I can sure as hell take the 11:30pm train from Box Hill, alone –  if need be. Those gangster boys don’t scare me. I was standing for 3 hours on bleeding heels by the side of dodge town in KL surrounded by prostitutes and illegal immigrants!  You don’t wanna mess with that *snap snap* sheeeeee-it.


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