07 September 2002 Violence I sat in my car tonight and watched as a guy was punched through a plate glass window. Don't ask me what sort of state he's in - I got the hell out of there amidst the police cars and ambulance arriving, but I won't forget the sight in a hurry. People often ask me if driving a taxi is a dangerous job and to be perfectly honest it is. You need the skill of a diplomat to diffuse a tense situation and a bloody good pair of fists for whenever diplomacy fails. However, some of the things you see when you're out and about late at night are almost as bad. This was the usual argument outside a chip shop scenario. There was no pushing or shoving though - one guy just drew his fist, hit the other guy square in the face slamming him back against the large window which just shattered as the bloke fell through it. Then the guy who threw the punch just casually walked off with his crowd of mates, never even stopping to see if any serious injury was done. I got a full view of the incident, same way I got a ringside seat the night I watched as one fellow took a run-up before kicking a bloke lying on the ground fair in the head - the same way you'd kick a football. That night I had my window down and I can still recall the crack of the guy's skull as the boot went in. Other times I've arrived after the deed is done. I had a guy run to my car in a housing estate one night, covered in blood, clothes ripped, desperate to get away from the kicking he'd been given. I always carry a wad of tissues in the car now because if you lift someone with a fresh wound it stops them bleeding over the car. And I've come home with blood on my clothes, because no matter how big a bitch I may seem, there's times when I have no choice but to get involved. I've given emergency first-aid to a guy who'd been kicked senseless outside a nightclub, and stayed until the ambulance arrived. I hate this job. Two weeks and I chuck in full-time taxi-driving for good. It can't come quickly enough.
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