The Taxi Driver

I had an interesting encounter and I just have to share it with you.

Couple of days back, I took a taxi and the driver, like every other taxi drivers, treated me to a barrage of complaints about the government and life.

He went on for perhaps 20 minutes - the distance from Turf Club to Thomson Road in peak hour traffic - about the ridiculous rule on designated taxi drop-off points in the CBD, the increasingly expensive ERP gantry charges, the stress on consumer pockets due to the 7% Goods & Services Tax, the tough life that poor people suffer while the rich prosper further, blah blah blah.

It was like every taxi driver have a little notebook in which all frustrations were noted and read every night before bedtime so that they could regurgitate the contents to every unsuspecting passenger the next day.

I may not agree with all their views, but I try to feel for them. So with all the patience, fake smiles and empathetic nods I could muster for that 20 minutes, I allowed him to carry on his passionate monologue.

Suddenly he stopped and chuckled, "Hehe, I complained so much about the government. I hope you are not a reporter, otherwise my head will roll!"

Hell, what are the chances, eh? I smiled back at him through the rear view mirror but made no reply.

Silence enveloped us for a minute or so. Several glances were exchanged through the mirror. I guess my smile was too cryptic for his comfort and he finally broke.

"Miss, are you a reporter?" he asked.

I could not resist anymore, and said, "Yes, in fact, I am."

More silence and glances through the mirror as he fidgetted in his seat. I teased a few more seconds of misery from him before continuing, "But I am not from the national papers, so don't worry."

Yup, so naughty, am I not?