My first car chase

So, I’m sitting in my taxi at the front of the rank just looking at nothing in particular and waiting for the people at the front of the queue to get their shit together and get in the back. It’s a busy Friday evening outside of the front of Flinders Street Station and there are all sorts of people coming and going. Commuters on their way home, youngsters on their way in for a night in the city, and drunks just wandering about aimlessly. Did you know that some people reckon that when the plans for Flinders Street Station were sent out from London in the early 1800s that they accidentally got swapped with the plans for The Bombay Railway Station, now Mumbai. We got something with a vague Indian feel and they got a gothic monstrosity. Sorry, I’m prone to sharing interesting snippets.

My back door slams shut just a little too loudly and I turn round to see a young breathless woman sitting there. And not the couple, from the queue that was supposed to be there. Mingled with shouts of “What the fuck” and “You took our cab you bitch” I hear her say. “Can you follow that car please?” I’m stoked, I’ve been driving taxis in Melbourne for well over eight years now and nobody has ever said that to me before. But I have to say. “Which car? There’s like a million of the bleeders out there”. I am prone to exaggeration, but also, it is busy.

“That police car turning right at the lights on to Flinders Street. Its lights have just started flashing”

“What? You’re shitting me. You want me to chase a police car with its fucking lights flashing? You’re as mad as a rat under a bucket”.

“Sorry. Please. It is important and I will pay extra.” I think I hear her mumble, under her breath, “Eventually”.

Now, and I have to think quickly here, my dilemma is: Shout. “No way you crazy idiot. Just get out of my taxi” or “Okay. Let’s give it a go”. Without thinking anything through I say “Okay. Let’s give it a go”.

Now I like to think that I’m a safe and steady driver but what I do next is worthy of Need for Speed Three, Hot Pursuit. That’s a 1998 video game and not to be confused with the Fast and Furious film franchise, which has now reached nine with the tenth on the way. I’m prone to being a bit of a film buff.

Anyway. I have to cross two lanes of busy traffic to get to the third line waiting to turn right. And I need to do it very quickly. My heroic manoeuvre results in a lot of horns blasting and tyres screeching followed by shouting along the lines of. “Fucking jerk, Idiot, Bloody taxi drivers”. And one that may have been “Your mother was a hamster”.

The girl in that back says. “Careful”

“Careful? Careful! Are you completely mad? You plead with me to follow a police car with its lights going and now you want me to be careful?”

“I just want us to follow it without getting killed. Sorry. I’m not a good passenger.” The green turn right arrow comes on and the police car, which has been wedged in all this time, moves off with the traffic. I follow three cars behind.

Now we are on Flinders Street proper and quickly hit two lanes of banked-up traffic. The police car once again slows to a holt with me still three cars behind. I look at the girl in my rear-view mirror. She has a type of handbag thing and maybe in her mid-twenties with light brown hair and a kind face. She is chewing her lip. I speak. “Not much of a car chase, is it? We got up to 15 klicks for a second there.” “That’s okay. No need to be Daniel Ricciardo. Don’t let it out of your sight”.

“Daniel Ricciardo’s bloody useless. I’d have said Ayrton Senna”

“Ayrton Senna died”.

“Good point”

By now we are just passing The Forum Theatre. Which incidentally is a replica of The State Theatre in Sydney. But I think that the Forum is better because it’s on a corner and the Sydney one isn’t. I think I may be wasted as a taxi driver. I could be a tour guide. I’m a little prone to wandering off topic. Anyway. We have achieved a steady 12 kilometers an hour on the speedo.

The police car, now with its lights and sirens going manages to get into the left lane. I indicate left and follow it into Spring Street. With less traffic now it speeds up and I match it at around 25 to 30k’s.

We’ve been chasing, or following may be better, the police car for all of four minutes when the girl says. “We’re nearly there. The police car will likely stop outside of the Parliament. You can just pull in behind it when it does.”

“So you knew where we were going all along?” I didn’t even put my meter on.”

“Sorry,” she says. “At least you enjoyed the thrill of the chase”

“Yeah. Four minutes averaging 10k’s an hour. Even Daniel Riccardo could manage that.

Sure, enough the police car pulls up outside of the Parliament House and the girl gets out and runs to the police car. Built in the 1800’s this is Victoria’s seat of power where all the politicians make decisions as mad as my passenger’s directions, which affect all of our lives. The current Premier, head honcho, is Alan Davis. He’s in his second term now.

A policeman gets out and, without saying a word, the girl hands him something that I can’t quite make out. He says “Thank you, Miss Davis. And runs up the long steps where a door at the top magically opens for him to enter. The girl slowly makes her way back and looks at me through the driver’s side window. “What was all that about Miss Davis?“ I say.

“My Dad, Alan Davis The Premier, was called in late on something and forgot to take his epi-pen. He’s allergic to nuts.

“And yet he has you for a daughter?” I think I’m very funny.

She laughs and says. My name’s Cara. Do you want to go for a drink?