Cheers, Hank

My story doesn’t involve me having a beer with my favourite dead author but, believe me, this really did happen...

I’m not really a fan of drinking in town on Friday or Saturday. Too many amateurs. I always prefer a weekday or a Sunday night. It’s just less hassle.

If the weather’s good then I can walk there in half an hour. If the weather’s bad then I’ll take a taxi.

This evening I’d like to tell you about was a Tuesday and it was raining. I remember it was Tuesday because a mate of mine, John, plays league snooker every Tuesday and likes to round off his evening with a few beers, win or lose. I met John after the snooker on this evening.

Before I came out, I had been arguing with my girlfriend for the most ridiculous reasons that I won’t get into here. We were as bad as each other when it come to slinging insults and neither of us had held back this time around. My decision to get out of there was quickly followed by calling a taxi. I had called my girlfriend back while I was waiting for the taxi. You see, guilt usually got the better of me and I was looking for permission for something that I was already doing (it’s stupid, I know). She wasn’t finished with the argument, though, and was continuing to scream me down.

I climbed into the taxi with my phone still against my ear listening to this volley of abuse and signalled the driver to take me in the direction of town. He gave me a kind of salute and away we went. I froze out the phone call until she hung up on me. “Jesus!” I sighed as I put the phone onto the chair beside me and threw my head back for a great view of the upholstery.

“Sounded serious.” the driver said. I brought my head back level.

“And no mistake! Sorry about that.” I replied. The driver’s hair was combed back and looked greasy.

“Where to then?” he asked.

“Just drop me anywhere by the square. Whatever’s easiest.”

The driver lit up a cigarette so I asked if I could too.

“No problem. Just don’t burn the seats.” he said and I saw him give me an eye smile through the rear-view mirror. I noticed his pockmarked skin too.

“My ex hit me over the head with her handbag once.” he said, raising his eyebrows at me through the mirror. “There was a bottle in the bag and it knocked me out cold. Split my head open, too. Had stitches right here.” and he pointed to somewhere on his head.

“Jesus.” I said, “We didn’t get that bad yet.”

We came to a red light. He reached into the glove box and pulled out a half bottle of whiskey.

“Here” he said “drink some of that. Looks like you need it.” so I did. I had a good swig of the whiskey. I passed it back to him and he had a drink himself. I didn’t raise any issue, though.

“Don’t try too hard to figure it out. It’ll work itself out.” he added, eye smiling again though the mirror.

“You’re right, man.”

And with that he pulled over. I passed a note through to the front of the cab and told him to keep the change. He thanked me and I thanked him for his advice.

Then, I closed the door and he pulled away, giving two hoots on the horn as he went. It was at that stage that it dawned on me that the driver was kind of familiar to me.

I never got him as a driver again.