Earlier this month Crikey contributor Michael Bradley penned a piece after star Matildas footballer Sam Kerr allegedly vomited in a taxi and was involved in a dispute about the fare. Crikey reader and former taxi driver Steve Cornelius got in touch to offer his two cents. Here is his response.
Sam Kerr’s act of “chucking her guts up” in a taxi should not be trivialised.
From 1978 to 1991, I was a Sydney taxi driver — full-time for several years at first, and subsequently as a weekend part-timer to supplement the family income. Largely my experiences as a cabbie were interesting, at times pleasurable, and often simply mundane. Inevitably, however, there were several incidents which were distinctly unpleasant, and which stick in the memory to this day — occasional verbal abuse, minor assaults, actual and attempted fare evasions, and, yes, in-cab chunders (two of them).
Next time you have an upset stomach or have imbibed some quantity of intoxicant, I suggest you conduct the following experiment:
- Go to your car;
- Don’t attempt to drive it, please;
- Instead, sit in the back seat;
- Then CHUNDER, as copiously as you can (fingers down the throat is a good method of vomit inducement if need be);
- Ensure your vomit hits (at least) the seat and the floor (bonus points for hitting any part of the driver’s area and front-passenger area);
- If anyone has accompanied you to the car, make sure you hit them too;
- Now, clean up the mess.
Take special note of:
- The cleaning materials and implements required;
- The total cost of the clean-up;
- The time taken;
- The amount of time before the stink eventually goes away.
That should do it nicely. Be sure to let me know how you go.
For the cabbie, it’s up there in the “C-Range” (C for catastrophic). First, they have to clean the stinking cab up. This effectively means taking it to a car wash so that professional cleaners can do it properly, using disinfectants, fragrant sprays and driers, and long-lasting, nice-smelling stuff. That takes time to find, especially late at night, and costs a motza.
Just as significantly, it robs them of working time, which destroys a day’s pay. A disaster, whichever way you look at it.
To spice up the experiment I outlined above, try supercharging your big chunder by holding one hand over your mouth at the moment of discharge. That way, streams of vomit will quite likely force their way between your fingers and spray rapidly in several directions.
I speak from experience. Not as the vomiter, I hasten to add, but as a vomitee. I’ve seen this done many years ago in a friend’s car on the way home after a big night on the turps (coincidentally, in England). One of the back-seat passengers managed to hit all four other occupants including the driver, every seat including the driver’s, and every window except the rear one behind him.
To assure you of my bonafides, if (from the back seat) you manage to hit the inside of the front windscreen and send me a photo of it, I’ll buy you a Mars Bar.
Good on you Steve. As an ex-cabbie myself I wondered why this part of the story was glossed over.
It was glossed over because no one stated that that was the reason behind the police being called. Having driven often 650kms Friday and Saturday nights for a few years I also immediately thought of the extra charge for having to take the taxi off the road and how unpleasant cleaning up was. I had a few experiences like this . The exctacy years where people were often fixated on annoyingly but harmlessly patting the driver etc . The teeth grinding methamphetamine times were challenging, but like the smell of vomit, what goes on in the taxi stays in the taxi, ha ,..err. approximately 80% of fares were pleasant enough 15% hilarious and or intriguing ., I will disclose that I learnt about the local nudibranch and found a new respect for toadies.
Love the Mars Bar line. Drunken idiots and spew were the main reason why I chose a different style of night driving cabs. I considered having to go into the night club strip for a fare as failure. I was obsessed with maximising income/km and would listen to the radio all night for any and every clue on where a suburban fare might be. Instead of belting down the main roads at insane speeds to get back to the city/nightclub, I targetted shift workers, sex workers, pumpkin time “friends”, and parties. Parties generally had a better class of drunkard. Suburban pub discos (it was the 80s) also had a better class of drunkard. I did a few hospital runs from pub fights though, both pre and during the drive and had to clean up blood.
But on the odd occasion when someone looked “wrong”, I’d say “front seat for you mate”. That way I could, and did, shove their head out the window (this was pre-air con days) while abusing them. Result, zero spew in the car but a couple of chunders down the side. Even by the time I got to the 24 hr service station, the chunder had dried and was difficult to wash off.
We were encourage to charge them $50 cleaning fee and another $50 for lost takings for the cleaning time. Fortunately I had no inside spews.
Yes driving past soft foliage trees to remove the spew worked well.
Nailed it. Absolutely nailed it.
Yep. Fair enough. I always thought that Kerr should have been hauled over the coals for spewing in the cab rather than for the ‘white bastard’ remark. The British police, taking offence at racism? Do me a favour; this was the organization that gave us the Special Patrol Group.
Well said, Steve. I’m a big Sam fan but was much more concerned by the puke than her alleged words to the copper. I hope Sam has worked this out and acted accordingly. Puking in public, especially in someone’s workplace is not a joke.
I thought puking in public is a rite of passage for a professional footballer.
Yes it is, but a taxi isn’t a public place, it’s the working environment of a working driver. And that driver needs to preserve its appeal as a safe and comfortable place for other passengers. A puke destroys that. Puke in the street, hardly anyone will care. Puke in a taxi, the driver will know his or her day’s work is destroyed,
I totally agree with Steve; in-transit chundering should not be trivialised. My experience is as an ex-London bus and coach driver. Compare the mortification, embarrassment and pain of the genuine travel sick barf with the mob enjoyment and celebration of the post-12 pints + vindaloo or kebab ‘wiv yet hottest chilli, mate ‘. A late night spew on the bus meant trying to get passengers onto a following bus, hoping that the vomit hadn’t splashed innocent bystanders (I did have a kid in a coach once who came up the front to tell the teacher he felt sick then threw up in her lap), running in and (hopefully) finding a spare without leaving too much gap in the timetable (all list mileage had to be reported to LRT with consequent reporting and penalties).
Sam Kerr is a wonderful sportsperson and mentor, but, like the rest of us, she perhaps forgets when she’s partying that the rest of the world isn’t just there to help the fun along.