Hoors? Yeah... Hoors. Prostitutes, Tarts, Hookers, Ladies of Negotiable Affection, call them what you will. For 8 years or so I lived in granite tenement. My Neighbours Were Hoors. Sadly for us all (!?) the brothel was closed down and I moved out of the area. I never did get around to writing about the court case though...

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

The Taxi Driver's Tale (another one)

I really am in two minds whether or not to publish this post.
I'm don't mean to get on my high horse and think I'm better than anyone and I'm not being naive or anything cuz I do know what goes on (dontchaknow) but there's something about this story that makes me go "Ewwwwwwwwwww" or shudder or, in fact, go "Heeuuurgh!" (Which isn't a very lady-like noise).

Onwaye. A friend of mine was getting a taxi out to the airport and by all accounts she had one of the Grey Toon's finest taxi drivers. Like most taxi drivers everywhere, he was willing talk about anything and at great length too. The conversation eventually turned to the hardships of being a taxi driver. What, my friend asks, do you do when you get drunk people, violent people, dodgy people hailing your taxi?

Well this taxi driver would take them all. Drunk folk? So long as they don't peuk in his car, that's fine. Violent folk? They wouldn't bloody dare try mess wi him. Prostitutes? ...one of the most lucrative types for a taxi driver as you hang around with the meter running to take them back. Junkies going to see their dealer? Ditto.

And then he told her this story:

He was on his way back in to town when he picked up a fare. A tarty wumman and her young daughter. Now this wumman asked him to take her to a certain bridge in the Grey Toon. Now, readers, the Grey Toon hasn't many bridges and if you're local, you'll probably figure this one out for yourself. Apparently this bridge is the place to go for buying certain illegal substances, and this was a well known fact to Mr Man-Of-The-World Taxi Driver. So he dropped her and her daughter off and waited for the wumman and wee quine to totter back.

"So," he asks the wumman. "How can you let your wee lass stand there and watch you buy your drugs? Are you nae worried it'll have some sort of ill affect on her?"

"Ha!" cries the wumman, "Wee Lass!? She's Sivinteen! Half o this is fur her!"

Mr Man O The Wurld Taxi Driver is horrified for once and at a loss for words.

"Half for her? But she doesnae look 17!"

"Aye." says the wumman smugly. "And ye ken fit? She earns twice as much as me." Smirk. "Punters think she's just a kid, ye ken?"

And then, according to the taxi driver, he let the two of them off at the docks ready for a night's gainful employment.

And now I shudder and go back to my sweet and innocent life. *Couk.*

Old Hoor prepares her 17 yo daughter to go out for a night's hooring. "Ere, she looks 12 y'ken!"
Note dealer on pantomime horse in background flogging hard drugs to passengers on the Number 19 to Tillydrone.

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