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.
