On a Friday evening in May at about 10pm, I got a good fare and a client from a neighborhood of private houses in southwest Espoo.
I drove to a private house. I stopped on the street and waited for the client. In about a minute I saw a “tornado” getting closer to the car from the right side. It turned out to be a drunk woman in about her thirties. I decided to open the rear door from the inside for her, just in case, so that she wouldn’t run into the car.
First she landed in the back seat on her side. When she finally sat up in the middle of the seat, she told me, searching for eye contact in the mirror: “I would l-like to go to Ooolarrriii.” “Where to in Olari?” I asked right away. Then I specified: “Do you want to go to the center?” “Y-y-yesss, riiight to the cennnteerr,” the lady answered. She then asked: “H-howwmuchhh to Olarrrii?” “Well it’s about 6km so it’s about 18 euros,” I speculated. She then took her wallet and investigated its contents, then showed them to me. It only had a few coins in it. She asked me if I could count the money. I told her: “No, I am not looking in your wallet. See for yourself how much you got in there.” I think that sobered her up for a moment. He searched through her wallet once more and admitted: “H-heyy, I h-have to g-get more.” She exited the car and hobbled back to the house, which was about 30-35 meters away.
She was absent for about 3 minutes and then I saw her staggering back to the car. Near the finish line she jumped on the back seat, head first, hitting her head on the other door. She sat up, again, looking at me in the rear view mirror and told me: “N-noww w-we can g-go. I n-now h-have enoughhh money.” I then told her: “Maybe you should close the door before we go. I think it’s safer that way.” To my request, she closed the door like she was trying to pull it through the car. I commented: “Hey, this isn’t a tractor where you have to close the doors with force.” “Oh-h, I, I’m s-sorry,” was the stuttering answer from the calmed down Tornado.
We started driving to Olari and she started worrying again: “Hey, h-how much will the b-bill be? D-do I h-have enough money?” I was trying to calm her down: “Don’t worry, it’s only about 18 euros.” Then she changed the subject completely and started asking me if I was religious and where I was from. I answered her politely, to which she completely shut down and was quiet for a minute. Then she started again: “A-actually I don’t r-really k-know m-myself what I’m t-thinking, or what t-to say o-or to a-ask.” She seemed pretty confused.
Going forward she had a new interesting topic. She asked me: “Hheyy, what kind of ccaaar is thiiis?” I told her: “Guess.” “Ooooh, whennn I lookkkatt the signnn in the front, llikkeaaMerc?” the woman guessed. “Good job, that’s right!” I praised the lady. She was still going on: “Inntteressting, it doesn’t jumpp on thheroooad at all.” To that, I commented: “Of course it doesn’t. It’s a Merc, not a bicycle.” The topic had ended and we were quiet for a few minutes.
When we had about 5 minutes to go to Olari, Ms. Tornado started talking again: “Yyouknooww, Rami is sinnnging there tonnighhhtt.” “Got it,” was the only thing I answered and to specify, I asked: “Where is he singing exactly?” She didn’t know. “Let’s go to thhhecenntteerr and thhennwe’lllllfinddd out, whhherreexactllyyy,” the Tornado came up with a plan.
So we got to Olari center. I asked her again, where she wants to go, which bar Rami was performing at. The bars were on either side of the street. She still didn’t have an answer and suggested going left. So I turned left to the taxi stop and stopped between to pubs. She then asked me: “Hhhey, whichhh pub is Rami singinggg in tonigghttt, do you knnnoww?” I told her again: “I really don’t know. Go outside and yell RAMI-RAMI, WHERE ARE YOU?”
She paid the bill, left the car and right away started waving her arms in the middle of the sidewalk and yelling: “Rammmiiii, whheeereeeaaaaareeeyoouuuu???”