Been rushing projects recently, which means I’ve been leaving office late.
Thankfully, my job pays for my late-night taxi rides home.
Unfortunately, recently I’ve been considering the wisdom in making these late-night quick-trips. Taxi drivers on the PIE after 10 always seem to go as fast as they possibly can without crashing, flipping their cars over and killing their passengers in the resulting explosion that ensues.
Today’s driver insisted on hugging cars half-again the size of his Standard Comfort Taxi, and overtook motorcyclists in a manner I can only describe as dangerous (I took to looking out for the bikes’ license plates, in the event I had to play witness). Yesterday’s driver got me home in 10-minutes on a route that normally takes 20. The day before’s looked like he was falling asleep–whilst going at 100kmph on an expressway.
And I can never bring myself to ask them to slow down. Somewhere in the back of my head there’s a part of me that doesn’t want the manly taxi drivers scoffing at me, to think of me as an effeminate woman-thing who, contrary to his god-given testorerone-al urges, refuses to hurtle down highways towards freedom! Freedom!
In reality, though, I think they would just ignore me. If the little shrieks and gasps I make don’t make them drive slower, I doubt asking in a small and frightened voice will.
It’s times like these that I’m grateful for the mandatory safety-belts installed in all Singaporean cars.
4 days to last day of work with Sony!