There I was at NYP on a Friday evening. I had been suddenly called into a meeting, forcing me to cancel a meeting with a new acquaintance. I sent her the text with a huge tinge of regret.
The lady I was supposed to meet was Stacey-Jane Douglas, a singer-songwriter & composer from the UK. I was meeting her for the first time and we were supposed to work on some material together. My schedule has been so packed in the last few weeks, I had difficulty making time for that initial meeting, so I felt awful for canceling, but it was an important meeting I couldn’t skip.
Eventually the meeting ended, and I lugged my guitar out of NYP’s gates. It has been a tough period at the office. All the polytechnics are preparing for their respective open houses and I’ve been absolutely swamped. Things at the office have also become more challenging as of late and it was starting to take its toll on me.
I was physically and mentally tired. “After a day like today, I should take a taxi home. I deserve a little luxury.” I reasoned to myself. With my guitar case strapped on my back, and a deep sense of regret and fatigue weighing on my shoulders I walked to the main road, when a taxi approached.
It was perfect timing. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was kismet.
I flagged it down and it stopped. I loaded my guitar case into the taxi and climbed in, and the young Chinese driver greeted me politely. I gave him my street address and he asked for more specifics.
“Can you give me the exact block?” he asked.
I told him to go to Hougang Ave 1 and I would guide him from there. We set off into the quiet of the night with the soft music of his radio filling the taxi. As we came to a traffic light, I noticed he had a GPS unit.
“Oh wait, I didn’t know you have a GPS unit,” I said to him before giving him my postal code.
I have a strict policy about not talking about work but I still felt burdened and wanted a distraction.
“Is that GPS unit any good?” I asked him. He told me that he just bought it recently and had to have it replaced, but otherwise it worked well for the most part. Based on his age and the fact that he was using a GPS, I asked if he was a new driver. He was.
For the next 20 minutes we chatted. I learnt that he was in his mid-30s and recently married. He was formerly a technician for a major European home appliances brand. He told me because that brand’s clientele tended to be wealthy, he visited many nice houses in Singapore, including one at Sentosa.
He worked at that company for many years, and when he left he was drawing a decent salary. I asked him why he decided to drive a taxi. He told me that he loved to drive. I asked him how it was working out for him and was sad to hear that he was starting to regret it.
“Can I ask how much money you are making now?” I asked.
“$2100 after rental and petrol,” he told me, considerably less compared to his last job. “Hang in there,” I told him, “you are still new at this. I’m sure things would work out.”
I asked him about his wife. He told me they’ve known each other for over 10 years, but only recently got married. When I asked about how that was working out, he cited a Chinese proverb about how it takes a lifetime to truly know someone.
He asked if I was a guitar teacher and I told him that I used to teach classical guitar full-time to support myself through my undergraduate studies. When he asked if the money was good, I told him that it was a similar deal to being a driver – you don’t work, you don’t get paid and there are no benefits.
” But it’s a great job” I told him, “working with people and seeing them grow is a wonderful experience. But Singapore is a tough place to live in.”
We continued talking about life till we approached my neighbourhood. I told him to stop me by the tzi char stall near home. It was late and I had not eaten yet. As he stopped, I reached for my wallet and noticed I did not have exact change for the $11 cab fare, so I handed him $20.
But he didn’t have change either, so he offered to give me a $1 discount. I felt slightly bad about short-changing him. “Are you sure?” I asked as I rummaged through the barren coin compartment in my wallet.
“Yeah, you are a nice guy. I only won’t give discount to ‘not nice’ people.” He said as we both laughed. As I exited the taxi, I told him it was nice speaking to him and he said the sentiment was mutual.
I left the taxi feeling better. Sure, my problems will still be waiting for me but listening to the driver tell me about his life and problems made me feel better. It was therapeutic, both for him and myself and it was one of the best $10 I ever spent. As I walked to the tzi char stall I wondered why anyone would bother visiting a psychiatrist when they could just take a taxi.
