The Racist Taxi Driver

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It’s Monday morning, so inevitably I’ve pressed snooze one too many times.

Somehow my sub-conscious mind has won the battle and convinced my actual sleepy mind that I can easily make the two-mile walk into work in 15 minutes. Even if not, at that moment in time 10 minutes more sleep at the expense of a career is fine by me.

Eventually though, I wake and rush to prepare for a work-day.

After a whole two minutes of walking towards the office, I spot a taxi rank and decide that although I really want to walk another mile, I should support local businesses. I approach a local taxi, thinking that I am going to make their day. On approach, I see that the taxi driver is heavily tattooed and not particularly welcoming.

“Where to mate?” Is the question abruptly put to myself. I don’t have time to think of an excuse not to commit to the cab journey, so I politely give my work address to the driver and off we go.

The journey only lasts 15 minutes but during this time the driver manages to throw in a few racial slurs, and I wish I’d said something but at the time I didn’t know where I was geographically and I doubt I could have changed their outlook on life anyway.

Then a minute away from the drop-off point, the driver says “I’m not racist or anything… I’ve been doing this job for ten years!”

“Ten years?” I ask, feigning interest but secretly wondering how the number of years worked in a job proves that racism is an impossibility.

Picture my taxi driver now…

You’re picturing a man, aren’t you?

It was actually a mixed race female. So you are a racist! A gender racist! – They should make a word for that.

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