What Pisses me off about

Taxi Uncles.

(Originally published as My proposed training manual for TAXI UNCLES on Wednesday, November 19, 2008 at 2:52pm)

I asked you (the taxi driver) to bring me to Mediacorp at Thomson Road.

Not “Mee-thee-um..Cock at the Reservoir there.”
Not “Eh you are keleng…you wan go the Bestway building for the Keleng program one?”
Not “Aiyah, SBC la…any how say.”
Not “wah so manytime change name, TCC…TCS…Uncle no know leh…”
Not “Uncle know your CEO…Leonard Chow…lastime work Hewlett Packard”
Get with the program and don’t piss me off with your ignorant banter that is so off-target, I might lose my sense of balance permanently.

Experience-tings is not a word. No amount of you saying it with your big horse-like grinning teeth will make me believe that it exists.

The numerous Barbie stickers all over your taxi are making me question your sanity and license validity not your sexuality.

No uncle….I don’t want to hear your diatribe that begins like so.
“The problem with you Indians ah…is they allllll (drag the alll) like to drink and hammer their wives….”
If you are a portly fellow and you suddenly stop the taxi in the middle of the highway because you seem to be having breathing trouble a.k.a a heart attack…I will naturally ask you this question. “Uncle…you ok or not.” When you reply with “Wah lau eh…..you got problem issit…you dirty keleng always start problem…” and start rambling off in Hokkien, my only response is to relieve myself in your taxi. As a sign of consideration, I will ask you if you prefer a dry shit or a wet one.
Mumbling at me when I pay using NETS and cooking up fake reasons like my card doesn’t work, very long wait, extra 30 CENTS, very expensive…This will not make me magically pull a $50 from my brassiere. Don’t want NETS payment? Then don’t display the NETS ACCEPTED HERE sticker you fiend.

When I’m not looking, don’t purposely slow down to 10km/hr when passing by traffic lights…hoping they will change colour to red and extend the journey. I’m ONTO YOU ..ya filthy dirty conman.

You start the conversation like so. “eh..you Singapore Idol right? Eh last time I voted for you..you know or not? eh what is Hady Mirza number? Eh my whole family voted you know…spend so much on SMS…60 cent per SMS tau tak…gimme la…if dont have, then what is Taufik’s number? Hady got gf or not?” Here is my response. If you voted for me so many times, how come I didn’t win? Also, even if I had Hady or Taufik’s number…would I pimp them out to you for free?

Having the Mandarin/Malay/Indian radio station at full blast doesn’t make my journey anymore relaxing. And when I ask you to change to 90.5 FM, (because I understand you are an old fart and I’m being compassionate to your partiality of “lau ren” music) don’t play dumb and pretend like your tuner doesn’t work. I’ll press the damn thing myself.

If you don’t know how to go to Tai Tong Cresent and I ask for your Street Directory to flip to the road map, don’t give me grief. Unlike some stupid fools, I know how to read a map and you should be DAMN ELATED that I do. Just sit back and turn left at the junction like a good boy.
If I am sitting next in a taxi with a boy I really really like…dont start talking about how the “Gah-men” doesn’t understand your plight, where did the Suzhou money go, ERP matters, the AIG mini-bonds and other pseudo-news issues.
If I am leaving Mediacorp at 1a.m. after a looooong day,


I wont tell you. I wont even bother to lie. I wont even bother to try to lie. I will just pretend to be a pontianak and let down my hair and start chanting in Malay to scare your talkative ASS into silence.

Why the flipping Shirley does your taxi smell like Pandan has died and decomposed there? Its disgusting and makes the inner recesses of my sinus feel cheated and dirty. Pandan is NOT AN AIR FRESHENER dammit. This is not a 1920’s trishaw dumbass. This is not a Nasi Padang shop. Buy a flipping $2.00 air freshener from Bugis lah dumb-ass.

No…I am not upset about breaking up with my boyfriend. I am crying in your taxi because you farted and when I opened the window to BREATHE, YOU TORTURE MASTER, you used your automatic button to close the window again…and you have permanently locked my button for opening the window. I have no recourse for your sins of the flesh and so…My emotions overwhelm me. I have to ingest your gaseous output and its making my innards turn to dust. I am crumbling as a person and my morale is slowly slipping away.

Why must this be so?

Why can’t you behave like everyone else in the service industry is expected to?

That said…there will be many of you who will start giving me grief about being “so mean” yada yada yada. This is meant for the absolute scum-bags. They know who they are. The great taxi uncles dont even need to bother with this post. They rock my world.


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