No, I did not say "earbud"!

I realised something today. It happened when I saw a very well-dressed and composed fellow – the kind of man who probably owns a BMW and flosses his teeth with caviar. Don’t ask me how. It’s not the sort of thing I can afford to do – barking at the phone and looking very self-conscious about it. I think he feared that his tone would somehow spoil his Armani suit. And then I realised what I was witnessing, the automated cab call...

In Sydney, when you dial a cab and hear a polite female voice at once thanking you and boasting about its prestige (You’ve called Sydney’s TOP taxi service, I hope you’ve dressed up today), you know what’s about to happen:

When the voice asks you to say “yes” to make a booking, you’re going to have to bark it down the receiver. You are going to have to do this in a tone that suggests that you might be mentally impaired or the polite voice is going to make you repeat yourself until there is no doubt. So you comply, acutely aware that you sound like a moron.

“Y-E-S”

Then, using that same Neanderthal tone, you tell the voice that there will be “O-N-E” person using the service today, all the while rolling your eyes at every passer-by to alert them that you are not suffering from a debilitating social phone disease, but are in fact booking a cab. But you don’t need to. Really, you shouldn’t worry so much because any Sydneysider who’s ever ordered a cab understands.

“What suburb are we picking you up from?” the voice asks.

You sense the menace behind those words. Of course the voice is perfectly polite, but you know that she’s an evil bitch who was sent from the toilet bowl of hell to misunderstand your every attempt at relaying your location.

“S-T L-E-O-N-A-R-D-S”

“I’m sorry; did you say “Boner”? she asks.

“N-O”

“What suburb are we picking you up from?”

“S-T L-E-O-N-A-R-D-S”

“I’m sorry; did you say “dental floss”?”

“N-O”

You try to avoid it, but you know that success will only come if you temporarily adopt the tone of a walrus. That is if walruses spoke English in low, monotone voices; so maybe more of an English-speaking walrus robot. Whatever, you get my drift. When you do that; when you really dig deep and sound truly idiotic, you get the results.

A few more “Y-E-S”-es and it’s over. And you’re left standing a little humbled and self-conscious hoping that your cab will turn up and you don’t have to call back to check on it.

I saw Armani man go through this process. And at the end I saw the shadow of vulnerability flicker over his features (before he mentally reminded himself that when he gets home he can burn some money to cheer himself up).

And then I realised: no matter if you spend your weekends bathing in French Champagne or drinking goon, we all sound the same when we call for a cab. And that’s a very important thing to know.

P.S.
Yes. I know that cabs in Sydney aren't yellow and pretty like the one in the picture, but there was no subtle way to photograph Armani man, so this is going to have to do.