My experiment to shift my sleep schedule wasn’t entirely successful, but it wasn’t a complete failure either. Things seemed to revert back to normal last night, and I didn’t drift off until after 4:00am.
The flight home from Alice Springs was hassle-free. I’ve posted three photos from the journey below.
The first photo is of the waiting area at Alice Springs Airport. I took this picture simply to capture the spectacular carpet. It felt almost wrong to step on something so beautiful!
The second photo is my million-dollar view from the window. When I was a child, my family often traveled to Canberra for my dad’s job. Back then, I was a huge fan of the Care Bears, and from what I remember, they all congregated in the clouds. Whenever I flew to Canberra, I would stare out the window, expecting to see Care Bears bouncing around in the fluffy clouds. I thought about that today when I saw the same soft, dreamy landscape outside my window.
The last photo is a painting of Major "Moogy" Sumner AM, which I spotted while walking into Adelaide Airport. Seeing it brought back memories — I did a temp job at an Indigenous organisation about twenty-two years ago, working on their reception desk for a few months. Uncle Moogy used to stop by and, while he was there, he would chat with me on reception, and I always looked forward to his visits. I haven’t seen him in person since, and he wouldn’t remember me now, but over the years I’ve seen him on the news and in the papers at various cultural events.
If I need a ride home, I’ll order an Uber, and one of the things I like about Uber is that everything is taken care of before the car even arrives. There’s no need to worry about payment because the app already has my credit card details. There’s no need to give directions because the destination is in the app, synced with the driver’s GPS. I can just get in the car, and if I don’t feel like talking, I don’t have to. For these reasons, I’ll choose an Uber whenever possible.
But if a taxi is right there, like at the Royal Adelaide Hospital or the airport, I’ll just jump in. Over time, I’ve gotten into the habit of immediately giving the driver my exact address and gently hinting they put it in the GPS. That way, I can just sit back, and before I know it, I’m home.
But today, things weren’t that simple.
I was directed to a taxi by two men who were managing the airport taxi queue. The taxi driver got out of the car and put my bag and backpack in the boot. He looked around 75 years old, and when we got into the car, he had classical music playing. This was actually a nice change from some of the music the younger drivers play.
He was polite, and I could tell he was a nice man. He was nice, but I didn't want to be seduced by the lure of a good chat, so I very bluntly—and, upon reflection, quite rudely—gave him my address.
He repeated my suburb, then I gave him the number and the street again. He realised what I was getting at, and he said, "Oh, you don’t want to, you don’t want to," before telling me he knew where my suburb was. He then offered to put my address into the GPS if I wanted.
I told him not to worry about it and said I would direct him to the house once we got to my suburb.
I was sitting in the back left seat when I whipped out my phone and started sending a message to a friend. The man started asking questions. "Where are you coming from?" I told him, and then he asked about the weather in Alice Springs. He then began telling me about how the weather in Adelaide had been over the last few days.
I was being cold, and that's not who I really am, but I really am trying to avoid these situations. But the taxi driver got the better of me, and I asked him how long he had been driving taxis. That was all the encouragement he needed—he proceeded to tell me everything about his life.
We established that he had been driving taxis for ten years, and before that, he had worked at Holdens for 51 years. This man was the polar opposite of me—he had spent more than half a century in the same job, while my record is just under two years.
I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have worked in the same place for that long. I don’t know if loyalty like that would mean anything nowadays, but it would certainly come with a strong sense of belonging. In that way, I really did admire this man for his longevity.
He also said that he was offered a redundancy package at 65, which he took in 2014. With the money, he paid off his house and became debt-free, but there are still considerable expenses to be met.
I discovered that this man was a good man. He had worked hard his whole life, and now, in his seventies, he has to work 20 hours a week just to make ends meet. He should be traveling the world and spending time with his grandchildren, but I guess it doesn’t work out like that for everyone.
When we arrived at my house, I was glad I had spoken to the taxi driver and learned about his life. He seemed to want to talk, and thinking about it now, I was really too quick to shut him out completely.
It’s funny when you meet someone like that—someone who shares so much of their story with you. I feel like I know him, yet it’s highly unlikely I will ever see him again.
I had a great few days away, but it’s nice to be home.
