CH 2.
(Dales Tales)
Dale is an average height taxi driver very very skinny with
receding hair. He has protruding teeth and wears very seventies clothes. He’s
in his early fifties. He has two ex-wives and a Son. His topic of conversation
is where he can get sex and how much of it. He goes abroad at least eight times
per year. He’s away about two weeks each holiday. Though we never hear what tourist
sights he has visited, or cultures he has learned about, and apparently, he
never returns with a tan, but listening to him through closed ears, I can tell
why he hasn’t a golden glow.
Thailand is his most frequented destination where he enjoys
the challenges of the ladyboys. It scares me what else he may find there. I have
only been in his taxi twice and for me that was enough. Poor Hub on the other
hand… of late he has had to tell Dale, that he is turning on his lap top and he
does some work. On go the earphones and left to his own head space and driving
skills is the driver.
Seriously though the stories he tells I did have to wonder
is it his imagination? Then what I learned by a man who came to do some work
here at our house who knows him personally, what Dale tells us, is correct. The
workman told us some shocking tales to which I had to intervene and tell him to
stop… TMI.
Hub and I have a horrid feeling that this man is people trafficking.
He certainly helps Eastern Europeans find housing and his work with them
includes filling in lots of forms.
The same man brings Hub gifts small gifts of food from a
local butcher who also doubles up as a baker. Meat pies. I’m glad I’m a
vegetarian.
It’s sad really as he is sort of kind and very intelligent.
How he became like this? My theory is a little towards the fact he isn’t the best-looking
guy. So, he buys his ladies and whatever else will entertain him and to him,
this is a badge of honour. To me it’s desperate. And his Son is only eighteen.
I hope to goodness his father’s actions don’t rub off on his Son.
Some of his stories are totally explicit and Hub has had to change the conversation or, as I said hide
under the earphones.
© Fiona Cummings
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