Intern in Russia, part 6: Special episode about taxi drivers and conductors

Perhaps in every country you could find one occupation, that has special spirit in this particular part of the world - let's say a rikshaw driver in India or gondolier in Venezia. In Russia you definitely must fall for taxi drivers and conductors. 

I walk down the stairs and come out of the second entrance on Kurchatova 8, the taxi is waiting in front of the third one - when it comes to addresses in Russia, the determining information is the number of the house, then the number of the entrance, followed by the number of the flat. The system of numbering is chaotic, therefore a non-local will find it hard to navigate around the hood. The taxi driver got the order of the entrances incorrectly, I walk a few metres towards him, I get in, I intend to fasten my seatbelt, however, there is none. On the contrary, the taxometer represented by a cellphone app is flashing on the dashboard. In Volgodonsk taxis are such an affordable option of transport, that they can pretty much replace even your bike; when making a short trip in company, the price per person is comparable to the bus fare. Any car can serve as a taxi, if you´re a driver it is not unusual to provide your own one, and so you can expect basically anything to pick you up; from vintage Zhiguli through newer but still pretty ugly Ladas to a family-size sedan, often without the taxi sign. On the next day I get into a car with right rearview mirror missing. 'It has been beaten off today, I'll have to drive 20 kilometres to Romanovka for a new one', says the driver as we are getting further from my place of work. My sloth rate has increased over time and I often call the taxi to get to the local hookah bar. 'Anyway, what do the young smoke there?' asks the driver, I figuratively describe the principle of the hookah. The driver is curious, whether besides the tobacco you add there something 'to go crazy', I answer that most likely not, at least not in this bar, the driver laughs and keeps his thoughts to himself. Favourite conversation topic of taxi drivers is price of spare car parts. Gorkiy street is the name of the main training field for tanks in the town, it resembles a long, wavy stripe of Swiss cheese made of asphalt. You drive through a standard hole - new bumper for 2000 roubles, you drive through a bigger one - new exhaust pipe for 3000. However, not everybody is talkative from the very beginning. 'Don't slam the door', said one with a poker face and he kept glaring at the road with the same expression. Driving on a three lane road, a brave traveller on the right decided to stuff his car in front of ours at the very last moment, which was rejected by immediate honking and cursing of our driver; we looked at each other and started to laugh at the jolly fact that we are still alive. 

A zhiguli with a taxometer app is like Soviet Union with a make-up from Western Germany.

There are four seasons of winter in Volgodonsk - asphalt season before the first snow; snow season; pool season when the uncountable number of holes fill with water; and finally season of ice, when all the water in on the roads and paths freezes over and the whole town turns into an huge skating rink. In rare cases these seasons may overlap; once it had been raining during the season of ice which resulted in enormous pools with an icy layer on the bottom, in addition with wet + frozen = extra slippery pavements and roads. In the middle of this cataclysm I am waiting for taxi for 30 minutes instead of the usual five. I can see a car trying to get to me throught the minefield of puddles and ice. The car pulls over, I get in, we advance one foot forward and slide two feet backwards. Son of a bitch, comments the courageous driver on the current situation. It takes us good ten minutes to get to the Builders' Boulevard. On the main road there is lots of thrill going on - we drive through a whole ocean in the middle of the road, the water splashes all around the car as if on a water slide. Should I take a submarine next time or what? the driver proposes a more suitable mean of transport for these conditions. After ten minutes of waterpark experience I find sanctuary in my home hookah bar. The other day I stand in front of my entrance, there are two vehicles coming from the left, the first one is apparently the taxi followed by a common dweller from the neighbourhood. The taxi stops; the other driver reacts by prompt honking. Can't you see I'm boarding a client? the driver shouts a rhetorical question, facing back of the car; the car honks one more time. Come outside, we'll have a chat! suggests the driver a common activity. We are travelling towards the old town. Can I smoke? Sure, I reply, the driver opens the window a jar, I focus on the song coming from the speakers, it's a compromise between porn dubbing and a female pop vocal. Cool singing, isn't it? I nod. He doesn't have change for 500 rouble bill, we stop at the greengrocer's to change the money, I leave 50 roubles as a contribution to the humour. At one weekend my friend from St. Petersburg came to visit me, at 2 AM we are being driven back home from a concert. The driver has two cellphones, besides the taxometer he uses the other one as a TV, he looks at the road and at the phone screen in turns, he doesn't even hesitate to show us a short clip from his favourite adult movie which he found entertaining. 

A pedestrian canal.

Speaking of change: if you want to pay with a bill of higher value, it may be a bit problematic. It doesn't only apply to taxi drivers, but as well as to shops, supermarkets, bars and some restaurants. God knows why no one makes a spare supply of cash, everybody just expects to get some money from the customers every single day, therefore in the morning you'll be more likely able to pay with a state-issued bonds rather than with a thousand rouble bill. This fact can lead to several bizzare occurencies, such as inverted debt - a situation, when you don't have a debt in the bar, but the bar has a debt to you. I arrive at my home bar with a thousand bill in the pocket, with which I intend to pay for the ticket at the gate. 'You pay 200 and I owe you 800', comments the guy at the door on the fact that again I won't be handed any change, he records his debt on a paper in liabilities section. I stand by the bar and explain that the bartender should deduct the cost of my orders from the debt at the gate. In the meantime I go check the situation regarding the money, the guy says that he had already given the ticket money to the bar. As a result the club owes me 200 roubles. The next day I come to the bar again as a raceteer and instead of ordering a drink I ask for money - the inverted debt has been paid. However, this situation wouldn't probably occur in connection with a person, from which you would probably expect it the most - a lady selling tickets on the bus under a masculine and not-revealing-too-much name 'conductor'.

Conductor in flagranti.

As a rule, conductor is a profession for mildly plump women of any age. One thing they have in common - unique dressing style, be prepared for anything from camo jackets, knitted vests to loud leggins. Their task is to attentively watch everybody who paid for the bus fare in that particular bus, and ask the freshly came passengers to pay 12 or 16 roubles. Your money will rest on the bottomless bag hanging from the conductor's waist, in exchange you'll get a tiny paper ticket with a six digit number. The work of conductor can be made worse by a morning line, when she may find it hard to get to you through a crowded aisle, and you have no other choice but to stow away. The privilege of a conductor is her 'throne': a seat in a bus restricted just for the rest of the conductor, where no one is allowed to sit. You will find it easily by a little carpet, blanket or a jacket put over it, usually also with a 'Do not sit' sign. In several buses the working conditions are more advanced and it is not unusual to encounter a a small table installed just next to the conductor's set, which seems ready for you to play a game of Canasta. Once I got on the bus with the usual 'piece' (=1000 roubles) in my pocket. The queen of the bus approaches me, I offer her the bill with an apologising expression on my face. Without turning a hair she dives her hand into the bag and hands me 984 roubles, bills and coins esthetically sorted from 500 to one rouble. In that moment I realised where the whole change in Volgodonsk has disappeared. However, even the conductor isn't half-god either - someone was cheeky enough to draw a 5000 bill. 'What is that supposed to be - a monthly ticket?' said one woman to another, the first one sat back on her seat, enjoying a free ride, the other one placed herself on the restricted seat, not losing a bit of her noblesy.

Conductor's seat - model with a pillow and a jacket.

An advanced model with a table.

A conductor being recharged.