What Zoologists do…

I just had a very lively carful of three young lads and a girl, talking about job opportunities and their plans for work and holidays.
The lad in the middle decided to include me in the conversation.
“Have you lived here all of your life?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “I lived in Manchester for 8 years.”
“Manchester?!” he exclaimed. “What did you do there?”
“I studied Zoology at Manchester University,” I told him.
“You did ZOOLOGY?! Oh my God, that’s so cool.”
He turned to his friends, “She can revive ZEBRAS!!”

Casual violence

I went to pick up a customer from a local pub. A group of people were standing outside, smoking and talking, and a short way away, a woman was standing by herself, casually waiting for a taxi. She was striking, with funky pink hair, and interesting clothes. As I pressed the “ringback” button on my datahead, I glanced at her again, and suddenly realised that her face and top were covered in blood.

I ran my eyes over the group near her. A blonde woman was standing amongst them, next to the large male bouncer, and she, too, had gouges and blood on her face, head and clothing. The two women had obviously had a vicious fight, been separated, and woman with pink hair was now making her way home. The bouncer clearly had the situation under remarkable control.

The woman with the pink hair came to my window. “Are you going to …..?” she asked calmly, naming a road in the city centre.

“Sorry, but no,” I replied, truthfully, and she retreated back to the doorway before I could say anything more. My mind whirred, but then my customer appeared. I switched into taxi driver mode, and whisked him home, without mentioning what I had just noticed. Several other customers followed in quick succession, and the incident faded to the back of my mind.

Some time later in the evening, I picked up a lively, tattooed woman with gorgeous, shiny hair. “So what have you been up to tonight?” I asked.

She smiled. “I’ve been up the Brickmakers pub for a charity event,” she explained. “We’ve been filming scenes for The Norwich Zombie Project. There were loads of people made up as zombies, with fake blood and everything. It was great!”

I burst out laughing, and explained what I had seen earlier. Relief washed over me as I realised that what I had thought was the aftermath of an exceptionally brutal fight was nothing more than excellent makeup! Phew. It also explained why everyone was so unbelievably nonchalant, including the women with the hideous injuries!


I pulled up outside a betting shop, to pick up a customer. A good looking man appeared at my driver side window. I pressed the button, and my window whizzed down.
“Are you here for me?” he said hopefully.
“Possibly,” I smiled. “Where are you going to?”
He named an area of Norwich.
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I’m booked to go to Dereham Road.”
The man looked disappointed.
“What a shame,” he said. “I saw your beautiful hair, and hoped you had come for me.”
With that, he took his car keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and drove away.