The city dissolves into flashes of light in the rearview mirror. Outside, the streets blur past like rain streaks on the tinted windows.

When the door opens, new figures take their place on the taxi’s leather seats. Some nod politely and wait in silence until the ride is over. Others take advantage of the encounter with a stranger to open up about their everyday lives; about infidelity, gang shootings, and everything in between.

Some stories linger in the car long after the doors have slammed shut.

There are approximately 4,800 taxis driving on Danish roads. Behind the wheel are those who have seen it all.

Some drive in daylight, others all the way into the blue morning hours before heading home to make packed lunches for their children. Often, they are the last person passengers see before going to sleep and the first to greet them when the day begins.

Ibyen spoke with three taxi drivers about the experiences that have stuck with them over the years. About payment with sex, drawn guns, and the small moments when the job became more than just driving.

Has been driving a taxi for 12 years. Currently a taxi owner and senior manager at Dantaxi Silkeborg.

»In my taxi, there’s a yellow line on the dispatch system. If it starts blinking, it means the call center has activated the alarm. One night, I picked up a man. The conversation was completely normal – I said »good evening, come in« and asked if he had had a good day.

Two minutes later, the yellow line started blinking.

I immediately thought: ‘Something’s wrong’. But I tried to stay professional and continued the conversation in my usual, friendly tone. Silkeborg was filled with police, and when I commented on it, I could see the man in the backseat starting to squirm nervously, constantly glancing out the window.

When we arrived at the address, I found out why the alarm system had activated. Two officers positioned themselves on either side of the car. They had tracked the taxi all the way via GPS and were waiting to arrest the man in the backseat.

One of them drew a gun.

I was in shock and didn’t understand what was happening. Right there, I felt really unsafe.

I came to Denmark as a refugee from Bosnia in 1993 and started working with wind turbines at Siemens in Brande. But 12 years ago, I quit because I had grown tired of the monotony of everyday life. I wanted to get out into the real world and talk to people, so I got my taxi license.

And there was plenty to talk about behind the wheel.

I once drove a young man who talked about his father being involved in a gang shooting. I also remember several people who opened up about their partners being unfaithful and asked me for advice on what to do.

Sometimes, I end up sitting with a passenger for 20 minutes after the ride is over, talking about their mental health issues and the traumatic experiences they’ve had. I always say: »It takes five years to become a psychologist for most, but for a taxi driver, it takes a month«.

98 percent of the rides I drive are fantastic. There’s music and party lights, life and joy. But when the party goes overboard, it’s not as fun.

Once, a woman asked me: »If I show you my breasts, will you give me a 10-kroner discount?«.

I was genuinely surprised that another person was willing to sink so low.

Other customers might ask if I would ignore the fare and come inside for a cup of coffee instead.

You know what they’re hinting at.

Sex.

Those are the situations I fear the most.

I remember one episode where I picked up a young woman. When we arrived at the address, she started complaining about not having much money as a student. The ride cost DKK 98.

»What do you say we ignore the fare, and you come up with me?«, she said.

I was genuinely concerned for her, so I decided to give her DKK 100 in cash.

»This is the last time I want to hear you’ve asked a taxi driver that,« I told her as I handed her the bill.

When I’ve experienced something unpleasant, I sometimes pull over to call one of my colleagues and discuss the situation.

The ability to rely on each other is one of the most important aspects of our industry. When I go home, I can’t sit around the dining table and tell all these stories – I know how worried my family would be. I need to talk to someone who experiences the same or perhaps even worse things.

Back when I was young and driving a taxi, I found it very respectful. Today, it’s a world of violence, sex, and drugs. Time and time again, weekend after weekend, there are customers asking if I know someone who can get them drugs.

When I drove around in a seven-seater Mercedes a few years ago, I found that customers especially took advantage of the rear seats, where my view was limited, to take drugs.

And it’s not just the city’s downtrodden citizens.

It’s directors, it’s leaders, it’s prominent people you would never imagine needing a line before they head out.

In my taxi, there is zero tolerance for drugs. If I see anything, I stop the car immediately. I have a close collaboration with the police, where I report anything I see or experience. Both regarding customers and colleagues.

Some drivers unfortunately seize the opportunity to make quick money as what you call ’couriers’, driving drugs from one address to another for payment«.

Has been driving a taxi for 14 years. Currently a taxi owner at Dantaxi in the Greater Copenhagen area.

»Over the years, I’ve talked to everyone from alcoholics to schoolchildren to politicians and celebrities. Every time a new person steps into the car, they give me a small glimpse into their daily life.

It’s an access to people’s lives I don’t think you can get anywhere else. Like when I drove a medical student around on an emergency medical service.

We had a long period where the phone didn’t ring. As a hobby DJ, I’m really passionate about music, so I asked her what she liked to listen to. It turned out we had the exact same taste in music. I played a song on the system, and she responded with one. We ended up jamming together for hours.

Eventually, she asked if I wanted to DJ at her wedding. So, two months ago, I showed up with my laptop and two stand speakers and played ‘The Rhythm of the Night’ and Technotronic all night.

After the wedding, she sent pictures of the party and wrote: »It’s the best dance party I’ve ever had«.

When I started as a taxi driver 14 years ago, I worked nights. I loved the freedom and flexibility. No one dictated when I needed to get up in the morning.

Today, I mostly drive during the day. I still love the freedom behind the wheel, but there are also people who depend on me.

For example, I drive a man with infantile autism who’s so challenged he can’t ride with anyone but me. It took me a week and a half of showing up and being rejected before he was comfortable enough to get in the car. So if I’m sick or unable to come, he can’t go to school.

Fortunately, I never am.

I’ve also had other passengers form a special attachment to me.

One day, I picked up an elderly Belgian gentleman in the front seat on Strandvejen. We started chatting, and when I dropped him off, he asked if I would drive for his company. It turned out he was the CEO of a branch of a huge international corporation. Suddenly, his secretary was calling every time the employees needed a ride, and I had to delegate to my colleagues.

But the director always wanted to ride with me. I waited outside fancy restaurants in the Inner City for hours with the meter running because he wanted to be sure I was there when he was done. He brought a gift when my youngest daughter was born, and his wife sent a greeting via text.

But occasionally, I encounter customers who are condescending and act like they own me. I often get asked: »Can you make a living as a taxi driver?«.

Sometimes, I can hear it in their tone the second they step into the car. Especially in the Whiskey Belt.

»Turn up the music. Stop by the gas station«, they might say.

It’s not that I don’t want to do those things – I take great pride in being meticulous in my service – but there’s something deeply uncomfortable about the dictating, arrogant tone. After all, it’s my office they’re stepping into.

The workday behind the wheel isn’t always fun. Back when I drove at night, I occasionally experienced young women asking if I would come up to their apartment as payment after a ride.

I also remember a time when I drove three guys heading out on the town. There was a good vibe and 50 Cent on the sound system – until the one behind me started banging his knee into the backrest. I politely asked him to stop.

»Take it easy, buddy«, said the one in the passenger seat, laying his hand a bit too hard on my shoulder.

There was a tone in his voice I knew all too well, and suddenly, it was no longer a fun Friday. At Vesterport, I pulled in front of a patrol car, stopped the ride, and said: »Out, guys«.

One of the guys in the backseat slammed the door open, but his jacket got caught in the frame, and suddenly, a white cloud billowed into the air. He wrestled the jacket off and sprinted into the night.

That is actually the only time in all my years that I felt things could go off the rails«.

Got his taxi license 15 years ago. Currently a taxi owner and chairman of Aarhus and Horsens Taxa.

»I remember a ride with a woman. She looked mysterious and needed a long ride out into the countryside. We ended up in a forested area in the middle of nowhere. There were no houses nearby, and it was dark. She handed me the money in cash, then jumped into a bush and disappeared. It was like something out of a horror movie. I still don’t know where she went.

That wasn’t the kind of experience I expected when I got behind the wheel of a taxi 15 years ago.

My wife was pregnant, and we needed money, so I started driving as a nighttime chauffeur. I came home from work early in the morning and took care of the newborn. It was tough.

I remember my first ride. I arrived at an address, but there was no one there. So I waited almost half an hour. I wanted to provide good service. Eventually, I called my colleague.

»What are you doing? You should just drive off after five minutes. They’re probably already in another car«, he laughed at me over the phone.

I didn’t make that mistake again.

Actually, I always wanted to be a psychologist. But behind the wheel, I feel almost like one.

I had a young man who needed to be driven to a psychologist, and during the ride, he started telling me about his entire life and the mental health issues he was struggling with. I listened a lot but also shared about my own life and problems so he wouldn’t feel alone. When I dropped him off, he said:

»I’ve gotten more out of talking to you than I’ll get from the person I’m about to see«.

It touched me deeply.

I’ve learned to read people from the second they step into the car. It’s almost a sixth sense I’ve developed. Whether they want to talk or if I should just shut up. Whether they’re friendly or if there might be danger.

I once drove a man. His body language seemed threatening, and I sensed something in the tone he spoke to me with. He put his hands in his pockets, and I suspected he might be armed.

You feel exposed when you’re sitting with both hands on the wheel with your back to the passenger. I felt really unsafe.

At the taxi company, we’re trained on how to handle such situations. The most important thing I’ve learned about self-defense is to always just run. So I chose to take off my seatbelt and put it behind my back while leaning against the door so I could quickly get out if something happened.

Luckily, nothing did, and such incidents are rare, but I think it was good that I was prepared.

I can’t always trust my sixth sense, though.

One evening, six or seven large, muscular, tattooed men stepped into the car. I was instinctively on high alert and just managed to fear the worst when it turned out they were some of the friendliest passengers I’ve ever driven. We had the nicest conversation, and they even gave a generous tip.

Such rides stick with you, even after so many years behind the wheel«.