The Private Bin may be gone, but the memories – and the sign – live on. Photo: Rohan Thomson.
You could have been chugging jugs of Midori Illusions at Pandora’s. Or downing Tooheys Extra Dries at the Bin. Or doing shots of flaming Sambuca at Gypsy Bar.
But at the end of a big night out in the city in the 1990s, you all converged in one place in the wee hours of Sunday morning: the Civic taxi line.
No, not the ranks on London Circuit or Bunda Street (I’m pretty sure these didn’t even exist back then). I’m talking about the taxi line in the dead centre of it all. The one in the bus interchange.
The one where you’d awkwardly pash someone you’d picked up on the dance floor in front of all your friends while you waited for a cab. Where you’d almost crash tackle the mate who still had enough cash at the end of the night for a bag of chips and gravy from Chicken Gourmet. (Remember the plastic forks?!)
The taxi line that curved, four people wide, right around the corner from Alinga Street and almost back to London Circuit.
And where magic happened further down the line, when suburb loyalty kicked in.
“Anyone going to Dunlop?”
“Anyone need a lift to Gilmore?”
“Anyone going to Queanbeyan?”
The old Aerial cabs that would get us home safely from Mooseheads. Photo: Aerial Capital Group.
Within seconds you’d find three strangers who suddenly became your travelling companions, your drunken therapists and your witnesses to whatever embarrassing thing you said on the way home.
The Civic taxi line was a rite of passage for the young clubbers of the 1990s, which recently led me to wonder: is it even still a thing?
I mean, surely, with the launch of Uber in 2015, the taxi line had died a slow and painful death?
So I went to Civic. At 1 am. And did some research.
What I discovered shocked me. I’m not overstating it when I say the bus interchange was heaving. There was a line of cabs and a line of people waiting to get in the cabs! I’d expected a cold, dark bitumen desert, and instead I got New Orleans during Mardi Gras.
I just stood with my mouth open, gaping, for about 15 minutes. And then I interviewed some young clubbers about why it’s definitely ‘still a thing’ to catch a taxi home after a big night out.
It’s often cheaper
Sean Edwards and Kiera Sanders say they catch cabs home because it’s easier on the pocket. Photo: Briony Winchester.
Uber’s supply-and-demand pricing can be unpredictable. And according to the young clubbers of 2026, with a taxi, you know roughly what you’re up for. With Uber? You might pay 30 bucks to Kaleen. Or you might pay $87 because every hens night in Canberra went home at the same time as you.
It’s convenient as
Wonder if they still do the suburb roll call at the head of the taxi line? Photo: Briony Winchester.
In the 1990s, there was a very popular basement venue called The Pancake Parlour located directly behind the taxi line. Today, that venue is a nightclub called Fun Time Pony. And underneath that club is another club called Parlour of Dreams – named after the Pancake Parlour (God, I love Canberra).
Which means those having a break from the packed dance floors of both clubs – and there are hundreds – now spill out onto Alinga Street and into the interchange (and pretty much merge with those in the taxi line).
So it makes sense that the younguns literally stumble out of the club and into a ride home. Because at 3 am on a wintry Sunday morning in Canberra, no-one is standing outside, staring at their phone, waiting 12 minutes for Darrell in his white Corolla to show up.
It’s easier to go through Maccas drive-thru on your way home.
Fun Time Pony clubbers about 20 cm away from the actual taxi line. Photo: Briony Winchester.
Today you’ve got a Maccas in the interchange (teenage me would have died), but if that queue’s longer than your will to live, a cabbie will happily swing through the drive-thru on the way home.
The meter keeps ticking, everyone’s happy. With an Uber, you have to pay the driver off the clock, ditch the existing trip and start a new one, or … whatever, it’s complicated.
A taxi’s the easiest option for scoffing a McChicken before falling into bed.
So, dear readers, after a night of serious research I can confirm that while some Canberra institutions disappeared without anyone noticing – the Bin, Pandora’s, Chicken Gourmet – the Civic taxi line is still a thing. And it’s still quietly getting happy Canberrans home to bed after a big night out.
