Bars

The Snowbird Season, or 'Season' as it's called, is over. Memorial Day has passed, so it's back to locals and desperados here on the Gulf Coast. Some would unkindly suggest there's no difference.

In the limo game, business has slowed to a trickle. A driver friend with another company who normally does four, five or even six airport transfers a day is down to one or two. He's giving up Starbucks for the summer.

The downtime is good for a few things, one of which is to recapture a social life. The winter is busy pretty much every night, so plans to meet friends always carry a caveat that work comes first. But with the likelihood of being called out much diminished, nights are now for having a little fun.

Taking advantage of this, I went to two bars to which I regularly take customers, but have not been to myself. One is a bar/restaurant that has pretensions to class, and the other is a cavernous sports bar, with lots of televisions and beer. As Dickens wrote, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. *

Bartenders make a bar. If the staff are attentive and smile, people will pay to drink water, a fact that clearly not all barkeeps understand. The posh place was anything but. The fat unkempt dude working there could not have been less interested. Ordering a glass of claret, he didn't immediately just go pour the drink - like, you know, you'd expect - he flipped through some tv channels, hitched his pants, examined his fingernails, and then uncorked the bottle. 

Whatever. 

This joint used to have a reputation for quality, but something is wrong. Behind the bar, the 'server's' sloth was reflected; messy fridges, dirty equipment and disorganization all over the place. No-one cared about anything here, and it showed. I'll never recommend it.

By contrast, the sports bar was a wonder. The first thing to notice was the cleanliness. Everything was shiny gleaming clean, and, being a slow weeknight, the barmaid was buffing the liquor bottles from foot to spout. Even the little straw and napkin dispensers looked worthy of a Marine Staff Sergeant. The place looked cared for, which transfers in my mind to caring for the customer. Plus the guy behind the bar was civil. 

I dunno, this seems so dead simple to me, I must be missing something.




*Here's the full quote from Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way."

Technorati: Bars, Limousine Life, Beer, Vodka.

After Dark

Once all the bachelorettes were in the limousine, and Zolt was out of their lives, the night began. Being from out of town, the ladies - all mid- to late- twenties - had no idea of where to go after dinner. 

Tangent: Folks new to renting limos are often shy about asking for what they need. For instance, one of the ladies was pregnant, and wasn't sure she wanted to stay out all night. Instead of saying to me: 

Wombat, at some point you'll be bringing Hermione home early, that's okay isn't it? 

to which I say, 

Certainly, I am completely at your disposal,

they talk about her following us around town in her own car so she can leave whenever she wants. At $75 per hour, you get whatever I can do for you. 

It's nice that people are that way, though, not wanting to impose, even when they're anteing up a small fortune. 

Back to the story: The question after dinner then became Where to take a bunch of animated ladies in the mood for fun? Some places are too rough, some have an inappropriately aged crowd, some are miles away, some have the wrong music. Speaking of music, when I asked what kind of music they liked, one woman said "Dance Music." Sorry, honey, but that doesn't narrow it down. 

Thankfully, the sister of the bride took charge. I love it when there's one person in the group with whom I can talk, reason, make suggestions, and generally create a plan, especially when the rest have had a few adult beverages. A person able to communicate their wants prevents the activation of my mind-reading skillz, which are poor, given I'm not a Vulcan. 

Thanks then to Marne for being a great, relaxed and cheery customer, and for being thusly co-operative, all the ladies got what they wanted: the pregnant woman got chauffered home early, the neurotic cousin was collected from her hotel in the middle of the evening, and everyone got to dance to the right music. 

(Funk, classic rock and 80s covers btw). 

Technorati: Bachelorette Party, Limousine Life, Dance Music, Limousine Etiquette.

Male Stripper

Zolt was still in the house when I arrived. The women were all a-giggle, saying things like "I didn't know this kind of thing happened in Florida". Makes one wonder how people view the Sunshine State.

Zolt was the prime performer at Saturday's bachelorette party - the male stripper. It might have been that the ladies were from a cold northern state and weren't used to our strong sun, but they were decidedly red-faced as they alighted the limo. Apparently the bride had sucked it up, done the womanly thing, and taken all of Zolt's direction for participation in his erotic gyrations.

What this means in its totality I am uncertain, but at a minimum our (literally) blushing bride used her teeth to take down his fly.

Oh well, it's not that salacious, but it put all the little-black-dressed ladies into a state of titillation that lasted for hours. Zolt had volt.

Although not in the least shy about taking his kit off, Zolt was apparently sensitive about one thing. For your information, men who slowly disrobe in front of paying women are NOT male strippers - they are Male Entertainers.

Let's all remember that.


Technorati: Male Stripper, Limousine Life, Bachelorette Party, Male Entertainers.

Government

I imagine some number of entrepreneurs take on the limousine business each year, with the idea of making some good jink. I mean, let's face it, if you can rent out a stretch at anything from fifty-five to one-hundred and fifty-five dollars an hour, if you get get forty hours a week, well, that's....quite a lot of money.

And in fact, if that was all you were doing, it would be a pretty decent business. Even when gasoline goes back to previous highs, as a proportion of the costs, it won't be that big.

Three things kill budding transport moguls: interest on borrowed money, insurance, and bureaucracy. The first two are normal anticipated business costs, but the last one is more insidious.

It seems that every part of government wants some kind of permit, registration fee or licence. In our neck of the woods, operating into Tampa Airport is a must. That means money to Hillsborough County, (a sticker) and also to the airport itself (another sticker). Then there is the Port of Tampa, which requires a fee each year (sticker). If you need access to secondary places, like Sarasota Airport, that's money to Sarasota County, (sticker) and if you want to use the limousine park at that airport, more money again. (Stops you getting roughed up by the Town and Country boys.) And so on.

Note that these imposts are all cost, and no revenue - the fees come straight from the bottom line, and they amount to hundreds of dollars and tens of hours lost each year. That sucks.

Sometimes being a mere driver is quite okay.

Technorati: Government Sucks, Limousine Life, Tampa Airport, Port of Tampa.

Rain

After three years of drought, it's raining again. There's an upper-level low up there *points skyward, to the south* and a stalled surface front *gestures behind me, to the north* that combined a few days ago to bake a nice big unstable pot o' mischief, atmosphere-wise. Do I have a future as a weatherman, or what?

What's that? Stick with the driving? Oh.

Anyway, the result is lots of wet stuff and puddles. Big puddles. A secondary problem is that it's now the season of the delayed flight. Last night, for instance, I was scheduled to collect a customer from Tampa Airport at 1730, take him home, then return for a 2050 pickup. Normally, that would be no problem, but a thumping great thunderstorm decided to set up shop right on top of the airport at 1725.

Now, modern airliners can overcome most weather phenomena, but the winds and turbulence generated by a maturing thunderstorm can overwhelm them. It's kinda nice to know that nature has one ace up her sleeve. But that ace meant my 1730 man didn't arrive until 1845. Bingo, there goes the second run.

Fortunately, we've been here before, so when the future is that clear, I ring the boss and encourage him to find someone else for the later trip. That worked, and the other guy was happy for the money.

But now the rains and storms (and dare I say it, hurricanes) are back for a while, schedules become no more than a rough outline. Oh well. Beggars can't be choosers.






Technorati: Rain, Limousine Life, Weather, Puddles.

Deutsche

In town this week is a bunch of high-powered biz-types. A large contingent of Germans is among them, adding a little bit of Euro-pizzaz to the joint, even though they stayed at the beach. It's odd seeing all those well-dressed people about the place. Hugo Boss suits aren't exactly thick on the ground here in the Tropical Midwest, where Sans-a-Belt pants and trucker hats are the dress of choice.

There are two features of the Germanic business type apart from the cut of their threads. First, they are tall, towering a few hands above most of us, and secondly, they walk around in a cloud of cologne. It's uncanny - all the men smell like, well, Eurotrash. No Old Spice here.

Oh, and one more thing. Some of them have their own three-engined planes. Nice work if you can get it.


Technorati: Falcon Jet, Limousine Life, Hugo Boss, Eau de Cologne.

Learning

A. Sorry about the ongoing prom stories, but it's at an end now. I think last night's was the last, and probably the best.

Arriving at the pick-up address, the mother of the teenage hostess came out to meet me. (That's unusual of itself.) She was perfectly charming. We chatted, then I asked her the question: 

Have you had the alcohol talk with the children? 

I groaned inside when she gave me the these are good kids blarney. When I explained the consequences if I found any one of the sweeties drinking, she came out with the magic words:

Oh, if you have any problems, call me, and I'll come and string them all up.

I laughed and told her that I now knew there would be no trouble, and that they were guaranteed to be good kids.

And so it eventuated. Very nice tip, too, thank you Debbie.

B. Is it odd that I find myself taking photographs of people taking photographs?

Technorati: Hellions, Limousine Life, Prom, String Them Up.

Shy Retiring Flower

We're approaching the end of prom season, thank goodness. Last Friday night I was kept busy with the worst behaved bunch yet, which I put down to them having the least responsible parents yet. 

When I arrive to collect the spawn of these parents' loins, I make a point of asking them if they're aware of our liquor policy. The law is that nobody under twenty-one can imbibe, and if a responsible adult is handy, the blame will likely fall on them. In the case of promsters in a limousine, the responsible adult is me. 

Consequently, if one of our drivers finds the kids drinking or in any way intoxicated, we reserve the right to end the run there and then, with the parents still paying for the minimum six hours. 

Determining how seriously the adults take this is easy. If they say: 

Oh, look, if you see them drinking or doing anything out of line, you call us, and we'll be right there to kill them. We'll be backing you up 100%. 

...you know eveything will be cool. These parents I like. 

But if they say: 

Well, they're good kids. I don't think they will do anything like that. 

...I know there will be problems. And so it turned out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quote of the night came from the girl most keen on being a hellion. This she screamed - and I mean really screeched - into her cellphone:

He's my date, he'll do what I want him to do!!!

Such a shy retiring flower that young lady.




Technorati: Hellion, Limousine Life, Prom, Shy Retiring Flower.

Cruising Happy

I was in Tampa this morning, at the port, waiting for my customers who were returning from a cruise.

The disembarkation system is well organized, if only for those onboard. One imagines that in the past they tried allowing folks to leave whenever they chose. Inevitably, everyone would have wanted to leave immediately after the ship docked, creating an unholy mess - imagine three thousand over-fed cruisers passing through a ten-foot gangway all at once. Lawsuit, here we come.

Each cabin has a specific time at which the occupants bid adieu to the Lido Deck, kiss the buffet table good-bye, and head back to terra firma. Unfortunately, we ground transport peons have no way of knowing what that time is for our customers until it's too late, so there is no choice but to be there for the first wave.

Which is fine when they are in amongst the early leavers, but sucky if they're the last. Guess which today's were.

But that's fine. It was a nice morning, getting hot and sticky (and - yay! - rainy) in Florida now, giving me plenty of time to find interesting photographic subjects.

The kvetch factor was pretty high there today, with wives carping at husbands, and parents snarking at their uncommunicative teens. I'm not sure why this day was worse than others, but there were some lighthouses of calm. Like the group above. They had clearly enjoyed their cruise, and let the afterglow of nice linger a while.

Technorati: Cruising, Limousine Life, Afterglow, Ground Transport.

Be Prepared

Over at my What do I tip the driver? lens, Geezer asked me what a good chauffeur should carry.

I rummaged through my work bag, and this is what I found:

~ two bottle openers (crown seal openers, for beer.)

~ three (!) corkscrews, only one of which I recognize as being mine.

~ three white cotton dishcloths for polishing glasses. (I washed them yesterday)

~ paper towel for spills.

~ Band Aids, of which I use an inordinate number, mostly for ladies' heels.

~ gum and breath mints, because a driver with coffee breath is horrid.

~ two Swiss Army knives, but a Leatherman would be really handy.

~ two spray bottles, one of window cleaner and one all purpose cleaner (I use the green products I sell.)

~ one needle and thread (white cotton). (Never used, but someone said it was a good idea to carry some, especially for weddings.)

~ spare pens and paper, mostly because I am the one losing the pens. Smile.

~ three small bottles of hand sanitizer.

~ one spray bottle of air freshener (Fresh Rain Concentrated Mist, which says it is a wonderful way to enhance your mood...or create the perfect atmosphere. No wonder I'm hooked on this stuff like a drug.)

~ OTC pain pills.


That's a pretty comprehensive list, now I look at it. The only things to add would be as many different power cords as I could find for phones and computers. (Suggested, quite forcefully, by a customer who had chewed up the batteries on his three phones and two computers.)

Oh, and maps. I have lots of maps, coz GPS sometimes just doesn't cut it.


Technorati: Chauffeur, Limousine Life, Be Prepared, Customer Service.

Marching Men

Men marching off to war?

Nah. Just another wedding.


Technorati: Groomsmen, Limousine Life, Wedding, Bridegroom.

Tight schedules

Why do people do these things?

Why do they book a flight and then book a Town Car to the airport to catch the flight and then allow only minimum time to get to the airport and then get up late and not actually get into the Town Car until twenty minutes after the pick-up time and then say on the phone to someone else that they want to see how good the driver is at getting them to the airport on time although they are the one who was late and now I have to speed all the way.

Why do people do these things?


Technorati: Chauffeur, Limousine Life, Town Car, People.

Sunny days

It's springtime here in the Tropical Midwest. The Snowbirds have flown their southern coops and returned to Michigan and Indiana. I haven't been to either state, but look forward to doing so. The people from there are all so friendly, they must be good places to visit.

Last night was about as good as it gets for your humble limo driver. A couple from Ohio wanted a ten-passenger for their wedding night. Usually weddings are booked weeks in advance, and they tend to be slightly strained affairs.

This one was different. The couple had their ceremony on the beach, and wanted me only to take them to and from dinner. There was no wedding 'party', no angsty wedding 'planner' and no hassle with shoes, handbags, makeup, bussles, veils, rings, corsages or drunk mothers-in-law.

Chauffeur bliss.

Driving in to the beach club at which the happy couple were staying, I chatted with the celebrant as she drove out. Jennifer said everything was hunky-dory. The exchange of vows (does anyone use this term still?) had gone perfectly, and she had changed their restaurant booking to somewhere more romantic.

Equipped with champagne, the couple came downstairs. They were thirty-something, and as sweet as could be. I took some photos of them in the car, and drove them around for a while before dinner so they could have their fizzy. I'm a snob in these matters, but you can tell a lot from a person's choice of champagne. John got it right; Piper-Heidsieck.

Here's the easy part for me. I drop them at the restaurant, and sneak down the road to get some coffee. I then return to sit outside and read my book. A couple of hours later, the couple return, we drive around for a while, and take them home. It's perfect, because it's not a stupidly late night and the only clean up is two champagne glasses and a vacuum.

Plus the very nice cash tip. I could do this every night and not get tired. T'would only it was so.

Technorati: Wedding, Limousine Life, Marriage, Tipping.

Alligator Alley

Interstate 75 is the main vehicular artery in our part of the world, running north-south, (roughly) following the west coast of Florida. 

Aside: Did you know that Interstates are numbered oddly when running north-south, and evenly when running east west? Okay, I thought so. 

At abeam Naples, where it runs into the Everglades, the freeway makes a ninety degree turn, and heads due west. The toll plaza ($2.50) at the commencement of the cross-Florida section is the half-way point between my town and Miami, so it's a kind of driver's landmark. There is a large sign here, proclaiming your entry into what is known as "Alligator Alley." 

For eighty miles or so, the road barely turns. It's straight and boring, because it's as flat as a lake out there, which isn't a surprise, because it IS a huge lake. The Everglades are beautiful and frightening. It's not called Alligator Alley for no reason, although the fence that separates the hard surface from nature keeps the wildlife from becoming road kill. That's a good thing. 

There is another type of alligator that does prowl the freeway, however. This one is two-legged, comes in a khaki uniform, and drives a Crown Victoria with lots of lights. Our friend, the policeman, seem to enjoy the habitat in Alligator Alley. This is the one place I drive where I will not go even one mile per hour over the 70 limit. The gun-toting alligators here hunt in packs, up to seven of them at at time, and I have seen them pull over cars that I could not detect going more than the limit. 

They must make a fortune from fines, which reinforces their behaviour. It's a bit like shooting the proverbial fish in a barrel, because it is so easy to speed here. The road is straight, the scenery is boring, it's a long haul to wherever you're going, and it's often empty. But don't be fooled. The many bridges over the drainage canals provide perfect hidey-holes for the fuzz. 

It might take you ten or fifteen minutes longer, but my advice is to never, ever speed in The Alley. A 'gator bite here could take a big chunk out of your hip pocket. 

Another aside: This book is a well-written history of Florida and the Everglades. From my lens about remaindered books. 

Technorati: Alligator Alley, Limousine Life, Police, Speeding.

Limousine Life

Prom

Here we are, the stretched Lincoln and me, waiting for the evening's customers. Tonight it's eight over-dressed teens trying  to be adults, safe in the delusion that adulthood is all limousines and parties. 

I see these children (for they are still children) trying so hard to be grown up. Why? Adulthood will come to them at some point. What propels them to get there asap? 

My kid innocence lasted much longer than most. I revel in the memory of that time, and wish every young'un understood the delight of gradually finding their feet in the world. Not that I didn't run headlong into life: that I certainly did, from when I left home at eighteen. But the path I chose phased in the intellectual infrastructure young people need to create maturity. Maybe that was luck, maybe something else. 

The promsters went for dinner at their local sushi restaurant. Asian food is the fashion, chain restaurants (especially Olive Garden) derided as unimaginative. After that, to the shindig, and then back to the home you see above. 

Most of the boys said "thank-you", or at least make an attempt at communication. But the girls are silent. I don't know what that means. 

One standout moment: when they piled into the car after a night of apparently vigorous dancing, I was reminded again that they are still maturing. 

Those. Boys. Stank. 

Technorati: Prom, Limousine Life, Teenagers, Dancing.

Uniforms

Yes, it's a limousine service, and yes, it is supposed to be of a certain standard. But why the heck do we have to wear black suits in Florida? (See photo, above, taken last week at my favourite swimming beach. Does it look like a suit and tie kind of place?)

The Boss advertises - nay, makes a highlight of the fact - that his chauffeurs are uniformed. Even that's somewhat of a fib, because we don't all wear the same clothing. One of our drivers wears a full tux for every job, right down to the velvet bow tie. Another doesn't wear a suit so much as dark pants and sport jacket. And I'm given to mixing and matching my black suits with waistcoats and interesting ties. So despite the claim, we are not uniformly uniformed.

But we're sufficiently the same that we look indistinguishable from every other limo service around the place. The fact that we drivers are the only ones in the cars ever wearing a necktie (except for wedding parties) tells us something. It's FLORIDA fer crissakes, and IT'S HOT AND HUMID. Black suits are not natural to this environment. Would the manatee or the great blue heron wear a black suit? I think not.

If I was the boss, I'd settle on a more appropriate Florida-friendly uniform standard. How about comfortable chino-style pants in khaki, with a short-sleeved white shirt and a waistcoat in burgundy or other interesting colour to stand out in the crowd. Necktie optional. Looking neat and professional is a matter of the fit and cleanliness of the clothing, not the colour.

If clothes maketh the man, then a chauffeur's day is made by an interesting outfit. It seems so obvious to me.