Oh, man, it's been a weird month.
Trouble is that although writing this blog is a pleasure (and a release) for me, the horrid hours and exhaustion of being UP when the body says DOWN mitigates against spending time relating stories of a life on the road.
Which isn't to say that I wish my driving life to go away, because at the moment it's okay. The Boss has us busy enough to keep us from panhandling at traffic lights, and there are a few other prospects in the wind.
But the endless conveyor belt of human oddity keeps spewing people at me. There's just no telling, as, for instance with a simple airport transfer earlier this week.
The lady concerned is the wife of a prominent property developer. He built a ten-storey condo building that more-or-less dominates the skyline of my Sun Coast town. It is designed after the great architects of Florence, which of course makes the whole complex irredeemably inappropriate for southwest Florida. Why importing architectural styles from foreigners is better than applying local techniques is obviously beyond me..
So I wait in the Medici-style porte cochere for madame (or is that signora?) for thirty minutes beyond our appointed pick-up time. The concierge (which is people in these parts call a doorman) is chatty and effusive. I know him from previous times, he's a good guy, but way too obsequious to his people. He needs to get them in line. Pronto.
The point is that this dopey woman is paying a fixed, rock-bottom price for a ride to the airport. When she does deign to make an appearance, there's all kinds of fuss about the dog and whether it will be allowed to travel on Southwest Airlines in this container etc etc.
Look, lady, you're sweet enough, but given that I'll take out about twenty-five bucks after tax outta this three hour circus, I could give a shit. You have bought a ride to the airport, nothing more, nothing less.
As you might anticipate, the problems with the dog resume at the airport. She has two different sized containers, for the poor pooch: one that will squish him up like an old pair of socks, and another that allow him to breathe. Naturally, the airline wants him in the smaller container into which she then stuffs him. (This from a person who says she loves the dog. Pffft. Whatever.)
AND of course I have to assist with this ridiculous pantomime at the departures curb of Southwest at Tampa airport. AND of course, she is immensely apologetic that she has no cash for a tip.
Like they say, you'll eventually be judged how you treat the small people. And the dogs.
No comments:
Post a Comment