Monday, January 25, 2010

Groups Part 5



We're still forty minutes from home, and the night has taken its toll. After the grease and carbs of the fast food some of the drunks fall asleep, wedged upright, slack-jawed and slack-necked. There might be the odd one or two who share a beer from the bottom of the bar, chatting quietly to each other. But for the most part, the folks are spent.

They've spent their money too. One memorable night in a stretch SUV spanned 7:00 pm to 5:00 am. There's a world in one night on a night like that, and a world of money, too. The limo was well over $1,200. They started with a few hundred dollars worth of booze (and drugs too, I think) and who knows how much they spent in the bars, clubs and strip joints. I look in the mirror as I ponder this. I see twelve people who just proved that money does not buy happiness.

That's what I saw, but what I heard was the sound of kissing. In the seat directly behind me was the host of that particular night, who was noisily pashing his squeeze. The divider was down, part of a making-out-in-front-of-the-driver fantasy, presumably. His collection of friends tended to the rougher end of the spectrum. His squeeze, for instance, was a leggy blonde in her twenties, who turned out to be a stripper. She stripped at our local be-poled hotspot, paying her college tuition with the proceeds. That makes her a student with a part-time job, I guess.

I can't quite remember how it started, but the context of an out-and-out catfight in a limousine at 4:30 in the morning doesn't matter much. The stripper - sorry, student - took a quick powerful verbal jab from one of the other girls who said that she was letting the female side down by taking her kit off for money. She responded by allowing that stripping was okay, feminism-wise, because she had control. Oh, and by the way, the other girl would do it too if she had nicer tits and lost thirty pounds.

It was on. There were no actual real-life punches thrown, not that it mattered. The blood drawn was figurative, which can be worse than bleeding Shakespearean claret. The stripper, sorry, student, was louder and more strident in defense of both her moral and bodily superiority. The feminist made up for lack of volume with reinforcements, all the other women. They set about chopping up their target with finely honed insults backed up with dirty low blows.

The men had melted into the carpet. Not a peep. Not that I blame them. This was World Championship Catfighting that put feral cats to shame. Cats have only claws and teeth; these girls had verbal nuclear devices. Closing in on the house we left ten hours before, everyone had dished out as much punishment as they had energy for. One of them called for a truce, which resulted in a sullen silence for the last few minutes of their night. The stripper apologised for calling the other girl fat. The other girl apologised for criticizing the stripper's augmented breasts.

Stopping (at last) in front of the house, I have yet to see that many people disembark so quickly. They were all out and walking before I could put the beast in Park, open my door and walk to the rear to open theirs. They scuttled away in an air of sour booze and bad temper. Except for the host. He handed me a C-Note, and sped off in his Porsche with the stripper, looking to find some breakfast.




Photo from here.[link]

Also published here. [link]

Friday, January 22, 2010

Groups Part 4


Time marches on, bars close, and there's nothing left for my people but to go home. Their limousine bill is now up in the many hundreds of dollars, and they've stayed out way later than the original plan called for. The shine is off the evening.

Given the disparate aims of the folks, factions form. The factions sit together and sometimes snipe at the others. People fall asleep, or pass out, as the case may be. But there's one thing on which almost everyone agrees: it's time for some food.

The message comes quietly from the back at first.

How about some greasy food
, Wombat?


Yeah, let's do T.Bell I hear someone else say.


Do they have In N Out here in Florida? some out-of-stater will ask.

Pause.

I want pizza says another.

Once they have made the group decision to stop (which will cost more money of course, we're still on the clock here) it almost doesn't matter where we go. I have all the 24 hour fast-food joints along the Interstate memorized, so I'm good to go.

But here's the problem. At that time of night, only drive-throughs are open, and the good people at The Bell and McDonalds and Burger King neglected to build them (the drive-throughs) for stretched limousines. We can't make the turn around the building, so I have to park somewhere adjacent and the folks must order on foot, so to speak. These places have rules. You cannot order at the pick-up window, mostly because at 3:30 am they're running a skeleton crew. What my folks do is line up as if they were in a car. Imagine this. Car with people ordering at the ordering station, car behind that one, two or three of my people standing waiting in line, swaying and slurring, car, car, and so on.

They give their order, and shuffle around to remain in line between the cars. When it's their turn at the pick-up window, you can see the guys trying to be cute with the minimum wage slave as if she were the most beautiful women ever. If it weren't so late, and I wasn't so tired, I'd be laughing my arse off. And still the night is young.




Pic from here.[link]

Edited for clarity.

Also published here [link]

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Groups Part 3


When the folks return from their first stop, I can tell who wants to keep partying, and who doesn't. In general, one or two of the guys will be drunk and they want the night never to end. One or two of the women have had enough to drink and they want to go home. The rest are somewhere inbetween.

The problem comes down to money. Once alcohol takes over, inhibitions disappear, first among them the inhibition to spend money.

Drunk guys say:

Accchhh, c'mon honey, we're having a good time. Let's have fun! Have a drink and relax!


The women who want to go home say:

This is costing us $1.75 a minute, while they give the drunk guys withering looks.

Not that it's always a split along sex lines. There are plenty of girls who are with the 'who cares' program, and sometimes they lead the push. But in general, it's the guys who lose control.

Now I can't see much of what happens behind me. Once they discover the divider, it rarely goes down, and only then to shout unintelligible commands at their erstwhile chauffeur. By now we have probably stopped at our second bar, and might even be on our way to the third. By now people get lost, and we have to wait for them. And by now smokers want just another cigar or cigarette before they load up, so we have to wait for them. Some of them go to find a friend so that he/she can come along with us.

So the group is split into three factions; those who want to go home, but are resigned to their fate; the normal ones who are tipsy but reasonable; and the drunks and smokers and planners and completely oblivious who just wanna keep doing what they're doing until they fall on their face or wake up the next day with a giant grey/green hangover.

The tipping point will come at around 1:00 am. We are more than likely to be either at the Seminole Hard Rock Casino in Tampa, or at a strip club. If at the casino, one of my people will do something to attract the interest of the security people. Those folks tolerate little. If at a strip club, someone will need to come outside for a puke. It's surprising to me how these little events turn an evening, but turn it they do.

Fortunately, bars in Florida close at 2:00 am or only slightly later, so there is nowhere to go thereafter. Or so you might think.






Picture from here.[link]

Also published here. [link]

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Groups Part 2


When the divider rolls up, you know someone's about to get naked. The air inside limousines is laced with a very subtle gas that whispers in (some) ears:

Hey! You're in a limo. We need some titties here, bucko.

When the first nipple appears, there's a roar from the crowd and the camera flashes begin. One leads to another, which leads to another, and before you know it, breasts are popping out all over. Each pair is worth at least five minutes and if underwear from further south wants part of the action, another five minutes per thong. However, not all is good in this scenario. In that first breast appearance lies the seed of discontent.

By this time we're probably at our first destination. Smart groups book a restaurant table for this stop, but that's rare. Most times the folks want somewhere big and public, somewhere to show off the fact that they arrived by limo, somewhere to remember later. Mostly it's the venue that drove them to rent me in the first place. They have in mind a particular kind of night and this is their marquis stop.

Once everyone is dressed and out of the car, I go to work. There are few opportunities to impress on a night like this, but here's one of them. I clean up, but with a mind to impressing particularly the women. I collect and remove the trash. People are so messy. All the used glasses I wash, rinse, and re-equip with napkins. Don't ask how. The carpets get a sweep, then I tidy up all their bags/coolers/cameras/clothes into some semblance of order. Last thing, replenish the ice in the bar.

Men return and almost never notice my handiwork; women almost always do. That impression remains.

Then I wait. And wait. And sometimes I wait some more.



Photo from here. [link]

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Groups



It feels like a good idea at the time. Call around to a group of friends, propose a night out in a limousine, rev up some interest, and then set a date. Do some homework by asking around a few companies for quotes, figure out how much it will cost, let everyone know. Enthusiasm rules, and so you go ahead and book the limo, and look forward to the night.

Fast forward to three weeks later, the evening of the planned party on wheels. One couple can't find a sitter. Marcy just got foreclosed on. Steve is having a huge blow-up with his girlfriend, and doesn't know if he can make it.

Around this time, I roll up in the stretch. It's probably nine or ten on a Saturday night, and everyone's already well lubricated. So what if we're down three or four, we'll just make up the difference with a few extra bucks. Right! Everyone who's coming here? Let's go!

The arc of the night follows a pretty well-worn path. It's quiet in the passenger compartment for the first ten or fifteen while folks acclimate. Then the drinks take effect, everyone relaxes, and the noise level rises. Oftentimes this is the point at which most people are enjoying themselves the most. They've got the right amount of alcoholic buzz and they see that it's cool to be in a limo. Then things start to unravel.



Pic from here. [link]

Also published here. [link]

Friday, January 8, 2010

Highway Karma



Miles of pounding the highway gives me plenty of time to think.

Thinking can be dangerous if you're given to flights of fancy as I am. Mostly I think about the other drivers; what kind of person is driving that Cadillac Coupe de Ville at twenty below the limit in the middle lane up ahead? Or is the driver of that Nissan Sentra drunk or texting?

Drawing up beside them, I take a surreptitious glance to confirm or deny my choice. I'm at about 90% correct for this game now.

Or I do arithmetic in my head. I like to figure out my passing time at various checkpoints along the way, and our ETA at the destination to the nearest half a minute. Figuring traffic as well (a dark art if ever there is one) I'm not bad at that game either.

My latest cogitation concerns the Karma of Driving, or Highway Karma if you prefer. The short version is that if I drive for two hours at or below the speed limit, I get points towards driving faster than the limit. Because I have been unwittingly driving like this for a while without earning a speeding ticket, I'm thinking I might be on to something. There is likely some kind of ratio involved, such that, say, two hours of legal driving entitles me to thirty minutes of illegal driving.

An extension of this is the Karma of Traffic Politeness. Allowing others to cut in front without reacting - calm, patient, no resentment - builds up the bank. I'm thinking that a full day of that gives me three cut-ins and one standing on the horn, flashing headlights hands in air verbal abuse free card.

It's not Road Rage, I'm just cashing in my Karma. Officer.





Pic from here. [link]

Also published here [link]

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Running Hot and Cold



After the busy last couple of weeks, this week is dead. Limousine runs are down by more than three-quarters, leaving we drivers with airport transfers and an opportunity to drink plenty of coffee. Down time is fine by me, but not too long, mind. My two-week fund of tips won't last forever, even if my coffee habit only runs to the cheap stuff.

The talk of the country is the weather, with Florida suffering under the burden of close-to-freezing temperatures. I know that must seem ludicrous to those folks in the north (and the real north, Canadia) but c'mon, everyone needs something to complain about. Snowbirds and natives and blow-ins like me are alike in wondering when Florida started imitating Iowa. Iowa without the snow, the clouds, the short days and the -40 temps. But it's relatively cold, y'know?

Which is actually a great relief for we in the limo trade. For much of the time, we have to run the cars with the air-conditioning on full-blast. Working in a dark suit and tie in this climate is rotten until this time of year. Now, it's appropriate. But for the other nine months, staying cool is a big priority. Frankly it's uncomfortable. All of which is a long-winded way of saying that I always keep the car running with the a/c on, and stay inside that sucker whenever possible.

This week, that's not necessary. I might be the only person in the country grateful for the cold blast. I heart you winter.




Photo from here. [link]

Monday, January 4, 2010

Christmas 2009



For some, holidays are holy days. For others, holidays are time for feasts, or family or falling asleep. To me they're a time for work, to get ahead on bills, make some jink.

Christmas Day 2009 saw me driving a regular customer and his wife to her sister's place about an hour south of here. I did the same thing a couple of years ago, and it's interesting to note the differences.

That time, he was quite grumpy about going. He could have been in a bad mood, but the dynamic was that he was pissed off with the wife, and didn't want to talk. In my experience of these folks, he generally wants nothing but to be left alone with his book anyway, notwithstanding any marital tension.

This Christmas she had obviously presented him an iPod. He sat back there, ear-buds in, fiddling with it while she gave him verbal instructions, quietly at first, but then louder when she failed to get through over the music. Funny how rich older folks end up in the same position as children when presented with the new. That's not meant as a criticism. Childlike is fine as far as I'm concerned, implying discovery of the new. Childish, though, is quite another thing.

Small comments are telling. As they stepped out, he said to me to be back at 4:00 pm, ready for the trip home. She said, sotto voce, words to the effect that he loves his brother-in-law....for the first two hours. Funny, really. Families are the same everywhere.





Photo by me.

Also published here. [link]

Friday, January 1, 2010

Speak when you are spoken to.




If I had to train limousine drivers, I would start with what not to do. At the top of that list is not talking too much. In fact, less is almost always best, and the way to remember this is to only speak when spoken to.

Of the many differences between a taxi and a Town Car, the most important is the driver. Whereas taxi drivers can often be unstoppable chatterboxes, regaling their customers with whatever leaks from their brain, the chauffeur should be more circumspect. Pleasant and responsive, for sure, but restrained and calm too.

The way I look at it is that the customer is unlikely to have any interest in me. They probably think they know all about me anyway, or all they need to know. To them, I'm simple to categorize: Wombat's a limo driver. Seems like a good guy. And that's it.

So I try to look at it from their point of view, which is to say how everyone likes to look at the world: through their own biases and interests. When they do talk, I remove myself from the conversation, instead reflecting back to them the point of their comment, or feed on the substance behind the question. Being transparent is my aim.

Once you try it a few times, it's easy. Unless they specifically ask for personal experience, I remove the personal pronoun from my speech. Taxi drivers are all about the "I". Limo drivers are about the "you". We should affirm, or provide information, or ask pithy follow-ups or (with the right person) provide a wry comment.

Basically, it's about creating a comfortable experience where, for the length of the ride, they're the boss, and we're the minion.