What's In a Name?

I have a jaded view of the limousine industry. That attitude grew from observation of how limo company owners operate, specifically their treatment of people - customers and workers both.

My experience is limited, of course. But of the three or four big operators in my area, I know drivers who work for all of them, and they tell me the same story; the guys and girls who run these places are big on vision but light on the down and dirty business of working in a luxury/discretionary area. It's tough out there, and drivers often take all the heat, from crappy money to disgruntled customers.

Which is why the naming conventions of limousine companies gives me reason to smile. They are all so chipper:

~ Above All Limo and Town Car

~ Prestige Limousines

~ Diplomat Limo

~ Regal Limousines

~ Diamond Limousines

~ Elite Limousines

~ Royal Coach Limousines

~ Premier Cars

~ TLC Limousine

~ High Class Limo


...and so on.

It's a joke to believe that they're ALL the BEST, because it simply isn't possible. Just once, I'd like to see someone advertise a limo business as "...decently priced with okay cars..." or "...mostly good drivers..." or "...you get what you pay for..."

As far as I can see, only habit keeps people returning to a specific company (if they're regular users) and either price or recommendation if they're one-offs.

Naming therefore reflects the lack of imagination of owners, making practically zero difference with any individual consumer's choice. Clearly, owners haven't figured out this fundamental fact.

My favourite name for a limo company is "Rollex Limousine". Yeah. Just like the fine Swiss timepieces.


Pffft.

Rescue

Breakdowns are inevitable, we all understand that. But no-one thinks - or wants to think - it will happen to them. Someone else should bear that burden.

I'm sympathetic to anyone stuck in a broken automobile, which is how I came to hurriedly shower, shave and dress at ten o'clock last night. A fellow driver was stuck at a rest area off the interstate with twelve customers and a busted limousine. I don't know the guy, and he works for the opposition service here in town, but I like to think that if I needed a hand, the brotherhood of drivers would come to my aid.

It's karma, right?

Here's how these things work: The driver breaks the car, and spends time placating his customers. He calls the boss, who is safely at home on his second Saturday night six-pack. In turn, he calls a tame mechanic, who is on his second fifth of vodka - well it is Saturday night, after all.

No immediate repair option then. The opposition boss then calls The Boss, knowing we have a humungous stretched SUV that can do the job. The Boss is on his fourth or fifth bong of the night, but can see more green by sending me out. So I get the call. Probably the only sober/straight driver in the county at that point, I figure I can help.

The elapsed time from that call to me rolling into the rest area was one hour and seven minutes. Now having done this kind of rescue before, I know what to expect. The driver is grateful and relieved. The Boss is counting his money. The opposition boss is glad he'll be receiving no more abusive phone calls. But the customers, ah the customers. Far from being happy, they get into an odd state of mind where they're sorta happy, but still sorta pissed. And you know who bears the brunt of that action.

We swap out the coolers, the drinks and the plastic penises, because this is a bachelorette party after all. Within ten minutes we're under way, and they've lost only an hour and a half of their night. Seems like a win to me.

Everything proceeds normally after that. The group disembark at the bride-to-be's place at 3:00 am. I sense that not everyone is happy, a pretty standard state of affairs when twelve people get together with some booze. Tension has a way of squeezing into a party like this.

You'd think that my part in the rescue operation would merit a little special thank-you or some kind of acknowledgment...and you'd think incorrectly. No tip, no warm words, nothing. But as I have discovered, that's standard.

My reward is the karma. Apparently.




Classic drawing from here [link]

The Network

After a while, people get to know who you are. Word spreads, impressions are made, value judgements are lodged in brains.

I know this because I do it myself. This checkout person at the supermarket is better than that one, and I look for her; that bartender smiles and engages so I tip more; I never attend the Church of Starbucks because (with rare exception) they all suck.

Customer service is a battle of millimetres, fought to the tipping point, at which point all is lost or all is gained. Someone should write a book about that. (Ironic Joke.)

So when people start asking me to help them with limo or towncar bookings, I smell something's up. They'd rather deal with me than The Boss, who, more than ever, could give a shit.


Photo of the Cadillac Eldorado from here [link]

The Boss

In the past, when I listened to self-improvement tapes while I ran or walked, most of it literally went in one ear and out the other. Not much stuck inbetween. One thing that did, however, is the idea that many of us are mentally stuck in high school.

It appeals to on a visceral and a logical level. I saw it in myself, I guess, and that brought home the horror of being a fully physically mature man and still a mental adolescent. What an awful thing. And you know what? I have found this again, in the figure of The Boss.

It's not new to me, given that I've been living with this thing for years, but events of recent times show me that it's time the veil of anonymity be raised, if ever so slightly. I want to bring this face of stupidity right out in the open, if only for my own fun. As a man I trust completely says, to think bad things is one thing, but to do them is quite another.

I wonder where blogging about a complete douchebag fits?



Cartoon from here [link]