On Tiredness

For two days I have not driven further than the grocery store and the beach. There's not much driving work at The Boss's shop anyway at the moment (surprise) but sometimes I need concentrated down-time.

To the untutored eye, the life of the limo driver looks to be a lot about doing nothing. As I say to passersby and other people I talk to whilst on the job, my life is all about waiting. We wait for flights to arrive, we wait for people to emerge from their house, we wait for concerts to finish, we wait for strippers to take the last dollar from the bachelors. Lack of motion defines us.

Except that waiting is not the same as doing nothing, nor is it the same as hanging around at home. Waiting creates a sub-species of stress, based around being ready to spring into action at very short notice. Think of fighter pilots sitting in their jets at the end of the runway waiting for the call to scramble - sure, they're idling, but relaxed they're not.

Not that waiting for an arriving flight is the same as defending the country, although if we fail to find our customer at the airport some of them are prone to starting WW III. That's the stress. It is fear of something going wrong, for which we are blamed. Most people are pretty quick off the mark with a phone call to The Boss if something goes wrong. That tees him up ready to take a swing at us, notwithstanding that we've done everything right.

If the customer takes the wrong escalator to the wrong arrivals hall, it's not my fault. If the customer fails to meet the limo at the previously decided corner, it's not my fault. If the customer fails to tell me that it's not THEM travelling, but their daughter and her boyfriend, it's not my fault if I don't recognize them.

But it ends up that I get heaped upon, because the driver is at the end of the power line, and at the head of the blame line.

So much of my time is spent out-thinking customers. I'll pre-call to confirm arrangements. I'll draw maps and make drive-bys to point out a place I can safely stop. I'll even park up the limo and follow people so I know where they are - drunks are prone to foxing innocent drivers by claiming to not know where they are.

It's all part of being a driver, but with all the sleuthing and figuring out human nature, I sometimes I think I should start a private detective agency.

Canary in the Coalmine

Another slow week in paradise slips by. It's Friday night and I've done precisely two (2) jobs in the last six days. One was a late-night airport pickup; the other, a five-hour limousine run which I just finished.

With all the time I have to contemplate such matters, I think it is possible that the limousine business is a great leading economic indicator. No-one needs a limousine or a town-car service. Taxis are (and will be - they're like cockroaches, a professional opinion) always available. Although a town-car is in fact many dollars cheaper than a taxi for the kind of airport transfers we do, the perception is of indulgence.


I'm too sophisticated for a taxi; I deserve a car service.

Sometimes ego saves money.

To add insult to pauperdom, a friend and fellow driver had his entire bank account emptied by the IRS this week. They claimed he owed them $22,000 in back taxes from 2002, which he hotly denies. Makes sense to me, knowing his work history. The frightening thing is that the US Federal Government can take your money without notification. I guess that's one way to find the
$13, 000,000,000,000.00 they spent on our behalf.

All well and good, but when he can't pay the rent, or the phone bill, or for gas to get to work, I'm not sure how much of an asset to the economy he can be. Like most drivers, my mate isn't officially counted amongst the unemployed, but like all of us, he is seriously underemployed.

Which brings me back to my point. The limo game is a confidence indicator. When people are upbeat and want to either travel or celebrate, we see them in our cars. Our services are a minor luxury - even for folks who saved up for a year to attend a Metallica concert - that tells much about the collective conscious.

My read is that everyone is hunkering down. If that changes, I'll let you know. For now, the depression continues.







Photo from here [link]

Limousine detective

Prior to every trip I attempt to find out a little more about the customer. I ask The Boss if they're young or old, whether it's a birthday or an anniversary, if they're drinkers or abstemious. Being prepared makes a big difference, because if I can arrive at the door and announce:

"Hello Mrs Krebopple, congratulations on the anniversary of your splenectomy,"

it makes a good first impression, which will translate into a more relaxed night at a minimum, or a big tip at best.

Last night was a complete mystery, a relatively late-booked four-hour limousine run for eight, to a local Mexican joint, and possibly some nightlife after.

Rolling up to the house, I look for clues. It's in a decent neighbourhood, but the garden looks unkempt. (Like them all here thesedays, what with the drought and all.) Hmmm, there's a BMW X5 in the garage, that's decent money. Then again it might be on the never-never from the boom times. On balance it's a good sign.

So I knock on the door, and a woman cracks it open.

"She doesn't know you're here" she stage whispers pointing to the interior of the house, "We'll be out in five or ten".

"Okay", I whisper back "You take your time, I'm here when you're ready."

Still none the wiser, I check the ice, the radio, and the airconditioning in the limo again, and stand in the shade waiting. And waiting. And waiting. That's really what this job is: a waiting and cleaning gig.

Eventually three of them emerge: the mom, a hot-looking but over-made-up yummy mummy, her seventeen-year-old daughter, and the eight year-old son. It's the girl's birthday, and the mother is about to take her and a bunch of her friends out.

I can't help wondering where the father is, and, why do mothers allow their seventeen year-old daughters to dress like strippers?

Despite my misgivings about a limo-load of teenagers, they were just fine. In fact, they were cleaner, tidier, more polite and in better cheer than a lot of older folk, so kudos to them. I'd even go so far as to say they were sweet, which is a lot coming from me.

So despite the bum rap, my experience with teens has all been good.

Now watch me get through prom season, Tazer at the ready.