Season

First Minivan Fiat pic credit.

I'm contemplating wacking a bumper sticker on my car:

Welcome to Florida - Don't Forget to Leave.

Jaded, you say? Well, pretty much. Our yearly influx of Snowbirds is currently augmented by Spring Breakers, meaning that my small Gulf Coast town more than doubles in size. And by the Wombat Traffic Theorem, traffic idiocy is proportional to the cube of car numbers, expressed thusly:

I(t) kinda = (C*M*S)

Where I(t) is traffic idiocy, C is total cars, M is total minivans, and S is total SUVs.

If you sense my Road Karma Reservoir is running low, you would be right.

Overheard

Rods and pistons picture credit

Yes, it's true. The partition is not soundproof, and pretty much everything that goes on back there is audible to the chauffeur.

Saturday night provided a prime example. My charges were a bunch of working folks on a night out to a sporting event. I think their boss had somehow subsidised the trip, because the hourly rate was well below that which The Boss customarily charges for the giant stretched SUV. Sigh. Who knows how these things work, but from my point of view, 15% of a smaller than usual number is a smaller number than otherwise. If you get my drift.

It's always interesting noting how people react to a limousine if it's their first time. It actually DOES make them feel important. A few elements contribute. There's the fact that I open and close the door, call them Sir and Madam; there are the tinted windows, and the general feeling that they might be famous; and there's that idea that everyone feels like they are SPECIAL for the night. Alcohol heightens all these emotions.

Along with the usual drinking/socializing banter, it became clear to me that the folks planned on smoking a little weed at some point. The partition was up, so they don't know that I could hear all this. The argument ran along two lines; they could blow the doobie now and be stoned for the game, or they could wait until the ride home and party on afterwards.

Fortunately they decided that walking into the game reeking of high-grade Chihuahuan Mind-Bender might not be good form. After the game it was to be.

Insert three hours.

At that point, once all the photos had been taken and everyone was on board, I quietly suggested to the group leader that there was no smoking in the limo. But if they wanted, we could stop at a nice rest-area a few miles down the road, and everyone could stretch their legs and take a comfort stop. Wink wink. The message got through.

Better than that, once at the rest area, all but two of the twelve disappeared out of view for fifteen minutes or so, thereby giving me at least some kind of deniability. It's a dumb move, really, because if Johnny Law stopped us and made the people for moronic dope fiends, I'm not totally out of the frame.

But that's a story for another time.

The lesson here is that sound-transparent partitions are a good thing, if it helps keep us all out of trouble. Only the stuff that affects me sticks in my head.

Fire and Smoke

Picture Credit.

At a stop light recently I watched as yet another smoker took a final drag and flicked her butt onto the pavement. Judging that there was enough time, I jumped out of the Town Car, picked up the butt and offered it to its owner.

I believe this is yours?

Not so long ago, of course, cars were equipped with ash-trays and cigarette lighters. People used these conveniences for their designed purpose. At an appropriate time and place, the accumulated detritus created by this foul habit most likely ended up in a trash container somewhere, maybe at a gas station. In other words, smokers didn't consider the world one vast ash heap.

Modern manners define the kind of behaviour we non-smokers always admired: Values like not smoking indoors, not smoking while we're eating and not smoking in the car. Unfortunately, even SMOKERS have adopted these precepts, meaning that they've gone rogue, or, in the case of the car, gone on the road.

They're everywhere when you begin to look. Their car window is an eighth of the way down. With each exhalation, the owner aims her breath at the gap, polluting the universe outside instead of the universe inside their car. Every so often the lit coffin nail is held out the window, the ash flicked everywhere, again, but inside the car. And then, at the end of the nicotine hit, the butt is deposited insouciantly everywhere OTHER than the puffer's immediate environs.

It's the same act as the dog owner who refuses to collect her pooch's rancid coils. THEIR world is pristine; OUR world is a toilet.

So I offered the butt-hole litterer her butt back without success. Such language from such a pretty girl. But I think I made my point, if only for this sorry tale.

Chauffeur Enemy #1

Over a beer:

Mate: So what do you think is the most dangerous car on the road?

Me: That's easy - the minivan.

Mate, after five seconds silence: Man, that is so true.



Chauffeur enemy #1. The unpredictable, chaotically driven minivan. Stay well clear.





Early minivan photo from here [link]

Zombies

Has anyone else in my town noticed?

I think we are in the midst of a Zombie Invasion. It might be that these...things...are from outer space, but they choose minivans and F-150s as their transportation devices. Aliens, I'm sure, would be in flying saucers.

These Zombies look just like you and me. They have this uncanny human look about them, right down to the humblest detail. They wear spectacles, sometimes with those clip-on sunglass accessories. Their clothes are normal-looking, if a little dated. There are lots of man-made fibres and everything seems just a tad too tight, except when they wear deliberately loose-fitting stuff like 'work-out' pants and such.

But they're part of Zombie-Nation alright. Just watch them when they drive. Only the undead could drive as poorly as that. Three-lane changes leaving their arse sticking out; flipping bitches* at random intervals; exceedingly slow progress in fast lanes; exceedingly ill-timed entries onto fast-moving thoroughfares - no, these aren't humans. No living person could possibly be that bad behind the wheel.

Interestingly enough, this Zombie Invasion seems to have started in Michigan. And Wisconsin. And Indiana. It's like all the Zombies decided to take a driving vacation to my town and create as much havoc on the roads as possible. As much as the undead can, that is. Which is rather a lot, as it turns out.






*Pulling a U-Turn

Also published here [link]

Flat

Most of my working time is spent on airport runs. It's basically taxi work, but pays some bills between the much more lucrative limousine runs. Some drivers, and some companies for that matter, make airports their specialty. That's understandable, because towncar transfers are simple compared to driving groups of drunks around.

If you make airport runs your bread-and-butter, you end up doing a lot of miles for your dollar, which creates its own set of problems. First is the boredom. Imagine driving the same 60 mile route ten or more times a day, seven days a week as a buddy of mine does. I fear he leaves a small piece of his sanity on the side of I-75 every trip.

Another occupational hazard is the inevitability of mechanical problems, and that bane of drivers everywhere; the flat tire. This was my first as a limo driver, and happily enough the story ends up well. I had parked at Tampa airport with ten minutes to spare before my customer's flight's landing time. In reality that gave me ten minutes, plus ten minutes for it to taxi to the gate, plus ten minutes for her to deplane and find her way to baggage claim. Let's call that 25 minutes to be safe.

Of course, we carry only the 'donut' get-you-home spare in the towncars, not a real wheel and tire. Fortunately I was in a well-lit, level spot, so the change went pretty smoothly. Twelve minutes from start to finish, which surprised me. I feel for the folks who get stuck on the side of a busy freeway. That's downright dangerous.

Scuttling downstairs, I washed my hands and stood waiting for my customer. The plan was to be honest and upfront - it was likely to take us twenty minutes longer to get to her house than normal. The donut is limited to 50 mph, somewhat slower than our usual 70 plus. The alternative was to help her into a taxi.

Fortunately, my wonderful customer was completely cool and let it bother her not at all. Being in the car and on the way was good enough for her. She checked her email, ate her sandwich (delayed flight, no food) and we had a nice chat. When we stopped in her driveway she joked that it was the her longest ever trip time...but she was smiling. She even offered me a cash tip, which I refused. Her good humour was more than enough.

The Boss, of course, charged her the full amount. Heaven forfend he take some off for the inconvenience.




Pic from here [link]

Chauffeur

A kind of omerta binds and separates chauffeurs. On one hand we're all intensely competitive, given the value of each customer. We'd steal each other's business in a moment. On the other hand a grudging understanding creates an unspoken brotherhood.

If you drive you know the deal. You know the late starts, the early finishes, the rotten money, the unpredictable customers, the moronic drivers, the foolish bosses and ridiculous bureaucrats.

With the downside come the benefits. Among them are the pleasure of a nice day and an open road; not being stuck as a cube drone; meeting interesting, famous or plain sweet people; and the satisfaction of making someone's day.

Today was a good day, for which I am grateful.



Pic from here [link]