Taking Money

Writing about tipping is uncomfortable. The impression I feel people have of limo drivers is that it's all about the tip, that we're grasping individuals motivated only by the palmed bill at the end.

Probably because this is my first job in direct service of people, the gratuity is still something of a mystery to me. Not that I'm not both grateful for, and work in slight expectation of, a gratuity. But the state of mind that works best for me is to do the best job I can for every customer, and be surprised at whatever happens.

There are no hard and fast rules about who tips well, and who doesn't. What I can tell you is that good tippers are both rich and poor, and poor tippers are mostly rich.

Now I've cracked the seal, I think I'll write more about gratuity life.

This is a good guide to tipping your limo driver. [link]




Pic from here [link]

Wise Heads

Young men and their lady friends sometimes find themselves in the back of my limousine. I'm impressed by the way they do the responsible thing, and pay for one of The Boss's limos (and me) to drive them around instead of doing it themselves.

In Florida, if you blow over .08 you are off to jail for the night, no questions asked. So a few hundred bucks to prevent that is the deal of the century.

These same young men aren't quite full-bottle on some of the finer points of limousine life. For instance, there are ways to circumvent The Boss's no smoking policy. One method that does not work is to raise the divider and light up a blunt. That results in me lowering the divider and politely pointing out that smoking is not allowed in the limousine, as per the rental agreement.

Someone needs to tell these boys that a polite request beforehand, and emoluments in the form of cash go a long way towards me overlooking The Boss and his silly rules.




Pic from here [link]

Late night chat

At 4:00 am this morning:

Does that include your tip?

No sir, it does not.

So you're telling me it doesn't include the tip?

That's correct, Todd.

I need to tip you then?

Only if you think my service merits it.

Oh. Yes. You're right. Here's fifty bucks. Are we good?

Thank you very much, that's very generous.





I'd like to see the server's reaction to a 3.5% tip next time he sups in a restaurant.

First Time

A new customer is good for both me and The Boss. The benefit to The Boss is clear, but for me it's an opportunity to focus on what makes a good (or even, ahem, excellent) chauffeur.

Because we're minimum-wage folks, we work for tips, and the time-honored way to garner a good tip is to meet and exceed the customer's expectations. First impressions are as important as conventional wisdom suggests, so I am hyper-aware of making a good impression in those minutes immediately after meeting the new person.

But sometimes the relationship goes the other way. The customer can make a big impression on me, as happened Tuesday morning. Collecting the gentleman from his comfortable established home, I knew something was up when, after some perfunctory chit-chat, he said;

You know, Wombat, Tiger Woods has fucked it for the rest of us, that prick.

Firstly, use of the word 'fuck' puts me, the driver, on a different relationship footing with a customer. Secondly, what on earth was he talking about? After a second, I figured it out - he was telling me that he was an enthusiast for adultery.

Thus began an hour-long tour of this man's life, from his financial woes to his infidelities. He talked at length about his family, especially his many children and his many, many grandchildren. Retired from business, Facebook is his new enthusiasm, a marvel that allows him to keep up with his many widely distributed neices and nephews, although some of them "...find it a bit creepy" that he's so intent on being their friend.

But the focus of his thinking was his trips to Havana. My man could only be described as a part-time sex-tourist, waxing fond about his past visits to Cuba for the enthusiastic, fruity and cheap (cheap!) prostitutes. Apparently, once you find the right guy down there (a man he oddly referred to as "...my John...") all doors are open. John (or The John) knows the way around obstacles to free love created by the fact that "the government owns everything down there, you know". Which would be at least a partial description of a communist dictatorship.

Whenever someone decides to spill their guts to me, a perfect stranger, I wonder why. Is is because the Town Car has a kind of confessional effect? Am I like a priest because the customer cannot see my face? Or is it something about me that encourages them to tell all?

I'm going to ask this nice man soon, because he invited me to a week in Havana in February. We'll have time to talk then.




For a more detailed description of my new buddy's enthusiasms. [link]

Fast Cars

Today, after I collected my customer from Orlando Airport.

Wombat, how long do you think to my place?

Oh, with the traffic about two hours and fifteen.

Okay. I'm really keen to get home. If you do it in one hour forty-five, there's a hundred in it for you..........but, you know, don't lose your licence.


*bangs head against steering-wheel*

Amusement

The time evenings unravel is around 1:15 am. Sometimes it's earlier, but by that point any simmering differences between folks in the group rise to the surface.

Alcohol is the catalyst. Observing the arc of a night out with people in a limousine teaches you that even the most chummy friends can turn ugly on each other given enough neck-oil. It's sad, in truth, but just another human frailty.

Notwithstanding late-night bickering, I try to find amusement whenever I can. Of course I'm as sober as a Sarasota lawyer at 1:15 am, which gives me an advantage over most of my customers and opportunities to indulge my dark side. Here's a case in point:

If you have rented a large stretched limousine, a Hummer, for example, a recent model will set you back north of $150 per hour. That is $2.50 a minute. Think of it as a Bud Light per minute. This particular night out was organized by a self-made man, an electrical contractor from memory, and he was clearly the Alpha Dog amongst the six couples. We'd been to bars all over the Suncoast, and, as usual, the initial iciness towards me had melted. The mood was happy and festive. Until the 1:15 hour.

Our Alpha decided it was time to settle up the bill to that point. We stopped outside one of his buddies' houses, and he whipped out a wad of cash collected from the players.

How much do I owe you? he asked. I totted it up, and let's say it came to $650 dollars.

He then started counting fifties and twenties into my hand, backwards from $650. Swaying and slurring all the while, he did a pretty good job, although the leap from $610 to $590 took him a lot of mental energy. Why he insisted on counting backwards is a mystery, but backwards was the way he wanted it.

At around $420, someone would come up to him (we were standing at the rear of the limo) and offer him a drink or a cigarette, or the inevitable ongoing argument inside would spill outside and distract him.

He would then take all the money back from me, and start counting down again from $650, only to be interrupted at the $420 mark.

The third time this happened, when he started again he asked how much he owed me to date. $688 I said. He stopped and looked at me.

I thought you said $650?

Yes, but we've been standing here counting money for fifteen minutes, and you now owe me $38 more.

He then started counting backwards from $688.

This went on for forty minutes. I laughed then, and for days after. On the inside, of course.




Also published here. [link]

Bomb Canada

Midweek limousine runs are a bonus. They're even better if it's a bachelorette party, especially if the bride is under age sixty. Hey, it's Florida. Ya gotta look on the bright side when there is one. I only realized how old we are around here when a friend visited recently. The first thing she said was "Where are all the people without silver hair?"

Anna Maria pickup at 7:00 pm, then dinner at St Armand's, then Siesta Key for hijinks; that was the plan. All simple enough on the surface, but the happy face soon developed cracks.

First, the money. The Boss always quotes an hourly rate for a minimum of two hours. So when the bridesmaid organizer stated she'd been quoted a fixed seven hour price for a dollar figure substantially below normal, I smelled a grifter. A Canadian grifter, which makes it worse, because I like Canadians.

Second, the female card. Sweetheart, you are cute, but this is business. Claiming you're just being a ditzy girl might work sometimes, but I've seen way too much of that variety of manipulation. I'd rather drive off and do without the money. But I phoned The Boss to resolve the money problem and he compromised. Great.

Third, the adding heads game. My limousine is legally limited to ten passengers. When you book, and say you only have eight, we assume you're as good as your word. When thirteen lovely Canadian ladies turn up, forgive me for blanching a little. I could have brought the bigger vehicle - at no more cost because it's midweek - but no, it just gives you a reason to complain about the lack of room.

Fourth, the extra time. Of course you're having fun dancing and drinking, and you naturally pray for the night not to end. That's possible, at forty dollars per half hour, and, believe me, I can last longer than you. But when you start to say that you're running out of cash, expect not to find me accommodating.

Fifth, the urination. Picture Gulf of Mexico Drive, Longboat Key. The time is 3:15 am. Every ten minutes, two or three of my 'ladies' want a comfort stop. When I point out that it is indeed Longboat Key at 3:15 am and that there are no public facilities available, swearing at me doesn't help.

Sixth, the tip. My unfailing good humor, smiling accession to every request, relentless cleaning, obsessive polishing, general professional demeanor and finding of private spots to piss apparently don't count. Exactly fifteen dollars.

What's that, about seventeen-fifty Canadian? Thanks. I'll just go clean up your puke now.


Also published here.

Smile

It goes like this:

Me: Hey boss, what's up (answering cellphone)

Boss: Hey, Wombat. Got an interesting one for you.

Me: Should I get in the shower?

Boss: Yep. Then call me back.

Me: Okay.

I'm the go-to guy. Being single and childless (although not without family entirely), The Boss sees me as the last minute driver of choice, and I have almost always responded. Flexibility is a virtue, and makes you money.

This job is all about how you approach it. I have found that people respond to you, in more ways than I might have imagined. A smile is the best weapon. A smile, that most simple of expressions, can make the most uptight person melt just a little, creating goodwill all around.

Once you understand the value of a big, goofy, welcoming grin, it can change your life. It's like being a kid again, because so few people SMILE anymore. Service is perfunctory everywhere...

...have a good day....


...thanks for shopping here...


...we appreciate your custom...


Yes, but your actions don't match the words. Genuinely being grateful for someone's business, and showing it, makes being a servant that much easier, and trust me, people do notice.