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.

Deadenders

The zombie hand of government inflicts itself on limousine life as in every other sphere. Permits, licences, permissions, fees, petty rules, inspections, validations, registrations and a hundred other make-work irritants eat into everyone's time and profits.

Here's yesterday's example. Snoozing as I waited for my customers to disembark their cruise ship at Port Everglades, I was woken by two (2) dudes tapping on the window. Broward County's finest were ensuring all the for-hire vehicles sported the correct decal. Given that our outfit operates from the other side of the state, it's not surprising The Boss figures the $200 plus $15 fee is a bit steep for the four times a year we go there.

Officialdom must have the last word, so I was cited (as pictured). If you're wondering what supernatural privileges a Port decal gets you...well, it gets you the ability to be a for-hire vehicle at the port. In other words, it gets you the same as not having the bloody thing; nothing. It's just another revenue-raising obstacle to people making a living.

And although it is a cliché, one does wonder at the county's allocation of manpower. It's not like Fort Lauderdale and Miami are free of drugs, gangs, murderers, illegals, child molesters and ponzi-scheme salesmen. Sheesh.

Bathrooms

Finicky is a word for it. Environmentally sensitive is a phrase for it. But the bottom line - ahem - is that clean bathrooms are important to me.

After some time driving now, I've pinpointed the quality public facilities close to our customers' regular haunts. Hotels are always a good choice. Starbucks form a decent second-tier. Gas stations run the gamut. Interstate highway rest stops are just nasty.

Ask me about Tampa Airport, and I'll send you to the Marriott Hotel ballroom facilities. (Very good. I've even been known to take a newspaper in there and spend a happy twenty minutes.)
On the way to Miami, there is a very clean Comfort Inn Suites at exit 110. Off I-595, take the Nob Hill exit, go north about two miles, and the facilities at Starbucks on the left are acceptable. But I always feel obliged to buy coffee there, dammit.

Given our weird hours, there is always the possibility that one might be caught short. I nearly found myself behind a bush in a gated golf-course community Sunday morning. You know the feeling, when something from the night before disagreed with the system, and you have to go.

NOW.

Luckily I applied the mind over matter principle, and avoided the furtive squat behind the herbaceous border. But it almost happened.

The best thing? Knowing I had the forethought to have some TP in the bag. Just in case.

Juan the Landscaper

Apparently the driving rules have changed. I'm wistful that no-one thought to let lots of we road-users know, but oh well. Here's the basic modification as interpreted by me:

1. On an interstate highway, or other decent multi-lane road, no longer does the convention of "slowest on the right, fastest on the left" apply.*

2. a) If you have a slow-accelerating, slow-stopping vehicle - choose the "old" fast lane.

b) If you are towing anything - an open trailer, an oil tanker, your house - always choose the "old" fast lane.

c) If you are a landscaper, (yes, that's you, Juan) with a trailer full of untethered shit - always choose the "old" fast lane.

d) If you're a tradesman quoting jobs on your cellphone and/or you also have untethered ladders, cement mixers, iron bedsteads etc in the bed of your truck - always choose the "old" fast lane.

e) If you have no clue where you're going - always choose the "old" fast lane.

3. If you've rented a U-Haul, and basically encompass all of the above categories - always choose the "old" fast lane.

4. If you're old, dopey, lost, and in Florida looking for a cheap condo - always choose the "old" fast lane.

Yep, I think that's the extent of the change.


*reverse for LHS driving countries.

Here's my new buddy, Diego Garcia.

Personal space

The distance between the front and back seats of a Lincoln Towncar is about five feet. I haven't measured it, but that seems about right. Yet that distance appears to vary according to whomever sits back there.

I think it's a personal space issue, but there's more to it than that. The nature of the relationship between the driver and the drivee changes the feel of the gap. Oftentimes, a kind of electric charge exists between the two of us, and after some experimentation, I've found that I can control it.

By now you probably think I'm nuts. I'll have you know I've been certified 95% sane by a registered veterinarian. It's just that an unusual energy forms when two unrelated, otherwise distant people are cooped up in tin can for a long time.

Like the International Space Station, but at .0000000002% of the cost.

Springsteen

The Super Bowl, the Grand Final of the American Football season, was played in Tampa this year. Bruce Springsteen, who, in real life, isn't very springy at all, was the half-time entertainment. And how do I know he needs some boing in his shocks, you ask....

Well, wonder of wonders, our limo service somehow ended up with the contract to transport Bruce, Bruce's family, most of the band, the band's families, the management and all their hangers-on around for the week prior to the game. For whatever reason, the whole smash was accommodated not in Tampa, but in our sleepy hollow an hour south. We do have one really swish hotel, so that probably did the trick.

So, by going to and from three rehearsal sessions, the media interviews, making various morning McDonald's runs, fulfilling odd personal grooming requests and, oh, the game day, we merry limo drivers saw the insides of big time rock'n'roll.

As you might suspect, there was nothing glamorous about the job at all. It was just hard work. My take is that the entertainment business is just like McDonalds; it might be tasty to eat, but you don't want to know how it's made.

And no, I don't want fries with that.

Just a little work, darling

Barometers (or, indeed, thermometers, depending upon your preference) of economic health come in many forms. One of particular note we can call the Doc-o-Meter.

Here on the Sunshine Coast, cosmetic and other elective surgery is big business. Mossbacks from Michigan and Silverhairs from Saskatchewan come here to bring back 1949. Last year one particular eye surgeon (think Lasik, as well as eye-lifts) was almost a daily customer. We were driving him to the airport (so he could attend fine wine or rare car auctions) or chauffeuring his customers, or taking him to dinner while he wooed prospective employees. Busy, busy.

No longer. I don't think he's used the limousine service in three months, either for business or personal reasons. My advice would be that if you're looking for a little work (his practice does pretty much everything) now is the time. Get a quote, and subtract 50%. It's worth a try.

Dogs

Travelling with dogs appears to be the new black. I guess it's a natural outcome from plumetting birthrates and the singularization of (western) societies.

Providing a service, as I do, I'm here to accommodate your needs. If that means fawning over your pooch, so be it. If it means extra cleaning because Stanley, the Cossetted Chihuahua, sheds like a blizzard, that's fine too.

But I draw the line at him nuzzling my crutch. My private parts are for select participation, and I don't choose your dog.

Penultimate Gas

So it wasn't really the "Ultimate" before you added "Invigorate" then was it?

Valet Parking

The limousine driver is the natural enemy of the valet parking attendant.

They want self-drivers whose cars need valet parking. (We obviously negate that.)

They want self-drivers to provide them tips. (Ditto.)

They want self-drivers who don't block their driveways. (Limos are always hanging around constipating things.)

They want lady self-drivers so they can check out the view as they alight their car. (Most of us are blokes.)

In summary, limousines are an impediment to the valet-dude's perfect world filled with gigunda-tipping hotties in short skirts driving Lamborghini Gallardos. (Fair enough. Sorry guys, I'm just doing my job.)