Puke

Saturday night's bachelor party conformed to every basic guideline I have written about these celebrations.

The roster of highlights included:

~ a certain aloofness from some of the passengers to start.

~ a couple of them who are friendly.

~ lack of pacing their drinking, including Jagermeister in the first hour.

~ increasing friendliness towards me from even the most haughty of the guys.

~ losing money at the casino.

~ losing even more money at the strip clubs.

~ being the group's best buddy when I find an open liquor store.

~ vomiting, see below.

~ a sleepy trip home.

~ nice tip. Thanks guys.

The puke happened in the car park at the strip club. Chilling out, finishing their drinks before heading in, I sat at the front reading my book. The "Door Open" annunciator lit up on my panel, so I jumped out to attend. What I saw was a fountain of puke, a literal technicolour yawn pouring from one of the guys. As we decided later, he was a pro, making sure not to spew inside, keeping it down until he could reach the door.

Checking to make sure he was okay, I quickly returned to the front, and reversed up twenty feet or so.

When the groom exited, he said to his buddies:

Hey, there's an extra twenty for Wombat's tip right there. He made sure we didn't have to tread in that shit.

Another feather in my cap.

Yeah. Great.




Pic from here [link]

Weddings and Limousines

In response to my friend DC Chick's wedding announcement - congratulations! - here's my rough guide to renting a limo for your wedding. I'll do this in bullet points so I don't forget anything.

* Shop around by phone first. Phone manner will tell you much about the business.

* Ask specifically for what you want; stretched sedan, stretched SUV, Hummer.

* Make sure of the age of the limo - ask the year of manufacture.

* Look for a limo with a bridal door.

* Consider what you and the bridesmaids will wear.

* Tight/complicated dress means you want easy ingress/egress.

* Once you have narrowed it down, go and look at the cars.

* Impress with the number of hours you will need the limo.

* More hours means greater opportunity for reduced hourly cost.

* Make sure when you book you get exactly the car you want.

* If it's possible proceedings will go over time, confirm that's okay.

* Ask about the drivers.

* Ask for the one with the most experience with weddings.

* If it matters, tell them what/how you want him/her dressed.

* Be clear and precise with your plans for the day.

* Write those plans down.

* Send them to the limo driver, together with any specific requests.

* On the day, let the driver know of any changes to the plan.

* Don't forget to put some drinks in the limo. (Booze,I mean.)

* If you have a problem, communicate with your driver.

* Ask him or her for ideas if you need to. Use them as a resource.

* Put some cash in an envelope beforehand.

* Write "Limo Driver" on it, and give it to him at the end.

* Have fun.


Pic from here [link]

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]

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]

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]

Drunks

I will not listen to drunk customers.

Drunk customers have no sense of direction.

Logic deserts drunks.

Believing drunks over your own common sense works against you.

Improved memory is not a side-effect of being drunk.






It's been a long weekend.

Pic from here [link]

Statists

As soon as man discovered trade, man began taxing it. Along the rivers of Europe the castles of noblemen still stand, testament to the wealth they accumulated by taking money from people moving stuff up and down those rivers. On stretches of the Rhine, tax collectors stopped traffic every few miles. They didn't improve the process; they simply added friction.

Today is no different, except in one aspect. Noblemen no longer tax us; the state does. In Florida, one agency of the state creating friction in our lives is the Florida Highway Patrol. I'm unable to tell you of many of my experiences with the troopers, because that would reveal my identity. But my latest contact with these people sealed the deal - they are modern-day tax collectors, pure and simple.

As a lawyer friend of mine said, they're not there to enforce the law, they are there to hide behind it. Or, as he more colourfully put it, to screw the driver whilst fully uniformed.

Traffic Karma? Nope. Doesn't exist. And if I had any power against usurious government agencies who purport to 'serve' us, I would use it. Arseholes.





Edited for clarity. I think I'm clear now.

Mission Impossible

Put yourself in this position:

You are to drive an older lady to an airport around two hours from here. You will wait there for a friend who will arrive on a flight, collect the friend, and drive them both to a hotel a few miles away. You will then drive home.

Sounds easy, right? Three or four discrete steps that should be a limousine driver's bread and butter. Simple in theory, a plan that a child could execute.

First problem: the older lady is on a hair-trigger. The smallest slight results in her shouting an inquisatorial rebuke.

Second problem: She isn't familiar with normal towncar/airport conventions. It's normal for someone we are meeting at the kerb to wait at the baggage claim level, close to the baggage belt for their particular flight.

Third problem: She is hard of hearing. When her friend called, it all worked but for one item. My woman heard baggage belt "twenty-four" as "seventy-four" and so relayed that number to me.

Fourth problem: When a plan goes astray, as this one did, the trick is not to panic. We need to contact the person waiting and reformulate the plan. Shouting does not help the resolution of misunderstandings.

Fifth problem: If I had've actually talked to the arriving customer I would have know what she said. The fact that you ask me what she said when you alone talked to her simply confirms what I'd decided - you're insane.

Sixth problem: If you have no pressing appointments, staying cool is really cool.

Seventh problem: When everything is resolved, and quickly, regaining your cool is cool.

Eighth problem: Blaming me for your inability to communicate adequately is insane.









Pic from here [link]

Also published here [link]

Groups Part 5

We're still forty minutes from home, and the night has taken its toll. After the grease and carbs of the fast food some of the drunks fall asleep, wedged upright, slack-jawed and slack-necked. There might be the odd one or two who share a beer from the bottom of the bar, chatting quietly to each other. But for the most part, the folks are spent.

They've spent their money too. One memorable night in a stretch SUV spanned 7:00 pm to 5:00 am. There's a world in one night on a night like that, and a world of money, too. The limo was well over $1,200. They started with a few hundred dollars worth of booze (and drugs too, I think) and who knows how much they spent in the bars, clubs and strip joints. I look in the mirror as I ponder this. I see twelve people who just proved that money does not buy happiness.

That's what I saw, but what I heard was the sound of kissing. In the seat directly behind me was the host of that particular night, who was noisily pashing his squeeze. The divider was down, part of a making-out-in-front-of-the-driver fantasy, presumably. His collection of friends tended to the rougher end of the spectrum. His squeeze, for instance, was a leggy blonde in her twenties, who turned out to be a stripper. She stripped at our local be-poled hotspot, paying her college tuition with the proceeds. That makes her a student with a part-time job, I guess.

I can't quite remember how it started, but the context of an out-and-out catfight in a limousine at 4:30 in the morning doesn't matter much. The stripper - sorry, student - took a quick powerful verbal jab from one of the other girls who said that she was letting the female side down by taking her kit off for money. She responded by allowing that stripping was okay, feminism-wise, because she had control. Oh, and by the way, the other girl would do it too if she had nicer tits and lost thirty pounds.

It was on. There were no actual real-life punches thrown, not that it mattered. The blood drawn was figurative, which can be worse than bleeding Shakespearean claret. The stripper, sorry, student, was louder and more strident in defense of both her moral and bodily superiority. The feminist made up for lack of volume with reinforcements, all the other women. They set about chopping up their target with finely honed insults backed up with dirty low blows.

The men had melted into the carpet. Not a peep. Not that I blame them. This was World Championship Catfighting that put feral cats to shame. Cats have only claws and teeth; these girls had verbal nuclear devices. Closing in on the house we left ten hours before, everyone had dished out as much punishment as they had energy for. One of them called for a truce, which resulted in a sullen silence for the last few minutes of their night. The stripper apologised for calling the other girl fat. The other girl apologised for criticizing the stripper's augmented breasts.

Stopping (at last) in front of the house, I have yet to see that many people disembark so quickly. They were all out and walking before I could put the beast in Park, open my door and walk to the rear to open theirs. They scuttled away in an air of sour booze and bad temper. Except for the host. He handed me a C-Note, and sped off in his Porsche with the stripper, looking to find some breakfast.




Photo from here.[link]

Also published here. [link]

Groups Part 4

Time marches on, bars close, and there's nothing left for my people but to go home. Their limousine bill is now up in the many hundreds of dollars, and they've stayed out way later than the original plan called for. The shine is off the evening.

Given the disparate aims of the folks, factions form. The factions sit together and sometimes snipe at the others. People fall asleep, or pass out, as the case may be. But there's one thing on which almost everyone agrees: it's time for some food.

The message comes quietly from the back at first.

How about some greasy food, Wombat?


Yeah, let's do T.Bell I hear someone else say.


Do they have In N Out here in Florida? some out-of-stater will ask.

Pause.

I want pizza says another.

Once they have made the group decision to stop (which will cost more money of course, we're still on the clock here) it almost doesn't matter where we go. I have all the 24 hour fast-food joints along the Interstate memorized, so I'm good to go.

But here's the problem. At that time of night, only drive-throughs are open, and the good people at The Bell and McDonalds and Burger King neglected to build them (the drive-throughs) for stretched limousines. We can't make the turn around the building, so I have to park somewhere adjacent and the folks must order on foot, so to speak. These places have rules. You cannot order at the pick-up window, mostly because at 3:30 am they're running a skeleton crew. What my folks do is line up as if they were in a car. Imagine this. Car with people ordering at the ordering station, car behind that one, two or three of my people standing waiting in line, swaying and slurring, car, car, and so on.

They give their order, and shuffle around to remain in line between the cars. When it's their turn at the pick-up window, you can see the guys trying to be cute with the minimum wage slave as if she were the most beautiful women ever. If it weren't so late, and I wasn't so tired, I'd be laughing my arse off. And still the night is young.




Pic from here.[link]

Edited for clarity.

Also published here [link]