Too Much

Porsche Panamera interior pic credit.

Some people tip too much. I know, it's antithetical for someone like me to say, but it's true nonetheless, that some people are overly generous with the gratuities.

The gentleman I have in mind is an interesting study. Not the most charismatic guy, he's obviously set on looking after all of the drivers slaving for The Boss. Upon his insistence, we automatically add thirty percent to all of his invoices as a standard gratuity, but he also oftentimes palms us a note as well...and not a twenty, either.

Oddly, all this money makes me uncomfortable. There are two reasons for this. One is that while Mr Tipper is always polite and never demanding, I have no connection with him. We talk only perfunctorily, and never with humor. His wife, more friendly and outgoing, is kinda the same. Secondly, I really never feel like I've earned the tip. A lot of his jobs are very simple local limousine runs, collecting a couple or a couple of couples around five in the afternoon, and driving them to his house. They have dinner and a few drinks, and then I drive them back. It's so easy.

The only downside is that we have to sit in his underground garage for the three hours in which they're eating and socializing, but that's no imposition if one is prepared with books, newspapers and a nosebag. All in all, he's the ideal customer, but still there's something that makes me feel guilty about accepting such amounts for so little input.

The Boss's angle on all this reveals much about him. He is mostly pissed off with Mr Tipper for this reason: with that thirty percent tip, we drivers often net more money from the run than he does.

This makes him angry, which tells you all you need to know.

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.

Partition

VW interior photo credit

All of The Boss's limousines are equipped with partitions. The partition is an electrically operated barrier that isolates the passenger compartment from the driver. In essence, we're already in a separate space - the partition just fills in the hole.

My attitude towards the partition changed a while back. As a rookie driver, I took the view that customers preferred a more open interior - the ability to look forward through the partition cut-out and so through the windscreen - and easier communication with their faithful servant up front. In the smaller limousines it can be a little claustrophobic back there.

Here's my routine thesedays: with new customers, when I show them the controls (lighting, heating, sound) I make a point of demonstrating the partition up/down switch, by saying:


...and here's how you ditch me...

at which point I raise the partition and leave it up.

With regular customers, I often start with the partition up, or, if not, use this lame line:


...so I'll just give you folks some privacy now...

whilst I roll that thing up.

Remember, I have a switch for the partition too. It's important to tell me NOT to use it ahead of time if you don't want me to surprise you.

I'm reminded of the way fancy hotels do this. When the customer service person escorts you to the room, they show you important features you might need immediately. Then they leave, close the door, and allow you to explore your room on your own.

People behave differently if they think they're being watched. Oh, and if they think they can't be heard.

Early Shift

Daimler Motorcycle pic credit

My resolution to take greater control of my life by no longer accepting morning jobs is sorta working out. My work has declined by, oh, about two-thirds. Not only is The Boss not assigning me morning jobs, he's not assigning me afternoon or evening jobs either.

For a couple of weeks there I was doing two late-night airport runs per week.

You see when we drivers show signs of non-compliance with Boss's wishes, he punishes us in the way he knows best, by withholding work.

When I first began in this game, he told me how he likes his drivers: desperate and compliant. That tells you everything you need to know about how he views the limousine business - it's all about making life as easy as possible for him, and nothing about finding the right people to provide the best service.

Frankly, I find this kind of commercial horror encouraging. If someone so out of tune with people can still make a living, the opportunity for anyone with a modicum of common sense is huge. This is still the land of success built on hard work and fair dealing.

What's interesting is the way in which regular customers are revealing to me how The Boss treats them on the phone. Some are shocked at how brusque he's become; others say outright that the only reason they stay is because they like we drivers. There are lots of those kind of folks.

Notwithstanding, business is slow during the week, and moderately busy on weekends. And gradually I'm moving out of the bad books. This last weekend was crazy busy, a situation that causes His Lordship to forget about keeping me down in order to get me out there on the road.

Perspective

Duesenberg at what looks like Pebble Beach GC

Adding up all the pluses and minuses of a driving job, it's easy to come up with a negative number. Horrible hours, low pay, idiotic bosses, capricious passengers, dopey cops and crap cars make for pretty big number less than zero.

On the flip side, there's one biggie which will stick with me for the reminder of my days - a better understanding.

I'm not certain what other work puts one as close to a lot of different people in situations where their vulnerabilities are on show. We see people under stress (when travelling) pushed to the limit (in business situations) behaving excruciatingly well (in public group outings) and behaving excruciatingly poorly (on those same public group outings, often on the same night.) Yes, many service industry folks see folks untied, but not in quite the same way as we do.

Partly this is because drivers are both close and invisible. We're robots who drive, and therefore of limited utility when that's all we do. But when the customer needs a resource, we are immediately elevated to equality, and sometimes higher. The alchemy of human emotion can change the way we're viewed in an instant, depending upon the need of the person paying the tab.

What's clear to me is that people are all incredibly flawed. I, of course, am no exception. However, witnessing so many individuals allowing their emotions to rule their outlook gives me understanding that perspective is in short supply. Just as most people driving cars at 80 mph are unable to think more than one lane stripe ahead, so they can't see more than one lane stripe ahead in their lives, whether we're measuring by time or distance.

Distance - that's what a few years of observing people has given me, or more accurately detachment. It's the reason long-time drivers have a zen-calm surrounding them. They KNOW that good replaces bad, which is replaced by good; lean times swap with plenty; and human nature never changes. For that exact reason, you'll rarely see a chauffeur giving in to road-rage. We understand that cutting into a line or ridiculous tail-gating saves precisely .002 seconds on the journey...and that kharma is a more powerful force than even the biggest engine.

Calm and perspective, the most important unknown elements.

Elder Bullets

Chrysler Photo Credit

It's Florida here, as far as the eye can see. That means there are oldsters, as far as the eye can see, although most of them aren't actually visible because they're warehoused in "Senior Housing Facilities".

We have occasional jobs originating at these places, but they're less frequent than I think they should be. Whether that's because the inmates - sorry, residents - are careful with their pennies or The Boss doesn't market to the elder community I don't know. Oh, well, actually, I do. It's the latter.

Sunday afternoon saw me booted and spurred at one of these places. Oftentimes all we have is a time, an address and a name. The Boss can't be arsed giving us more background, using the catch-all "As Directed" on the dispatch ticket.

I parked close to the reception area, did a final check to make sure the Town Car was presentable, and went in search of my customers. The receptionist (a relatively spritely ninety-year-old) pointed me back out to where I'd come from: my clients were sitting outside under the porte cochere waiting for me, fifteen minutes before time. I'd walked straight past them.

Interesting, this phenomenon. Wouldn't you think that, watching me park the car and walk past them in dark suit and tie, they'd click that I was there for them? * shakes head *

In any case, my two nice ladies were being treated to an afternoon out, courtesy of a generous nephew many states distant. First, to a matinee, then to dinner, then home.

Actually, before going anywhere, we had to negotiate getting into the car. Both had walkers and inflexible bodies, so each ingress and egress was like the docking of a Carnival Cruise liner...without the cocktails - slow, choreographed and ever-so-clumsy.

But I'm making it sound worse than it was. They were both in pretty good spirits, enthused at the idea of having a chauffeur, interested in me - my marital status, which church I attend - for a while, quickly becoming bored with a topic like old people do.

The only spark of discontent came from the horror that sometimes one of them had to walk slightly further (around the car) to access the door on the other side. I failed in the quest to make each side of the car equidistant for each of them.

Of such small snits is old-age full I imagine, although I worked as hard as I could to make their day as easy as possible.

For some people, enough is never enough, although I shall record that they both gave me a cash tip - an unexpected bonus given my knowledge of how old ladies operate.

Afternoons and Evenings

Cord cockpit photo source

Finally, I got around to telling The Boss that I'm off mornings. What a relief. I should know by now that the time between 4:00 am and 7:00 am is critical - not sleeping in the hours encompassing that span wrecks my day.

It also wrecks my health, albeit at a slower rate. I've been reading lately where the average American's average night's sleep has declined from nine to seven hours in the course of the last few decades. Sleep deficit is allegedly responsible for lots of medical problems, from weight gain to cancer. I believe all of that.

Naturally, The Boss has seen fit to punish me. He's not a subtle man. After I explained that working any time after noon is fine, he called me - three days later - asking if I could make a 9:00 pm airport pickup. There's no sarcasm in his voice, but the intent is clear; he wants us all to be his 24/7 lapdogs. Breaking with his desire will not be rewarded.

As I explained in a previous post, I didn't have much choice. I'd allowed him to assume that I'd work very late finishes followed by very early starts. My fault really, but the occasional overnight turned into more than a few. And he's not the type with whom I can logically explain my reasoning. Upon receiving a booking, he'll look to fill the driver slot with the least work possible on his behalf. Until now, that meant calling me.

So I suffer with his displeasure for the moment. Frankly, I'm happy. I'm feeling better, and his business is collapsing so fast, there's more or less no work anyway.

Humour Me

Fabulous Ferrari picture from here.

You've seen me, or one of my colleagues.

We're waiting on the baggage claim level, or where you emerge from the satellite shuttle. Or we're at the exit from the customs hall. Most often we're formally dressed, often inappropriately so.

We carry a sign, which we hold up for all to see. A name appears on that sign. I like to create a handsome hand-drawn sign, but sometimes The Boss creates one via the computer.

His say "Smith"

Mine say "Welcome, Monica Smith."

If you're NOT Monica Smith, do me a favour. Do not walk up to me and say:

"That's Me"

or

"Hi, I'm Smith."

Your brilliant, original wit is wasted (for the one-hundredth time) on the likes of me. Take your act to the people...at the cab rank.

Inconsiderate, Inc

Early morning pickups are fraught with danger.

Everyone (in general ) has cut the timing right to the bone, so every minute counts. One particular job comes to mind, a 3:30 am collection time, although I must say that there are plenty just like it. For a start, the customer's house was in a fancy gated community, which all take an age to navigate.

What's with the endlessly winding streets spread out over thousands of acres, guys? There's nowhere to walk. There are no sidewalks. There are no shops. There's nowhere to go and nothing to do. Unless you are endlessly entertained by golf what the hell is there to do in these places? And if golf does entertain you 24/7, there's no saving you. And neither should there be.

I'm there, early as usual, at this guy's mock Italiante Villa on a golf course in Florida. The time is 3:15 am. I've been up since 2:00 am. I'm ready to drive this dude to Tampa, and go home and go back to bed.

It's not reasonable to knock or ring the doorbell that early. Maybe there are kids, maybe there are relatives. I reverse the Town Car into the driveway and wait. The hope is that the customer will walk out the door, luggage in hand, and be ready to go.

Fat chance.

At 3:30 I rang the bell.

A minute later the wife opened the door and scampered down the faux granite steps to explain to me that her husband had overslept, and that he'd be out momentarily. Sure. Whatever. Like my time's worth nothing, because dopey forgot to set his alarm.

Thirty minutes later, Mr Business appears at the doorway, grip in hand, freshly showered, ready to go. Excellent! Good-morning sir, may I take your luggage? Please, take a seat here, we'll be under way as soon as I can.

Sorry, he says, the alarm didn't go off.

And you know, I believe him. He was completely apologetic, and an interesting guy to boot. And I feel bad that his company, which trades on the Pink Sheets OTC is not doing so well.

We all screw up. But at 4:00 am, it seems that much worse.

Sleepless in Florida

Bugatti picture credit

As the saying goes, I made this rod for my own back.

Back when I was less cynical about the driving game, I'd take on pretty much anything The Boss had to offer. I was - in his words - available and willing, just the way he likes his vassals. There was nothing I'd turn down.

That works for a while, until late night jobs blend into early morning jobs. The way that happens is that on Friday he would allocate everyone's limousine and Town Car runs for the weekend, through until Monday. Then on Saturday morning he would take a booking for an early Sunday morning airport run, despite the full roster.

Let's examine this for a moment. Back in the good old days, limousine runs rarely finished before bar closing, which is 2:00 am around here. By the time everyone's been dropped off, I've driven the limo back to base and cleaned everything up, there's not much change out of 4:00 am, or even later. I've seen quite a few sunrises.

But The Boss only acknowledges the dispatch ticket with the 2:00 am finish time. He sees that, then is perfectly happy expecting one of us to be ready for that 6:00 am run to Fort Myers airport that he's just taken.

Seriously, he has NO ability to understand that:

a) the customer might go over the stated time,

b) the driver's night doesn't end with the last drop-off, and

c) we are human and therefore suffer fatigue.

But here's where I am to blame.

In my race to make some decent money, I would take the extra morning run, and talk myself into thinking it's just the same as doing a night shift. I know, I know, it's crazy, especially given the absolute pittance that these things pay. But there you have it. Often I would have been up for more than thirty hours, picking up some unsuspecting person on their way to an airport somewhere.

When business fell off a cliff two years ago, for the most part that kind of thing stopped, replaced with something even worse. Now The Boss is happy awarding me late night airport pickups, which can often extend to 2:00 am, followed by those horrid 5:00 am jobs. Not only do I lose a night's sleep, I don't even have the benefit of the money from a limo job.

The worst of all worlds.

And it's all my fault.