...or something like that.
Basically, the Monday after Memorial Day, I'd had it.
My cab had been broken into.
Business was starting to tail off tremendously.
I had come down with a nasty bug, and driving wasn't helping.
I took Saturday and Sunday off to get under the covers, shiver and shed a few tears.
However, by the time I made the decision to quit on Saturday, I felt uplifted... and it came from an old source.
Friends, I haven't been right since my mother passed away nearly 6 years ago, and it only got worse when my old man followed 18 months later. I won't go into the details here, but it's sufficient to say that St. Lavinia popped in on me on Sunday. She spoke, as she often has in this afterlife she's attained, in simple and direct language. "Talk" Or more importantly, communicate.
So, there I was on Monday, getting ready to cancel my contract with Yellow and the assistant licensee manager asks me, "Do you want to hang on to your car?"
My answer, "I'm down to my last 40 bucks, and I don't know what I can do right now. I was sick over the weekend and shit's gotten just plain strange."
"Yeah," he answered, "it does for a lot of guys, not just the new ones, during the summer."
So, he takes me off of Code 5 (terminal lockout) and says, "80 bucks a day, you'll be caught up in no time."
My answer, "just like that?"
"Yep," was his reply. "We know you need to pay rent, gas and groceries."
There is no greater gift anyone can receive than the gift of time... as long as that gift isn't squandered. Basically, the week that followed consisted of me learning how to conserve my resources and re-think when and where I worked. Make no mistake about it, the market sucks right now, and there are times when I wait up to an hour to take someone for a ride, but because of where I'm choosing to work, those rides are still profitable.
A couple of other things popped up to help ameliorate the recent bullshit, too. 1.) I managed to get my check from my most recent acting job. It helped me take a day and a half off in the middle of this week as some of the consecutive days were kicking my butt. 2.) Part of my outstanding balance was the body shop deciding to charge me for replacing the window damaged by the jackass(es) who broke into my cab. I called bullshit on that and cited my 5 dollar a week supplemental insurance I was paying. I will be seeing $174.50 coming back to me tomorrow because of those keen powers of observation. That's another two days I won't have to pony up the 80 bucks.
Oddly enough, I've had to learn that my usual sources of "karma" weren't exactly going to fuel the fire. MSP trips for the elderly and disabled are so few and far between that it's silly on my part to say I'm going to crusade for every trip that isn't being picked up. In fact, that's the biggest thing I had to change about how I work. I would drive incredible distances for people I would think were "stranded," and occasionally hit a jackpot. More often than not, though, it was simply a trip that barely paid the cost of gasoline and slightly more. However, what I lost in those trips wasn't just the money and the gas... it was the time. Time I could have spent not clobbering myself in traffic... and time I could have spent taking a trip closer to where I was.
So, this is where I stand tonight. My lease is paid, I'm getting ready to hammer home the balance of the light bill and take care of a couple of other nagging bills. They're all small... for now. Fact of the matter is, that if I had learned back then what I know now about conserving my resources (don't get me started on my ill fated forays into the Bay Area), I'd be way ahead of the game.
As it is, I get a little better every day.
80 bucks at a time.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Illogic of Waste...
Apparently, when I was being recruited to join Yellow Cab as a driver, there was no mention of how things slow down during the summer.
I get it, there are no guarantees.
However, I've also been seeing the writing on the wall the last two weeks, also. Grown men, sitting in the back or middle seat of their cabs with the side door open waiting for their next call. Sitting or sleeping. Taking that 12 hour day and turning it into an 18-20 hour day. The day after Memorial Day, half of Yellow's owner operator fleet was placed on Code 5, that means that 400 well-meaning cab drivers weren't able to pay their lease on time.
Anyway, that's where I've been... and it finally came to a head yesterday when I worked from 4am to 5pm and made 80 bucks - before the cost of putting more gas in that banana wagon and getting myself something to eat... leaving me with about 55. Needless to say, I went back on code 5 this afternoon.
My father had a saying, and I never agreed with him on much, but it went like this:
If you're not doing what you're supposed to be doing, it'll hurt you.
So, here I am, sleep-deprived, sick (only a bad cold, I hope) and I haven't been able to do any housework other than the laundry in the last 4-5 weeks because I've been staying out longer and longer trying to make the same amount of money.... until finally, the money just isn't there to be made.
Contrast the beginning of my cab driving experience with how it's been lately.
In February, I would roll out at 4 in the morning, and usually have my first trip within 20 minutes, and I would be working steadily through 9-11 in the morning. The haul would be somewhere between 80-150 bucks, and I would then switch to the bid board to pick up more trips through the middle of the day. In other words, there's no reason why I shouldn't have made $250-plus a day.
Now... well, I've pretty much described it. You log in, hunker down, and wait for that first call... and then you hunker down where you drop off at to conserve gas unless you see something on the bid board. Here's the thing, though... instead of being the only guy "who'll go to that call," you're now competing with a couple dozen or hundred other guys who need to eat.
But here's the thing... I don't need a taxi cab to eat. The sole premise of my driving a taxi was based on that conversation I had with that young man a couple months ago. FLEXIBILITY. Now, it doesn't take a math whiz to figure out that if you need 30 minutes or so in the morning to slap yourself to life and another 90 to unwind and let your brain drift before you crash every day before a 16 hour day, that means you're sleep depriving yourself and robbing your body of needed rest. There is no time to work on my novels or an acting project unless I deliberately take a day off. And, with the current environment out there being garbage for earnings, there's no point to it.
A conversation I had with a passenger not too long ago encapsulates it nicely. He's an older gent from India, but every word rang out loud and clear. "I've noticed that when I call for a cab now, it only takes five minutes or so, instead of the usual hour... the cab companies are money-lenders, and if they could take your blood from you, they'd do it and drink it right on the spot." He then went on to say that he was praying to "Almighty God" to make things better so it would take him longer to get a cab.
How apropos, I suppose.
Houston, for all its diversity and splendor, is hardly a New York or Chicago when it comes to working as a cab driver. You can't toss a Houston cabbie the keys for 12 hours, and expect him or her to come back with 150 bucks over and above his/her lease. Even in downtown, there's nowhere near the flagger environment that there is in those other cities. And, as I mentioned, a lot of us are having bad days and running at a deficit. Then again, is the country's current financial dilemma just plain running us all into the ground? Are the New York hacks in trouble? Is it rough on the cabbies in Los Angeles?
The sad part about this decision I have to make is the fact that I truly enjoyed being a cab driver, but not at the expense of my health and sanity. When you go to bed at night and you dream about driving a cab and not making money, that's your sanity. I still remember the stories of how Melissa Plaut was working only 4 days a week in New York and supporting herself. I wonder how much those times are changing the nature of this business. I didn't walk into this expecting easy money. Far from it. I wanted to work my ass off. But here's the deal:
If there are no flaggers to pick up, it doesn't make sense to drive around looking for them... other than Friday and Saturday night downtown, that is.
If there are no jobs within 10 miles on the bid board, it's usually not a bright idea to go burn off 5 dollars worth of gas if you get one, and most likely, someone closer to it is bidding on it too now that the work is drying up.
Finally, when you're hunkered down over a four hour period and all you get is one "take me to work" call and three 5-dollar "take me and my groceries home," that aint enough to feed the bulldog. I'm not going to sleep in a car for the sake of saying I have my "freedom."
And frankly, at my age, this bulldog doesn't eat as much as he used to.
This pretty much brings an end to the cabbie blog, since I will be discontinuing my contract with Yellow come Monday. What the hell... I had too many damn blogs going anyway.
I get it, there are no guarantees.
However, I've also been seeing the writing on the wall the last two weeks, also. Grown men, sitting in the back or middle seat of their cabs with the side door open waiting for their next call. Sitting or sleeping. Taking that 12 hour day and turning it into an 18-20 hour day. The day after Memorial Day, half of Yellow's owner operator fleet was placed on Code 5, that means that 400 well-meaning cab drivers weren't able to pay their lease on time.
Anyway, that's where I've been... and it finally came to a head yesterday when I worked from 4am to 5pm and made 80 bucks - before the cost of putting more gas in that banana wagon and getting myself something to eat... leaving me with about 55. Needless to say, I went back on code 5 this afternoon.
My father had a saying, and I never agreed with him on much, but it went like this:
If you're not doing what you're supposed to be doing, it'll hurt you.
So, here I am, sleep-deprived, sick (only a bad cold, I hope) and I haven't been able to do any housework other than the laundry in the last 4-5 weeks because I've been staying out longer and longer trying to make the same amount of money.... until finally, the money just isn't there to be made.
Contrast the beginning of my cab driving experience with how it's been lately.
In February, I would roll out at 4 in the morning, and usually have my first trip within 20 minutes, and I would be working steadily through 9-11 in the morning. The haul would be somewhere between 80-150 bucks, and I would then switch to the bid board to pick up more trips through the middle of the day. In other words, there's no reason why I shouldn't have made $250-plus a day.
Now... well, I've pretty much described it. You log in, hunker down, and wait for that first call... and then you hunker down where you drop off at to conserve gas unless you see something on the bid board. Here's the thing, though... instead of being the only guy "who'll go to that call," you're now competing with a couple dozen or hundred other guys who need to eat.
But here's the thing... I don't need a taxi cab to eat. The sole premise of my driving a taxi was based on that conversation I had with that young man a couple months ago. FLEXIBILITY. Now, it doesn't take a math whiz to figure out that if you need 30 minutes or so in the morning to slap yourself to life and another 90 to unwind and let your brain drift before you crash every day before a 16 hour day, that means you're sleep depriving yourself and robbing your body of needed rest. There is no time to work on my novels or an acting project unless I deliberately take a day off. And, with the current environment out there being garbage for earnings, there's no point to it.
A conversation I had with a passenger not too long ago encapsulates it nicely. He's an older gent from India, but every word rang out loud and clear. "I've noticed that when I call for a cab now, it only takes five minutes or so, instead of the usual hour... the cab companies are money-lenders, and if they could take your blood from you, they'd do it and drink it right on the spot." He then went on to say that he was praying to "Almighty God" to make things better so it would take him longer to get a cab.
How apropos, I suppose.
Houston, for all its diversity and splendor, is hardly a New York or Chicago when it comes to working as a cab driver. You can't toss a Houston cabbie the keys for 12 hours, and expect him or her to come back with 150 bucks over and above his/her lease. Even in downtown, there's nowhere near the flagger environment that there is in those other cities. And, as I mentioned, a lot of us are having bad days and running at a deficit. Then again, is the country's current financial dilemma just plain running us all into the ground? Are the New York hacks in trouble? Is it rough on the cabbies in Los Angeles?
The sad part about this decision I have to make is the fact that I truly enjoyed being a cab driver, but not at the expense of my health and sanity. When you go to bed at night and you dream about driving a cab and not making money, that's your sanity. I still remember the stories of how Melissa Plaut was working only 4 days a week in New York and supporting herself. I wonder how much those times are changing the nature of this business. I didn't walk into this expecting easy money. Far from it. I wanted to work my ass off. But here's the deal:
If there are no flaggers to pick up, it doesn't make sense to drive around looking for them... other than Friday and Saturday night downtown, that is.
If there are no jobs within 10 miles on the bid board, it's usually not a bright idea to go burn off 5 dollars worth of gas if you get one, and most likely, someone closer to it is bidding on it too now that the work is drying up.
Finally, when you're hunkered down over a four hour period and all you get is one "take me to work" call and three 5-dollar "take me and my groceries home," that aint enough to feed the bulldog. I'm not going to sleep in a car for the sake of saying I have my "freedom."
And frankly, at my age, this bulldog doesn't eat as much as he used to.
This pretty much brings an end to the cabbie blog, since I will be discontinuing my contract with Yellow come Monday. What the hell... I had too many damn blogs going anyway.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Phase VI... Zen and The Quill
One of my stated goals for this new profession of mine was that I was going to make the time to write more. It's materialized in bits and pieces, but not to the extent that I was hoping for.
This last Sunday, I got an unexpected boost by taking some time to go downtown on Sunday and get a better lay of the land and figure out how the grid is laid out. I'm now better acquainted with some of the major landmarks... the major business buildings, hotels, courthouses, Minute Maid Park and the Toyota Center and so on. I'm not completely ensconced, but beyond my tour this Sunday, there'll be no better teacher than experience. Also, completely by accident, I got flagged down twice and it turned into about 80 bucks worth of work.
I called it "Phase III" for me because I'd been avoiding it and I thought it would be tougher than I made it out to be.
That said, there's another little mountain to climb. Airports. Herein lies the key to me getting some writing time. A typical wait at one of Houston's airports is somewhere around 3 hours for a trip that hopefully brings in an average of 50 bucks. So ideally I can get about 2-3 hours of writing done, pick up an airport trip, make a decent return on investment time-wise and then go back to doing street cabbie work the rest of the day.
Now, I'd gotten used to this idea for one real reason. I've started to get used to the notion of sitting in place instead of burning off all my gasoline going after things that may or may not pay off. I had too much of that happen during the storm yesterday when sunshine soldiers would run from the streets like scalded dogs and then I would wind up getting dispatched to trips that had been sitting for over a half hour, and in at least 6 cases, weren't at their pickup points. Averaging that out, that's in the neighborhood of 50-100 bucks that I didn't make because cabbies were leaving the streets and I was chasing after their wretched refuse. Also, I found that if I thought an area was potentially profitable, I'd sit at that location. This was the case in the Bay Area on Friday. So, now that I'm developing a tolerance for letting the grass grow under my feet a little, going to the airport to write and wait for a trip makes sense now.
Thus, begins Phase IV.
Other things of note...
I just realized last night that when I thought I'd taken my first call girl to work, that she was actually my third or fourth. That particular one, however, was the first one who tried to add me to her list of clientele. I've learned a few of the telltale signs:
1.) The nature of the cell phone conversation when she gets in the cab. Items that are giveaways tend to be "I'm wearing (item or items), is that OK?" Phrases like, "you're looking for me?" Sure, I can go to (new destination) instead.
2.) If that conversation results in you changing your destination to one of Houston's many "chain" hotels.
3.) If you get propositioned by your passenger. (OK, that's ones a little obvious)
4.) And, oddly enough, the "working girls" actually tend to be friendlier than your average night time passenger. They're true night owls and they're chirpy like someone who's on their way to an expensive lunch or dinner.
This is also the reason why I tend not to judge them harshly. Frankly, I wish all my passengers were that damn friendly. If prostitution was a regulated industry, like transportation was, instead of being stigmatized and criminalized, the women who do it would be far safer than they are now. At least in Nevada, a girl working at a ranch or brothel would have backup in the form of half a football team to come kick some guy's ass out the front door - opening the door being optional, of course.
I do have my worries, of course, about whether someone using my cab to get them to work would make me an accessory to a crime. Frankly, though... I worry more about the lady's safety than I do my own skin.
And, of course, that's why I'm also considering running the airports. I figure that way I can get some of my writing done and, if I do run into call girls or prostitutes there, I'll be meeting the ones with a sufficient travel budget for flying that they don't even call what they do prostitution.
After all, it worked for Monica Lewinsky, right?
This last Sunday, I got an unexpected boost by taking some time to go downtown on Sunday and get a better lay of the land and figure out how the grid is laid out. I'm now better acquainted with some of the major landmarks... the major business buildings, hotels, courthouses, Minute Maid Park and the Toyota Center and so on. I'm not completely ensconced, but beyond my tour this Sunday, there'll be no better teacher than experience. Also, completely by accident, I got flagged down twice and it turned into about 80 bucks worth of work.
I called it "Phase III" for me because I'd been avoiding it and I thought it would be tougher than I made it out to be.
That said, there's another little mountain to climb. Airports. Herein lies the key to me getting some writing time. A typical wait at one of Houston's airports is somewhere around 3 hours for a trip that hopefully brings in an average of 50 bucks. So ideally I can get about 2-3 hours of writing done, pick up an airport trip, make a decent return on investment time-wise and then go back to doing street cabbie work the rest of the day.
Now, I'd gotten used to this idea for one real reason. I've started to get used to the notion of sitting in place instead of burning off all my gasoline going after things that may or may not pay off. I had too much of that happen during the storm yesterday when sunshine soldiers would run from the streets like scalded dogs and then I would wind up getting dispatched to trips that had been sitting for over a half hour, and in at least 6 cases, weren't at their pickup points. Averaging that out, that's in the neighborhood of 50-100 bucks that I didn't make because cabbies were leaving the streets and I was chasing after their wretched refuse. Also, I found that if I thought an area was potentially profitable, I'd sit at that location. This was the case in the Bay Area on Friday. So, now that I'm developing a tolerance for letting the grass grow under my feet a little, going to the airport to write and wait for a trip makes sense now.
Thus, begins Phase IV.
Other things of note...
I just realized last night that when I thought I'd taken my first call girl to work, that she was actually my third or fourth. That particular one, however, was the first one who tried to add me to her list of clientele. I've learned a few of the telltale signs:
1.) The nature of the cell phone conversation when she gets in the cab. Items that are giveaways tend to be "I'm wearing (item or items), is that OK?" Phrases like, "you're looking for me?" Sure, I can go to (new destination) instead.
2.) If that conversation results in you changing your destination to one of Houston's many "chain" hotels.
3.) If you get propositioned by your passenger. (OK, that's ones a little obvious)
4.) And, oddly enough, the "working girls" actually tend to be friendlier than your average night time passenger. They're true night owls and they're chirpy like someone who's on their way to an expensive lunch or dinner.
This is also the reason why I tend not to judge them harshly. Frankly, I wish all my passengers were that damn friendly. If prostitution was a regulated industry, like transportation was, instead of being stigmatized and criminalized, the women who do it would be far safer than they are now. At least in Nevada, a girl working at a ranch or brothel would have backup in the form of half a football team to come kick some guy's ass out the front door - opening the door being optional, of course.
I do have my worries, of course, about whether someone using my cab to get them to work would make me an accessory to a crime. Frankly, though... I worry more about the lady's safety than I do my own skin.
And, of course, that's why I'm also considering running the airports. I figure that way I can get some of my writing done and, if I do run into call girls or prostitutes there, I'll be meeting the ones with a sufficient travel budget for flying that they don't even call what they do prostitution.
After all, it worked for Monica Lewinsky, right?
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Pimpin Aint Easy...
...but I'm doing what I can to make it fun again.
I've actually taken the day off and I'm going to work tomorrow with the express intent of driving around downtown and midtown on a nothing more and nothing less than a fact-finding mission. If I make a couple bucks, all the better. I know the key to making a more consistent money day is to have the confidence to work downtown and midtown where the action is. The middle lynchpin of my $180 dollar 3 hour burst a couple days ago was from 2 Shell Plaza. This area can keep me working consistently.
I've learned a thing or two about my relationship with the Bay Area. It's just too affluent to consistently work in. Friday was rough, and got rougher when another monsoon blew through Houston late that night. It was pretty much my last experiment. It's time to look at the "known" hot spots and learn my way around them.
In other news, I got a busted headlight replaced and another oil change. Not earth shaking news, but the latest.
I've actually taken the day off and I'm going to work tomorrow with the express intent of driving around downtown and midtown on a nothing more and nothing less than a fact-finding mission. If I make a couple bucks, all the better. I know the key to making a more consistent money day is to have the confidence to work downtown and midtown where the action is. The middle lynchpin of my $180 dollar 3 hour burst a couple days ago was from 2 Shell Plaza. This area can keep me working consistently.
I've learned a thing or two about my relationship with the Bay Area. It's just too affluent to consistently work in. Friday was rough, and got rougher when another monsoon blew through Houston late that night. It was pretty much my last experiment. It's time to look at the "known" hot spots and learn my way around them.
In other news, I got a busted headlight replaced and another oil change. Not earth shaking news, but the latest.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Instant Karma's Gonna Get You...
Or "Sometimes, The Universe Intervenes on Your Behalf."
Cab driving in Houston is a funny critter. Work can trickle along in 6, 12, 4 and 7 dollar spurts... and then you get a couple of larger runs through the day and then it fizzles again. A lot of days Monday through Thursday are like that.
The key is coping and sticking with those days, I suppose.
Monday, for whatever reason, just did not turn out anywhere near what I expected. I started well, took the regular midday break (although I've been telling myself to just work a straight 12 and not break it up - which may be part of the issue). I then decided to run into the Bay Area to see what mischief I could get into.
I have this strange relationship with the Bay. I've had some of my biggest runs come from there and yet, sometimes, it falls on it's face earnings-wise... flatly.
Monday was definitely, flatly.
I got sent to the same bogus call at Baybrook Mall, twice. I got stood up at a sushi bar. However, I did score a 40 dollar trip into Hobby from a bar off of NASA Road 1. However, that was it... just enough to pay for dinner for that night and gas for tomorrow.
Tuesday creeped along and I got sick... mostly due to the fact that I was hemming and hawing about how late to stay up Monday. So, when I finally got up at noon on Tuesday, I made just enough to add something to what I'd already brought in from the weekend to say I "broke even."
So here it is, Wednesday. I need about 150 bucks to make my lease for the week (on time, anyway) and... I miss waking up on time. I hit the road at 7am, and bleech... make 30 bucks before I roll into the yard to give them my vouchers and credit card receipts from the week. Here, I encounter a surprise and find a $35 credit slip I forgot I made on Monday. Duh.
Still, for some reason, I hang onto my cash for not other reason than that little voice saying, "you'll need it." Also, it said, "go get something to eat... get those new shirts you wanted get your head right and roll into the Bay."
Bay Area?
You're kidding, right?
After Monday's debacle?
Fine.
I go to the Bay and tell myself, "OK, this is a leap of faith, here...but I'll go." I hit the Wal Mart on El Dorado and score my 3x golf shirts for 9 bucks a piece. Not too shabby. They're black, but the material is as thin as t-shirt material, which is what I want. Just enough to cover me, but not broil me in the coming heat.
I pick up my first trip of the afternoon, a grocery trip in Pearland that ends up being a 20 dollar hit because the rider is in a wheelchair and he needs me to lug his bags for him. So, it was really a 11.50 trip with a sizeable tip for my lumping work. Also, I managed to "save" the trip using my GPS. Garmin has a lovely feature that allows you to put in the name of the place you're looking for... which came in handy when the dispatcher gave me the wrong address. Only a mile and a half difference between where I was sent... an empty building... and the actual grocery store.
So anyway, I was actually grateful for the exercise. Christ on a stick, these people buy a lot of groceries!
Next, I pulled into a strip mall at Pearland Parkway and Broadway and waited...
... and waited...
...and freakin' waited.
Almost a full hour passed until the terminal beeped again.
"Business Center Drive"
OK... will do.
It was 3:30 and I figured the evening commute was just blasting off. The grocery trip was a lark and I was going to be busy for the next 5 hours. Not quite... but then, I didn't need it to be.
I took my rider from Pearland to downtown. 35 bucks. I was about to put my van into gear again when some guy rapped on the window and said, "If you can give me three minutes to smoke a cigarette, you can take me to Intercontinental."
SOLD!
Two Shell Plaza to Bush, 55 bucks after the tip. Then, just as I was putting my hand on the gearshift again, a very lovely and tired lady walked around the front of the van and ambled in.
"Can you take me to Clay Road and Highway 6... and then take me to work?"
Why, yes; of course I can.
32 miles and 85 bucks later, after tip of course, I'm sitting with my lease in my hands. Literally. The cash that I didn't give to the cashier earlier in the day? I was asked TWICE if I could break $100 dollar bills. So, between 1:45 that afternoon and 6:15... 200 dollars worth of business.
I ran back to the yard and paid my lease with an hour left in the cashier's day.
So, there we have it... from being two days late last week, to being on time this week. The experiment now is to work a more or less normal day tomorrow, then a hell day of sorts on Friday and see where that leaves me. Basically, if I already have my lease for next week paid by the end of the hell day Saturday morning, I'm taking the rest of Saturday off and Sunday as well. It'll then be up to Monday-half of Wednesday to make bill-paying money.
I am slowly coming off the schnide to where I can manage this into a 5 day work week and give myself my deserved free time. I'm not putting four kids through college, after all.
And, on a "WTF" note... I saw the same guy I saw 3 months ago, asleep in his cab, near where I live, with his bare feet hanging out the window. T-shirt... sandals presumably somewhere. His cab was filthy... Another reason why I might not have the money I'd otherwise might have had today was the fact that I insisted on getting the grime off my wagon after the horrendous storms and flooding we had on Saturday. Dude, I was a U-boat commander on Saturday.
I don't get why guys like that even get work. I walked by the poor lady who saw me drive by when I was on my way to grocery shop. I said, "Sorry, ma'am, I'm off duty. There's your cab."
"You're kidding me," she said.
"No, ma'am... even hack drivers got to grocery shop."
I came back out and saw her putting her groceries into this dude's dirt-wagon. I was tempted to give her a business card, but I got the feeling that she was just as mad at me for not "rescuing" her from this guy as she was at him for being a dirtball.
I went home with my baguette, block of cheese and 1 liter Coke and thought to myself, "even the Universe realizes it can't save me every day, and I can't save everyone who has a bad experience with a cab driver... even when I'm standing right next to them."
I think I'll sleep well tonight.
Cab driving in Houston is a funny critter. Work can trickle along in 6, 12, 4 and 7 dollar spurts... and then you get a couple of larger runs through the day and then it fizzles again. A lot of days Monday through Thursday are like that.
The key is coping and sticking with those days, I suppose.
Monday, for whatever reason, just did not turn out anywhere near what I expected. I started well, took the regular midday break (although I've been telling myself to just work a straight 12 and not break it up - which may be part of the issue). I then decided to run into the Bay Area to see what mischief I could get into.
I have this strange relationship with the Bay. I've had some of my biggest runs come from there and yet, sometimes, it falls on it's face earnings-wise... flatly.
Monday was definitely, flatly.
I got sent to the same bogus call at Baybrook Mall, twice. I got stood up at a sushi bar. However, I did score a 40 dollar trip into Hobby from a bar off of NASA Road 1. However, that was it... just enough to pay for dinner for that night and gas for tomorrow.
Tuesday creeped along and I got sick... mostly due to the fact that I was hemming and hawing about how late to stay up Monday. So, when I finally got up at noon on Tuesday, I made just enough to add something to what I'd already brought in from the weekend to say I "broke even."
So here it is, Wednesday. I need about 150 bucks to make my lease for the week (on time, anyway) and... I miss waking up on time. I hit the road at 7am, and bleech... make 30 bucks before I roll into the yard to give them my vouchers and credit card receipts from the week. Here, I encounter a surprise and find a $35 credit slip I forgot I made on Monday. Duh.
Still, for some reason, I hang onto my cash for not other reason than that little voice saying, "you'll need it." Also, it said, "go get something to eat... get those new shirts you wanted get your head right and roll into the Bay."
Bay Area?
You're kidding, right?
After Monday's debacle?
Fine.
I go to the Bay and tell myself, "OK, this is a leap of faith, here...but I'll go." I hit the Wal Mart on El Dorado and score my 3x golf shirts for 9 bucks a piece. Not too shabby. They're black, but the material is as thin as t-shirt material, which is what I want. Just enough to cover me, but not broil me in the coming heat.
I pick up my first trip of the afternoon, a grocery trip in Pearland that ends up being a 20 dollar hit because the rider is in a wheelchair and he needs me to lug his bags for him. So, it was really a 11.50 trip with a sizeable tip for my lumping work. Also, I managed to "save" the trip using my GPS. Garmin has a lovely feature that allows you to put in the name of the place you're looking for... which came in handy when the dispatcher gave me the wrong address. Only a mile and a half difference between where I was sent... an empty building... and the actual grocery store.
So anyway, I was actually grateful for the exercise. Christ on a stick, these people buy a lot of groceries!
Next, I pulled into a strip mall at Pearland Parkway and Broadway and waited...
... and waited...
...and freakin' waited.
Almost a full hour passed until the terminal beeped again.
"Business Center Drive"
OK... will do.
It was 3:30 and I figured the evening commute was just blasting off. The grocery trip was a lark and I was going to be busy for the next 5 hours. Not quite... but then, I didn't need it to be.
I took my rider from Pearland to downtown. 35 bucks. I was about to put my van into gear again when some guy rapped on the window and said, "If you can give me three minutes to smoke a cigarette, you can take me to Intercontinental."
SOLD!
Two Shell Plaza to Bush, 55 bucks after the tip. Then, just as I was putting my hand on the gearshift again, a very lovely and tired lady walked around the front of the van and ambled in.
"Can you take me to Clay Road and Highway 6... and then take me to work?"
Why, yes; of course I can.
32 miles and 85 bucks later, after tip of course, I'm sitting with my lease in my hands. Literally. The cash that I didn't give to the cashier earlier in the day? I was asked TWICE if I could break $100 dollar bills. So, between 1:45 that afternoon and 6:15... 200 dollars worth of business.
I ran back to the yard and paid my lease with an hour left in the cashier's day.
So, there we have it... from being two days late last week, to being on time this week. The experiment now is to work a more or less normal day tomorrow, then a hell day of sorts on Friday and see where that leaves me. Basically, if I already have my lease for next week paid by the end of the hell day Saturday morning, I'm taking the rest of Saturday off and Sunday as well. It'll then be up to Monday-half of Wednesday to make bill-paying money.
I am slowly coming off the schnide to where I can manage this into a 5 day work week and give myself my deserved free time. I'm not putting four kids through college, after all.
And, on a "WTF" note... I saw the same guy I saw 3 months ago, asleep in his cab, near where I live, with his bare feet hanging out the window. T-shirt... sandals presumably somewhere. His cab was filthy... Another reason why I might not have the money I'd otherwise might have had today was the fact that I insisted on getting the grime off my wagon after the horrendous storms and flooding we had on Saturday. Dude, I was a U-boat commander on Saturday.
I don't get why guys like that even get work. I walked by the poor lady who saw me drive by when I was on my way to grocery shop. I said, "Sorry, ma'am, I'm off duty. There's your cab."
"You're kidding me," she said.
"No, ma'am... even hack drivers got to grocery shop."
I came back out and saw her putting her groceries into this dude's dirt-wagon. I was tempted to give her a business card, but I got the feeling that she was just as mad at me for not "rescuing" her from this guy as she was at him for being a dirtball.
I went home with my baguette, block of cheese and 1 liter Coke and thought to myself, "even the Universe realizes it can't save me every day, and I can't save everyone who has a bad experience with a cab driver... even when I'm standing right next to them."
I think I'll sleep well tonight.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Smellin' like a rose...
So, this week was the first week (thanks to bills and what not) I actually didn't make my Wednesday deadline to have my cab lease fully paid... it was an interesting predicament, but one I found expressed best by this old saying from George Carlin.
"The whole revolution is about values: what you'll do for 10 dollars, what you'll do with 10 dollars and so on..."
So, my primary worry was how much the late fees were going to be. I remembered my days as a day lease driver (I know, it's kind of strange to be nostalgic about something as "far back" as 6 weeks ago) and the fact that late fees were assessed at a rate of 5 dollars per HOUR had me genuinely thinking "holy craparoley! I'm going to get hammered if I don't do something about making up the difference."
Thanks to the folks at AT&T, I had to spend about 140 bucks to get a pre-paid cel phone from Verizon. BTW - my review of the Blitz is actually pretty solid. It's a strong phone with some very interesting capabilities.
To that end, I rolled out for a night shift Wednesday night... and met some very interesting people.
1.) I took some drunk asshole to a cabaret where he was spending the entire trip talking sex crap on his cel phone to his supposed "date."
2.) Met my first call girl and took her to her client. And, get this, she asks ME if I need "company sometime." That kind of company, sister, I don't need. Ever. And, get this... she only paid the fare. You'd think if you were charging lonely dicks a hundred bucks an hour to fuck you, you'd break a little off for the guy who's taking you to work.
3.) Finally, as things progressed into the "taking folks to work" part of the day, I had a nice gentleman call me to take him on a 27 dollar ride to work... which he paid for entirely in QUARTERS. =) Now that was hilarious.
As the morning progressed, I needed to make somewhere in the neighborhood of 220 dollars to settle things up. I had 160 when the call came over the terminal.
Code 5, See Licensee.
Time to march in and face the music.
I shrugged, and hauled my butt in. It was all well and good. In reality, between 11 that night and 9 in the morning, I'd only made 125 bucks and had to put 20 of it back in the tank. It seems that nights in Houston, while potentially profitable, have this certain element of putting up with the kind of people who, for want of a better word, are irritating because they have a demonstrable level of insecurity and/or being unable to handle their own business.
Notable passenger #1, for example, wouldn't shut the fuck up about wanting a "discount" because he supposedly waited a long time and was helping me navigate to his destination. When I told him that I wasn't charging him the one dollar night time surcharge, that pretty much put the damper on that conversation.
In any case, I rolled into the yard and asked what the damages were.
"How much are you paying?"
"$160, what do I do to get you the rest?"
"The late charges are $5 a day until you're caught up."
Oh?
A day... wow. And here I thought I was going to get blasted. Seriously.
So, after my nice long day, I rolled into the rack and zonked out until 5. Since then, I've decided a few things.
1.) I don't plan on working much past 9pm on most nights, especially not on weekdays. The kind of people who are out after that time on a weekday just turn my crank the wrong way.
2.) I realize that trying to break the day up into "profitable zones" and "unprofitable zones" is my own damned vanity, and there's always work somewhere in this town if I'm willing to go find it.
3.) Since that's really the case, the best scenario is for me to roll out at about 4 in the morning every day and work until I meet a specified income goal or until I've been out till 8 at night and shut it down so I can get about 6 hours crash time every night. The goal here is to reclaim my weekends.
There's nothing that says I can't get 1200 bucks a week and still have Saturday and Sunday off. It's just a matter of maximizing what I do. One of the reasons why I'm letting myself get discombobulated (to put it nicely) is the fact that I'm trying to do things other than my job during the weekdays. I can work in things like auditions and my Taping For the Blind recording time. Hell, I'm talking about putting 12 hours worth of work into an 18 hour day, right? Bottom line is if I can do the 12o0 a week from M-F, then having the weekend to decompress and do my other things, like using Sundays to just WRITE, would be a boon.
There will probably be another blog entry sometime detailing how that goes.
G
***********************************
Running out my ass
Batshit crazy
Am I ambitious
Or just plain lazy?
People filing their taxes
Got my 1099s
Do I run with the masses
Or just lose my mind?
BANANA WAGON MAN
What is yer goddamn plan?
BANANA WAGON MAN
Are you gonna take a stand?
It's plain to see
It's just my luck
Today was meant
To clearly suck
Pull the horse in the barn
And put my feet up
And pour an ice cold coke
In my coffee cup
BANANA WAGON MAN
What is yer goddamn plan?
BANANA WAGON MAN
Are you gonna take a stand?
The day's too long
For not enough cash
But it's only one day
And sleep comes fast
Hit that street
Rock that road
Grab some more people
And take another load
BANANA WAGON MAN
What is yer goddamn plan?
BANANA WAGON MAN
Are you gonna take a stand?
"The whole revolution is about values: what you'll do for 10 dollars, what you'll do with 10 dollars and so on..."
So, my primary worry was how much the late fees were going to be. I remembered my days as a day lease driver (I know, it's kind of strange to be nostalgic about something as "far back" as 6 weeks ago) and the fact that late fees were assessed at a rate of 5 dollars per HOUR had me genuinely thinking "holy craparoley! I'm going to get hammered if I don't do something about making up the difference."
Thanks to the folks at AT&T, I had to spend about 140 bucks to get a pre-paid cel phone from Verizon. BTW - my review of the Blitz is actually pretty solid. It's a strong phone with some very interesting capabilities.
To that end, I rolled out for a night shift Wednesday night... and met some very interesting people.
1.) I took some drunk asshole to a cabaret where he was spending the entire trip talking sex crap on his cel phone to his supposed "date."
2.) Met my first call girl and took her to her client. And, get this, she asks ME if I need "company sometime." That kind of company, sister, I don't need. Ever. And, get this... she only paid the fare. You'd think if you were charging lonely dicks a hundred bucks an hour to fuck you, you'd break a little off for the guy who's taking you to work.
3.) Finally, as things progressed into the "taking folks to work" part of the day, I had a nice gentleman call me to take him on a 27 dollar ride to work... which he paid for entirely in QUARTERS. =) Now that was hilarious.
As the morning progressed, I needed to make somewhere in the neighborhood of 220 dollars to settle things up. I had 160 when the call came over the terminal.
Code 5, See Licensee.
Time to march in and face the music.
I shrugged, and hauled my butt in. It was all well and good. In reality, between 11 that night and 9 in the morning, I'd only made 125 bucks and had to put 20 of it back in the tank. It seems that nights in Houston, while potentially profitable, have this certain element of putting up with the kind of people who, for want of a better word, are irritating because they have a demonstrable level of insecurity and/or being unable to handle their own business.
Notable passenger #1, for example, wouldn't shut the fuck up about wanting a "discount" because he supposedly waited a long time and was helping me navigate to his destination. When I told him that I wasn't charging him the one dollar night time surcharge, that pretty much put the damper on that conversation.
In any case, I rolled into the yard and asked what the damages were.
"How much are you paying?"
"$160, what do I do to get you the rest?"
"The late charges are $5 a day until you're caught up."
Oh?
A day... wow. And here I thought I was going to get blasted. Seriously.
So, after my nice long day, I rolled into the rack and zonked out until 5. Since then, I've decided a few things.
1.) I don't plan on working much past 9pm on most nights, especially not on weekdays. The kind of people who are out after that time on a weekday just turn my crank the wrong way.
2.) I realize that trying to break the day up into "profitable zones" and "unprofitable zones" is my own damned vanity, and there's always work somewhere in this town if I'm willing to go find it.
3.) Since that's really the case, the best scenario is for me to roll out at about 4 in the morning every day and work until I meet a specified income goal or until I've been out till 8 at night and shut it down so I can get about 6 hours crash time every night. The goal here is to reclaim my weekends.
There's nothing that says I can't get 1200 bucks a week and still have Saturday and Sunday off. It's just a matter of maximizing what I do. One of the reasons why I'm letting myself get discombobulated (to put it nicely) is the fact that I'm trying to do things other than my job during the weekdays. I can work in things like auditions and my Taping For the Blind recording time. Hell, I'm talking about putting 12 hours worth of work into an 18 hour day, right? Bottom line is if I can do the 12o0 a week from M-F, then having the weekend to decompress and do my other things, like using Sundays to just WRITE, would be a boon.
There will probably be another blog entry sometime detailing how that goes.
G
***********************************
Running out my ass
Batshit crazy
Am I ambitious
Or just plain lazy?
People filing their taxes
Got my 1099s
Do I run with the masses
Or just lose my mind?
BANANA WAGON MAN
What is yer goddamn plan?
BANANA WAGON MAN
Are you gonna take a stand?
It's plain to see
It's just my luck
Today was meant
To clearly suck
Pull the horse in the barn
And put my feet up
And pour an ice cold coke
In my coffee cup
BANANA WAGON MAN
What is yer goddamn plan?
BANANA WAGON MAN
Are you gonna take a stand?
The day's too long
For not enough cash
But it's only one day
And sleep comes fast
Hit that street
Rock that road
Grab some more people
And take another load
BANANA WAGON MAN
What is yer goddamn plan?
BANANA WAGON MAN
Are you gonna take a stand?
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Ducking bullets...
ORIGINALLY POSTED MONDAY in Facebook Notes:
Might as well start with what worked, because that kind of led to the events of the night.
Recently, I'd grumbled about the time I'd lost due to a faulty alternator. However, this also led to the guys at the shop determining I needed to have my rack and pinion looked at. This was true of course, because I was occasionally getting some front end shimmy. The question, then, true believers: when?
I decided on yesterday.
I rolled into the shop as the doors opened to get that "first come, first served" treatment. However, I wasn't aware of what that truly was. While I was there, the guys at Yellow decided to do my air filter, transmission service, oil change (which I definitely knew I needed) and worked on my suspension. I had to bite my lip... a LOT. I knew, since I was in my 30 day bumper to bumper period, that I was getting all these parts and labor for FREE and getting them too much later was going to cost me. However, I lost all of Monday's profitable morning commute and mid-day activities where I'm usually cleaning up helping folks with MSP rides get around.
7a-3p, lost. Be that as it may, I'd done so well during the weekend that I was only 55 bucks short of making my lease for the week. So, as I'd done a time or two before, I rolled out of the rack at 6pm and asked the Universe for "a little gas money." Sure enough, the Universe came through again. From 8pm to 2 am, I generated about 135 bucks... for me, unheard of at nights. I had to spend a little extra gas money to get it, but I was doing quite well. But this is where Karma and Kismet aren't just sisters, but a pair of dominatrices, and you have to accept their gifts as a sign that you may be going with the flow or pushing too hard.
At around 0230, I heard a little voice in my head say "start working your way back to your part of town." I'd just finished a 60 dollar run up Baytown freeway to the East Sam and back to this lady's house, who basically couldn't hush about how messed up her side of town was. I was kind of rolling my eyes at the whole thing, but I thanked her for her business, she thanked me for being there, and I probably should have heeded her and Kismet, who'd offered me the opportunity to run home beforehand.
Here's what happened next.
I put in a bid for a trip and got it... not too far from where she was at.
I rolled up on a strip of apartments on a street surrounded by ditches. It's not unusual in Houston to see this, BTW. Lots of drainage to be seen in a town with a lot of flood plains and bayous. I slow down to find the entrance to the apartment complex, which my GPS had pegged as being on the opposite side of the street.
"Hey," I hear from a young man from inside the fenceline. I think, "Aha, my fare." However, one of my safety habits helped me come in to play. Before I unlock my doors, I always crack the driver and passenger's windows. This also helps me at night with figuring out where the addresses are on buildings. However, to my right, I hear this crunch of grass. I wheel my head to the right as I'm starting to notice the kid along the fence starting to walk sideways with one hand IN THE WAISTBAND of his shorts. To my right, another young man has materialized at the passenger's window, and I lock eyes with him long enough to hear him say, "Whazzup?" I look behind me and see MORE MOVEMENT from behind the cab.
Before he could get an answer, I was 200 yards down the road. And believe you me, today had been the perfect day to get my transmission serviced. I said no words. I made no looks. I understood the situation for what it was: either those young men were deliberately rehearsing a carjacking or they were trying to pull one off. I called Yellow and told them not to send anyone else to that neighborhood the rest of the night.
Also, I'd like to thank the folks at Garmin for their fine maps and navigational devices. Using my NUVI 200w, I was able to navigate out of the neighborhood without crossing paths with those Darwin award winners (and trust me, they would have been tire fodder if they tried to jump in front of the cab). And, since I'm naming off mythological entities, I might as well give my guardian angelship to either my mother, my grandpa Jim or maybe even Josh himself was watching my back on that one. And folks, if you don't know who Josh is, that's cool... but he's pretty legendary.
And still, I got put in the position to come back to my side of town and play the angel myself.
My last run of the morning involved one of the folks that will occasionally make me come out on a Monday night. Houston, as a rule, likes to party it's ass off on Monday nights. Maybe not to the degree that it does on the weekends, but there are enough folks with back to work blues that they hit the streets and party on Monday.
I took a young lady back to her vehicle after she'd spent the night (from what I could tell by the aroma) at some dude's house all crunked up on wine - and divesting herself of said vino. I let her smoke in the cab because I could tell that her last 5-6 hours had also been emotionally harrowing in some fashion. I don't know what the deal was with the guy, but he obviously had money and was footing the bill for the cab ride.
There was a certain comic irony in the name of the place where she'd parked - The Tasting Room.
Honey, there's "tasting," and then there's "slam the whole winery on a Monday knowing you have to go back to work on Tuesday." For that reason alone, the party karma of Monday night is a lot different than Saturday. The Monday partiers, other than the folks who have strange days off, are the ones who can't put the glass down once the weekend is over. It's a little scary, a little sick and kind of sad when you think about it. It reminds me a little of the appeal of the cab driving and the lesson I took from the Great Bird about being a traveler.
"As a traveler, it no longer crushes you that some might be greater or lesser than you are... you aren't here to judge, but to observe... you are given the opportunity to love, to cherish, to refuse to participate in ugliness." This is a paraphrase, to be sure, but they're still his words.
So anyway, here's to observing, reporting, not judging... and the power of a well-serviced transmission and suspension in the role of avoiding ugliness.
AND TODAY...
Had a great morning and rolled into the apartment for a well deserved break only to find another freakin' flat tire after I woke up. I nursed it to the Goodyear dealership 12 blocks down the road, and thank goodness, only needed to have the tire repaired.
At some point, I'd really to be able to make it through an entire week in this business and just say "hey, I did a solid 6 without some dumb shit going wrong." Maybe this week coming up is the week becasue this one has sure been with some doggoned pitfalls and a half. Goodness knows I'm running out of shit to break that hasn't already been serviced in some form or fashion (he says with his tongue in his cheek knowing he has 4 other tires).
On the plus side, I'm starting to fall into a routine that should keep myself healthier and my sleep schedule right. I'm not one of these guys who can just beat himself up like I used to. When I don't attend to keeping things right with my body, shit starts to fall apart on me faster than you can say Jack Robinson, the All-American Boy. That being said, it's tough to give up on the idea of working late on Fridays and Saturdays. I'll just have to play that by ear, I suppose.
G
Might as well start with what worked, because that kind of led to the events of the night.
Recently, I'd grumbled about the time I'd lost due to a faulty alternator. However, this also led to the guys at the shop determining I needed to have my rack and pinion looked at. This was true of course, because I was occasionally getting some front end shimmy. The question, then, true believers: when?
I decided on yesterday.
I rolled into the shop as the doors opened to get that "first come, first served" treatment. However, I wasn't aware of what that truly was. While I was there, the guys at Yellow decided to do my air filter, transmission service, oil change (which I definitely knew I needed) and worked on my suspension. I had to bite my lip... a LOT. I knew, since I was in my 30 day bumper to bumper period, that I was getting all these parts and labor for FREE and getting them too much later was going to cost me. However, I lost all of Monday's profitable morning commute and mid-day activities where I'm usually cleaning up helping folks with MSP rides get around.
7a-3p, lost. Be that as it may, I'd done so well during the weekend that I was only 55 bucks short of making my lease for the week. So, as I'd done a time or two before, I rolled out of the rack at 6pm and asked the Universe for "a little gas money." Sure enough, the Universe came through again. From 8pm to 2 am, I generated about 135 bucks... for me, unheard of at nights. I had to spend a little extra gas money to get it, but I was doing quite well. But this is where Karma and Kismet aren't just sisters, but a pair of dominatrices, and you have to accept their gifts as a sign that you may be going with the flow or pushing too hard.
At around 0230, I heard a little voice in my head say "start working your way back to your part of town." I'd just finished a 60 dollar run up Baytown freeway to the East Sam and back to this lady's house, who basically couldn't hush about how messed up her side of town was. I was kind of rolling my eyes at the whole thing, but I thanked her for her business, she thanked me for being there, and I probably should have heeded her and Kismet, who'd offered me the opportunity to run home beforehand.
Here's what happened next.
I put in a bid for a trip and got it... not too far from where she was at.
I rolled up on a strip of apartments on a street surrounded by ditches. It's not unusual in Houston to see this, BTW. Lots of drainage to be seen in a town with a lot of flood plains and bayous. I slow down to find the entrance to the apartment complex, which my GPS had pegged as being on the opposite side of the street.
"Hey," I hear from a young man from inside the fenceline. I think, "Aha, my fare." However, one of my safety habits helped me come in to play. Before I unlock my doors, I always crack the driver and passenger's windows. This also helps me at night with figuring out where the addresses are on buildings. However, to my right, I hear this crunch of grass. I wheel my head to the right as I'm starting to notice the kid along the fence starting to walk sideways with one hand IN THE WAISTBAND of his shorts. To my right, another young man has materialized at the passenger's window, and I lock eyes with him long enough to hear him say, "Whazzup?" I look behind me and see MORE MOVEMENT from behind the cab.
Before he could get an answer, I was 200 yards down the road. And believe you me, today had been the perfect day to get my transmission serviced. I said no words. I made no looks. I understood the situation for what it was: either those young men were deliberately rehearsing a carjacking or they were trying to pull one off. I called Yellow and told them not to send anyone else to that neighborhood the rest of the night.
Also, I'd like to thank the folks at Garmin for their fine maps and navigational devices. Using my NUVI 200w, I was able to navigate out of the neighborhood without crossing paths with those Darwin award winners (and trust me, they would have been tire fodder if they tried to jump in front of the cab). And, since I'm naming off mythological entities, I might as well give my guardian angelship to either my mother, my grandpa Jim or maybe even Josh himself was watching my back on that one. And folks, if you don't know who Josh is, that's cool... but he's pretty legendary.
And still, I got put in the position to come back to my side of town and play the angel myself.
My last run of the morning involved one of the folks that will occasionally make me come out on a Monday night. Houston, as a rule, likes to party it's ass off on Monday nights. Maybe not to the degree that it does on the weekends, but there are enough folks with back to work blues that they hit the streets and party on Monday.
I took a young lady back to her vehicle after she'd spent the night (from what I could tell by the aroma) at some dude's house all crunked up on wine - and divesting herself of said vino. I let her smoke in the cab because I could tell that her last 5-6 hours had also been emotionally harrowing in some fashion. I don't know what the deal was with the guy, but he obviously had money and was footing the bill for the cab ride.
There was a certain comic irony in the name of the place where she'd parked - The Tasting Room.
Honey, there's "tasting," and then there's "slam the whole winery on a Monday knowing you have to go back to work on Tuesday." For that reason alone, the party karma of Monday night is a lot different than Saturday. The Monday partiers, other than the folks who have strange days off, are the ones who can't put the glass down once the weekend is over. It's a little scary, a little sick and kind of sad when you think about it. It reminds me a little of the appeal of the cab driving and the lesson I took from the Great Bird about being a traveler.
"As a traveler, it no longer crushes you that some might be greater or lesser than you are... you aren't here to judge, but to observe... you are given the opportunity to love, to cherish, to refuse to participate in ugliness." This is a paraphrase, to be sure, but they're still his words.
So anyway, here's to observing, reporting, not judging... and the power of a well-serviced transmission and suspension in the role of avoiding ugliness.
AND TODAY...
Had a great morning and rolled into the apartment for a well deserved break only to find another freakin' flat tire after I woke up. I nursed it to the Goodyear dealership 12 blocks down the road, and thank goodness, only needed to have the tire repaired.
At some point, I'd really to be able to make it through an entire week in this business and just say "hey, I did a solid 6 without some dumb shit going wrong." Maybe this week coming up is the week becasue this one has sure been with some doggoned pitfalls and a half. Goodness knows I'm running out of shit to break that hasn't already been serviced in some form or fashion (he says with his tongue in his cheek knowing he has 4 other tires).
On the plus side, I'm starting to fall into a routine that should keep myself healthier and my sleep schedule right. I'm not one of these guys who can just beat himself up like I used to. When I don't attend to keeping things right with my body, shit starts to fall apart on me faster than you can say Jack Robinson, the All-American Boy. That being said, it's tough to give up on the idea of working late on Fridays and Saturdays. I'll just have to play that by ear, I suppose.
G
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