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