Tag Archives: alcohol

The Driver Who Wore Black Leather Gloves

“Why does he have black leather gloves on? On this hot day!” I said to myself… I knew somehow that this limousine driver was a bit off. There is something to be said about over doing it, dressing as if though you are the chauffeur for sherlock, the queen of states, or you’re in a Broadway, London calling kind of a play, so to speak. Thinking and dressing as if though a debut in New York is about to take place. Naturally for me, knowing all to well that none of the above is happening, I definitely stepped into the limo on this hot late afternoon making a mental baby note to myself that this driver may be a shifty grey character and that I need to be like a snake in my thoughts and plans for this journey of mine…and may have to be wary about this driver. In the decadent 80s, my shiny case was always on my person with combination lock for security. Again with my unmentionables and my pit stops in and out of the city, and touristy locations of luxury all while cruising in this large white limousine, as my pager and phone kept its own little rhythm all afternoon. The driver with the black leather gloves decided to speed through a red light, “Oh no!” just as I had come back from one of my rendezvous stops, and finished up with my visit with a very notorious person and not so legal supply in my case. First of all you do not, and should never go through red lights with a stretch…too damed long. So as I am sipping on champagne feeling high and enjoying my buzz and score at the same time, not to mention the fact that I left a sketchy situation already, in full celebratory mode as usual, enjoying my view from the backseat, the limo is being pulled over by a cop. Should have known better that the cop wanted Mr. glove wearing limousine driver, the car, and the client, to be searched. However, me always being paranoid when traveling with my shiny case alone and fully stocked. I always put everything and anything not for public viewing and or meant for display in a large clasp envelope, then place it in the brief case I carried with me. Oh how I loved these business envelopes! So… while blue lights are flashing rapidly and bouncing all up and down around in the limo, matching the quickened and nervous heartbeat in my chest… I cleverly stashed the clasped envelope, tucking it far up in front… under the limousine carpet, as I watched through the black tinted windows as the driver was talking to the police officer. Talk about a major buzzkill. I waited in the pilot seat of course anticipating my door to soon be opened by my black gloved driver, so that the police officer could give me the shake down. In the pit of my stomach, I just felt as if though this was ¬†choreographed and planned earlier, based of course on my reputation and high profile usage of limousine services. The door opened letting the hot sun shine in , ruining the cool air con I was enjoying. Naturally I did not turn down the tunes as the officer motioned for me to kill the volume. Through my dark sunglasses I was focused in… more on the look of my chauffeur. I could read in the energy between both police officer and driver that they were so damed confident and mixed with curiosity of what was in my Halliburton. So anxious the two seemed for their bust and greedy heist. Me being so third eye ready, as they were both scanning the long limo interior, I decided to open my case in front of both them nonchalantly , because I had a suspicion I just might be asked to open it. All at once as I was getting my compact and lipstick to retouch out of the case, I saw jaws drop and heads being scratched and buddy chumming and shoulder rubbing. The universal sign of; Oh… Its not in there. Where is it? As quickly as it started, it ended. The police officer drove away, I put the partition down and told my driver that the next stop would be my last and I will be ending the charter. Shocked and bewildered he asked “Oh… I thought you needed me until the evening?” I replied; “You’ve wasted my time by going through a red light, and I can not have a driver that goes through red lights and wears black leather gloves that match the black leather gloves that police wear. By the way, are you a police?” He answered “No.” The limousine continued on to my final stop, I put the partition up, cranked the volume , scooted and hovered like a ninja to the front of the limo near to the partition, and pulled up the black carpet , reached down and pulled out the clasped envelop. Slid back smoothly to my pilot position and safely put my clasped envelop back in the Halliburton. Victory! My lesson learned. I never chartered a Limousine ever again where the driver wore black leather gloves.

To be continued … ¬†A View from the Backseat


The Psycho Limousine Driver

On this electric evening, like all nights in the 80s it started out with a desired destination, pulsating to the tunes in the limousine, drinking and toasting to being alive, and of course, a mini celebration after picking up a childhood friend from the airport. I always felt like an heiress-tycoon when I mapped out the entire itinerary for the evening cruise. Champagne on ice, my shiny Halliburton … a holding case so organized and done with such a fetish like an organizational ritual on my part; with things inside… that I kind of want to keep to myself at this time. Three women, my favorite number when socializing and hanging out with loved ones. Perfumes always blended well in a stretch, adding to the olfactory, sexually aroused feeling that somehow I just naturally developed overtime in the backseat of a limo. After finishing our first bottle of champagne and now making our way in to town for dinner and later moon gazing on the beach, I politely asked my driver to take the freeway so that we could get into the city faster, remembering that “Time is money when you’re in a limo”, also knowing that on the freeway it would be a great opportunity to light up and enjoy the green green grass of love, compliments of my good friend Angel. It would be like a cute little inhaled appetizer. This is the time that you let go, the music resonates in your soul, and a little less conversation. The glow of the city lights illuminating the interior looking like Hollywood. You just feel real good. Until the chauffeur abruptly puts the privacy partition down and yelled at the top of his lungs like a crazy maniac. Oh my God! I said to my self, as my other two girlfriends I could see were frightened and in shock. He then accelerated the speed of the limousine, which is not done…unless in a movie. So we all screamed together holding on to our bodies in motion, swearing in unison. He pulled swiftly to the side of the freeway under an overpass to a sudden stop. Meanwhile cars are blazing by at speeds of 65 to 70 plus miles per hour. In his front seat with his big, pudgy, ugly body, and his faded tuxedo, no longer black, more of a green swampy color, and worn by the shoulder blade which I could see and have a permanent memory of. His receded and balding shiny sweaty head. He yelled with his tomato red face “I do not permit smoking of any illegal substances in my Limo! I will call the cops on you! Have you all arrested! I will leave all of you right now on the side of the freeway and you can figure out how the hell to get home… how do you like that! Which is it? take your pick?” Of course I was feeling very worried for my two girlfriends and responsible for there welfare. I could see how nervous they were. I had a sophisticated anger in me that actually worked as if though God giveth to me how to reply to this lunatic dangling on a hopeless fringe so that it would just close his distorted mouth, and forever change his world. Calmly I said to him, ‘Im very sorry for the misunderstanding sir, If you would like I can call the police myself with my mobile, I would be happy to talk to him as well, also this evening I planned on paying you cash instead of a credit card, and I need to get to an ATM machine.” He turned white and all of sudden regretfully panicked. He then replied, “Where is your next stop?” I said sternly… trying to hold back profanity and my temper, “Drop us off at the restaurant, indicated in the manifesto I gave you earlier in the evening.” While in route to our final destination I had made arrangements with another Limousine company. When we arrived I had absolutely no intentions of paying this driver… nor ever patronizing and or referring clients. The gravy train for this limousine company was over. Before hand, my usage of this limousine company was reliable booking, 4 times a week. Most limousine companies make contracts with large hotel bulk movements to have that kind of consistency. As I stepped out of the car with my girlfriends, he looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.” I turned away and didn’t pay. I looked to my two friends and said … “Now that is what I call a psycho limousine driver”

To be continued… A View from the Backseat