Casino and booze.

As in life, nothing in the limo game ever works the way you think it will. Take last Monday night. The Boss rang me in the late afternoon, inquiring as to whether I wanted to do a late-night limousine run (as opposed to an airport collection.) This type of job pays better: the bigger car pays more, the pay is hourly rather than flat, and drinking customers usually means a bigger tip.
Okay, I said, I’ll do it.

Then the bad news.

It’s a bunch of young guys taking an Army buddy out before he goes back to the Middle East. Starting at 11:00 pm. With a pickup at a nearby mall.

Shit. Sounds dodgy to me. Best take the .38.

It’s also likely to mean a BIG mess, BIG drunkenness, BIG male behaviour.

The only part that came to pass was the BIG drunkenness. The guys were vastly amusing, very polite and friendly to me, and made my life as easy as possible.

Yet another case of my expectations being wrong.

The guy going back for another tour in Iraq was in uniform, and the way in which he was received everywhere he went was fan.tastic. People at the casino wanted his photograph. Women practically humped him in the street. Men bought him drinks. And at the strip club…

…but that’s another story.