DO THE HUSTLE

A typical Monday in the joint with nothing shocking to report. No fights. No shanks. No major misconducts. I’m afraid reminiscing about my chauffeuring days is inevitable. . .

I spent most evenings sitting in the back of that Lincoln Continental stretch absorbing the glow of a small television screen or reading under the soft interior lights; my clients wining and dining in expensive overrated restaurants—some of which did not allow chauffeurs the use of their bathrooms.

It wasn’t long and I had figured out various methods for making the night as productive and painless as possible—my most popular distraction: videotaped movies (DVD’s hadn’t been invented yet). During my “down time” I thought about ways to maximize my profits.

Since I never punched in or out (I signed a log book, picking the car up and dropping it off at the owner’s automated car wash) I devised a plan for hustling more cash. In those days the standard rate for a limousine was fifty-dollars an hour for a minimum three hours. A majority of my clients were bar hoppers, hopping from pub to pub, presumably looking for a little companionship over music and drinks. If they found a particular watering hole to their liking and exceeded their time limit on the car, they’d send someone out to negotiate with me. I’d act like I was sticking my neck out, that I was doing them one hell of a favor. “I could lose my job,” I’d claim before cutting them a deal.

We’d usually agree on fifteen or twenty dollars an hour, money up front, cash only. As long as the car didn’t leave the parking lot everybody was happy. Seemed like a win-win situation. I wasn’t driving around burning up gas and oil or risking damage to the car, and my clients were enjoying their evening. I’d log in the three-hour minimum once I returned to the car wash. I did this for one reason only: I needed the money to help pay for my college classes.

Only once did I take a calculated risk. I overheard some female college students arguing in a lecture hall over whom their designated driver should be on that particular Friday night. I suggested a limousine. They thought it would be too expensive; I convinced them otherwise. It’s the only time where, after replenishing the gas tank, I pocketed all the money. As far as the limousine owner was concerned: the car never left the car wash. Do I have any regrets about it? Nope. Back then I felt invincible. Nowadays, I’m too afraid to take risks, too afraid of what I might lose.