My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

“I will not rest until we have our own stadium on the moon, with amplifiers pointed towards the sky’s infinite expanses, so that we may truly rock the galaxy.” – Craigslist ad (photo of The Flagpoles by Corey Evans!)

Which reminds me when I used to drive CEO’s in a black Crown Vic with barely legal window tint. I rolled up to the biggest brick single family estate in downtown Portsmouth, checked my black tie was straight, flexed my fingers in my driving leathers and scooted to the front door. The trunk gets popped before I leave the car, so I had the bags handled and we were back on the road in about the time it takes a lesser man to check his mirrors. I thought I was good, but this particular ride was gonna teach me a valuable economic lesson.

I’ll give it to you up front. If you want to make big tips, ignore the client. That’s the lesson. These people are paying $150 for a ride to the airport because they don’t want to talk to people like me, or you, or whoever rides SuperShuttle, a bus, or drives a cab. But I was new. I tried to engage him. I tried to listen to his conversation on the phone. He knew – he threw out a question mid conversation – something pointless like “What time is it?”

“8:15, sir.” I shot back, glancing at the green digital clock set into the dash on those late 90′s models. That was my mistake. Just a set up, the client wanted to know if he could talk freely or not. Of course I didn’t realize it at the time. I thought I was being helpful. It took a few more months before I stumbled on the secret of ignoring these people.

A man and a woman were in the back this time. Driving back from Logan Airport through that stretch of farmland on 95 just before you hit the New Hampshire border. The guy had to speak to me twice before I was shaken out of my daydream.

“Huh?” I asked, startled.

“Would it be possible to stop for cigarettes somewhere?” He asked me.

“Of course sir.” When I finally dropped the couple off at their home, the man laid a fifty on me and said, “You’re a good driver.” I don’t think it’s because I indulged his addiction with a stop at Cumberland Farms. It was because I wasn’t driving with one eye in the rear view trying to look at his wife and didn’t have one ear cocked to their conversation. I was off in space playing intergalactic bass.

Of course there is always an exception. That’s what makes life so difficult. Take for example the older refined gay gentleman that I dropped off at his home by the beach in Rye. As we neared his residence, he began moving around in the back seat. It did catch my eye, this wasn’t the gathering of a briefcase and papers. He had rolled up one pant leg and was adjusting the garter for his thin silk socks. I’ll never forget the lurid look in his eyes that met mine there in the rear view. Had I been in the business, I could have made quite a tip that afternoon.

As the economy falters and my good friends find themselves looking for jobs they may not have previously considered, I put it out there. Rich people will continue to need rides to the airport. If you can put together the cash for a black suit and tie you might have a job. I hope it won’t take you as long as it took me to learn when to look, and when to look away.