Jokes

I was about to leave the base and go home. Then I noticed a very unwelcome detail: my push bike was punctured... It's so hard sometimes, when life slaps you right in the face, as you least expect it! A little thing can really ruin your mood... In any case I had to do something about it! As I commenced to repair my flat tyre a fellow rider, Adam Velvet, came over smoking a roll-up. I decided to tell a joke, just to pull myself together. It went on about three black fellows taking a leak down the river, while standing on a bridge. "Oh shit!" - said one of them - "The water is so cold!". "Ooh! The bottom is so muddy!" - added the second one. "Aww! Careful gents! There are crawdaddies around that river's bend!" - stated the third one''... I looked at Adam waiting for his reaction. "I don't get it...!" - I knew he was honest with me. "Let me think about another one... Oh! I'm sure you will like this one better!" The second joke was about native Americans collecting a huge quantities of firewood for winter. One of those guys was actually a bit of a thinker and some day asked himself a dramatic question: "Why are we doing it?" So he went to see the chief of his tribe to ask him this question. The chief told him he didn't need to be silly. It was their much respected shaman who had predicted a severe winter to come. Winter came indeed, but it wasn't that cold. Our hero got even more frustrated when a serious firewood picking started again, next year. He tried to persuade the elders of the tribe but they told him he didn't need to be silly. It was their much respected shaman who had predicted a severe winter to come and any complaints fell on deaf ears! The geezer didn't give up. He decided to seek the truth in a big city of palefaces. He found out that those responsible for foretelling the weather are called meteorologists. He got in touch with them and inquired what was the prognosis for the next winter. They told him, they had been expecting the winter to be exceptionally tough. After he asked how did they know that, they politely informed him: "The natives have been collecting firewood, extensively, for two years in a row, you see!" "I don't get it..." - said Adam. I decided the time had come for something well sleazy. "Do you know the one about a prostitute who sucks your cock while whistling your favourite melody?" He didn't. "In a port town, at one of the taverns, a bunch of seamen was chilling, telling stories. One of them recalled an unusual encounter. Once, while visiting a Caribbean island, he found a brothel where a local harlot served him a delicious fellatio, at the same time whistling his favourite melody! He even named that island, that brothel and that girl. Nobody believed him, of course. Some months later a sailor, one of that chilling party, by pure coincidence found himself on that island and in front of that brothel... He couldn't stop himself, stepped in and asked about the girl, who blows while whistling. She was there! Before he could even get surprised she took him to her room, asked about his favourite melody and switched off the light... She really put herself to it, whistling that favourite melody of his and, to be honest, he was very impressed by her performance! Surprisingly he didn't lose his head amongst those guilty pleasures. His hand touched the wall and moving slowly found the switch on it. First thing he saw, after the light went on, was a glass eye on the table..." "I don't get it!" - Said Adam. He seemed annoyed. "What's wrong with you, fellow?!" - I asked him as I really couldn't believe it. Just by that time we were joined by our Argentinian friend Alejandro. I told him Adam had a difficulty understanding jokes. "Hm... How about this one..." Alejandro went on about rich and widely respected señor Ignacio. He was a gentleman in his mid fifties. On the thirtieth anniversary of their wedding his wife came up with a bizarre idea. "I feel like doing something different, honey! I would like us to celebrate in a strip bar!" "In a strip bar? What kind of debauchery is that?!" - señor Ignacio didn't even want to hear about anything like that. She got her way, naturally, and he had to book them a table in the best titty bar of the town. Upon their arrival a hot hostess in the reception area was really pleased to see Ignacio. "Welcome back señor!" - She shouted cheerfully. He got a little bit confused but, after inquiring brusquely if they really knew each other, just informed her that he and his WIFE booked a table for two for the evening. They sat down and were approached by a succulent waitress who greeted him like a good friend. "So good to see you señor! Martini as usual, I suppose! What is the lady drinking?" His wife gave him an alarming look but Ignacio just gulped and said nervously that it had, clearly, to be some misunderstanding and ordered two tequilas. Although he was not happy about it at all, his wife insisted and they ordered a private show. A stunning, nineteen years old stripper came over to entertain them. She pulled a face and gave them a funny look, though.  "What's wrong with you Ignacio!" - exclaimed the lap dancer - "I have never seen you with such an old hag before!" Believe it or not, Adam couldn't quite grasp that one either...

I didn't give up on Adam. Whatever any of you could think about him he IS an intelligent bloke and no one has a right to compare him with, let say, Amir. Few weeks later I told him a joke about a blind touching a cheese grater. A blind fellow touches a grater, frowns and asks: "Who the hell wrote this horseshit?!" Adam thought a while about it and then said without a smile: "It's a good joke!"

A prick or Rich and Nerdy

"Are you still working?" - A fellow stopped me on Holborn Circus, right by our base. It was very late, something like 4.30 am, and I simply wanted to go home. "Where would you like to go?" "Picadilly Circus!" He looked all right, albeit somewhat nerdy, so I didn't ask for the money in advance. Just named my price. He said: "Fine!" and  got on. As I moved on he asked quickly: "How long?" I told him It was between ten and fifteen minutes. I worked my way uphill, towards Chancery Lane station, wanting to get done promptly with the job and come back. Things like that don't happen very often, one doesn't usually get any jobs right by the base. The unpredictable could be the worse, or the best thing in life, depending on how you play it. I was slightly annoyed by the fact, that he hired me when I had one leg already at the base but who gets really annoyed, while earning money? I gave up thinking, just put myself to it. I had to stop at the red lights, about four times. It didn't slow me down much and soon I got to Cambridge Circus. I'm absolutely sure it took me under ten minutes altogether. I stopped at the red light there, too. Suddenly the nerdy fellow shouted:
"You are taking too long! I CHECKED WITH MY GPS! It's taking too long! How much to here?!" - He jumped off my rickshaw like an angry, spoiled child. I simply couldn't believe it... Did my best to keep my cool, though, and started to persuade him: "We nearly there. The charge is the same. Jump back on. We'll be there in two minutes!" "NOOOO! It's taking too long! I'm stopping that Taxi!" - he flagged a black cab down - "I'll give you five pounds less, OK?" He opened his wallet and exposed a thick layer of dosh down there. I didn't even want to listen to this horseshit. "It's the same charge! We are two minutes away." - I repeated. He tried to pass some money to me, clearly wanting to fuck off ASAP. I felt cheated and angry. You can not be violent towards anyone unless he punches you first. Had he chosen to walk away I wouldn't have stood many chances to stop and charge him without putting my hands on him. It would get pretty awkward by that time, anyway... I really felt abused and, surely, the fury flashed in my eyes when I said to him: "Stop fucking with me!" He hesitated. I said that again, probably a bit more passionately... He paid me the price we previously agreed, then, and went towards that cab. As I drove away I kept watching him talking to the taxi driver. I guess he got refused for the cab didn't move for a long while. The driver probably explained to that fucker that he was practically there... What a fucking nons!!!
Perhaps I didn't dedicate enough attention to him, on the way. Most people are like children, anyway, and I should had known better. We learn something new everyday. That lesson was about a customer service - nerdy and rich people are vain and selfish. Not only they like to be served. As they get bored easily, they also need to be entertained. I could possibly make much more money with that mummy's boy. Had I kept his mind busy with a conversation, he wouldn't have had time for his smartphone and if ignorance is bliss then blessed are the blessing.

Three-Legged Horses

"Three-Legged Horses", award-winning short fiction written and directed by Felipe Bustos Sierra. Based on true events. A rickshaw driver with bad knees makes brief but powerful encounters with buskers, drunks and potential passengers on his last night in Edinburgh.
https://vimeo.com/49474380

Casting pearls of despair

I had to change twenty quid, to give a tenner to Lujek, a fellow rider. We went to that pizza/fast food place by the corner of Old Compton Street and Charring Cross Road. I got in, to get the change and he stayed outside with our tricycles. As I stepped out to share the dosh with him, we heard somebody screaming. Then we saw two decent looking fellows approaching us. One of them, a smartly dressed gent around thirty years old, kept throwing himself against walls and shop windows, yelling: "AAAARRRGH!!!", like a mad thing! The other chap tried to get hold of him, the first one however managed to break free and carried on with his peculiar activity. The geezer wasn't actually angry or blind drunk. I reckoned he just fancied a bit of AAAAAAARRRGHing to, simply, express himself and perhaps to escape for a little while the annoying shackles put on us by the modern society. The best option for him would be, certainly, to put on some animal skin, to dance by the fire for a little while. The primordial, desperate "AAAAAAAARGH" of his deserved to be analysed by some anthropologists, psychologists, sociologists or even philosophers. Unfortunately there were't any around. There were not too many people around at all, all the present though enjoyed the show, grinning. The guys from that pizza place eagerly came out to watch too. Therefore he had to perform his act in front of ignoramuses, to cast the pearls of his despair before a rickshaw riders and such...!  How bitterly ironic was that! I had to do something! One needs to be proactive in our business, so I didn't have to think twice! As soon as they got next to me I plunged into his play: "AAAAAAARRRGH! Excuse me gents! Where are you going?" Well, they surly didn't expect that. Seeing that I got their full attention, I added instantly: "How about that: I'll take you somewhere, AAAAAARRGH, nice!" The one who tried to hold the self-thrower clearly swallowed the bait, for he gave his friend an earnest look, pointed his hand towards me and uttered solemnly: "He will!" The screamer hesitated and suddenly seemed very sober. For a second I really thought I was actually getting a lift! He looked at me closely, then at his friend and stated gravely: "I think he's probably taking a piss!" He started to walk away then. I realised that my friendly disposition was not welcome. Nevertheless I said to his back: "I think you are taking it too, AAAAAAAAAARRRRGGH, seriously!" It didn't work and he kept walking away. At least we had a good laugh, though, seriously! ;)

A prophet

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you for a long time!" Out of the blue a dodgy looking fellow greeted me like an old friend. He was scruffy and I didn't think I had ever seen him before. It didn't take a genius to realise that he was in desperate need to smoke some crack. "I was on the other side of Soho." - I answered quickly still recovering from bewilderment. "Are you all right?" - I asked looking at him scrutinisingly. "I'm good, thanks! What's your name?" - He asked me, covering his confusion caused by the funny look I just gave him. I said my name was Peter. "I'm Mohammed." We shook hands. "I need five pounds!" - announced Mohammed - "I applied for benefits, three weeks ago. They never answer, you know?!" - He exclaimed with indignation. He had a thick accent, all the "Rs" were pronounced pretty strongly. "So all the, so much criticised, cuts brought by The Tories are actually fruitful..." - I thought with satisfaction. Mohammed reached his pocket, produced a handful of change and started to count loudly: "One... Two... Three twenty five... Four thirty!" "You've got more than me!" - I observed quickly, which was actually true, for the night was simply shit. "Hmmm..." - mused Mohammed - "I need ten pounds to buy a stone!" - and seeing clearly that there was no hope of ripping me off, whatsoever, off he went. The night was awaiting him impatiently.

A gay joke

They say that, in the eighties, Soho of London used to be a very dangerous place. There are urban legends about crazy people with guns and shit. Nowadays, though, Soho is practically, exclusively gay. Cheap prostitutes, some dodgy peep shows and wasted crack-heads is all that remains of crazier times. Not even a decent strip club is left in the heart of Soho. Therefore majority of the stories related to Soho has that peculiar flavour... Once (it happened a few years ago) I was going up Old Compton Street. It was a warm, weekend night in summer. The street was very busy. As usual a relaxed crowd marched in front of me and around me. Encircled by all those people I rode slowly, shouting polite warnings and honking my trike's horn. There was a bunch of gay men walking slowly right in front of my trike. I stood no chance to overtake them, had to squeeze through, somehow. I asked them politely to let me get through. One of them, a chubby fellow, looked back at me and ordered: "Go on! I'll take it all in!"

A missing seat or some angry ghosts and Jehovah Witnesses

I was in Hackney visiting L. and K. when Om, a fellow rider, called me. He said he went to work leaving his big bicycle pump by the base, on the street, in front of the gate... He wanted to know how soon I would be around to check if his pump was still there... Unfortunately I still had things to do and places to go. I arrived at the base about two hours later. Obviously there was no trace of Om's pump to be seen anywhere around the gate. I entered and inquired inside. Funnily enough somebody showed me a pump that looked just like Om's. It had some other name written in white on it but I took it with me, nevertheless. My rickshaw has a trunk underneath passengers' seat. I keep my stuff there. That time I simply put the pump on top of my rucksack and covered everything with the seat. The seat has no hinges or anything. It just "sits" on top of the trunk. Fits in the hole and stays there. When I put that pump on top of my rucksack, though, the seat couldn't sink in deep enough. It was wobbly. I mounted and went out. Worked for a while, finally found Om and showed him the pump. Apparently it was just like his, except it was not his... I put it back inside my trunk and covered everything with the seat. As I mentioned there was too much stuff inside and the seat was somewhat wobbly on top. It was pretty late already and we decided to get back. Om led the way and I followed. It took us no longer than 10-15 minutes before we entered the base. As soon as I got in I wanted to put the pump exactly where I took it from. I turned around and got petrified... Both the seat and a cute blunkett I placed neatly on top of it were gone! Hastily I put the pump back first and started to make my way back to that place where I had shown the same pump to Om less than 20 minutes earlier. Keeping my cool I kept checking the surroundings, all in vain. I couldn't find my fucking seat! I'm not one of those who give up easily. I followed my route closely there and back. Having found nothing I started again. Dawn was breaking. I was getting furious! Tried my best to control it but unpleasant thoughts kept coming... I went on and got back for the second time. I knew the seat was gone forever, that someone took it as soon as I dropped it... Nevertheless I decided to check again. In full daylight two women approached me on Red Lion Square. One of them held "Watchtower" in extended hand. "Excuse me sir! Are you interested in taking this magazine?" She dropped her glove. I squatted quickly, picked it up and passed it to her. "Are YOU interested in taking THIS glove?" "Oh my God!" - It happened so fast it left her perplexed. She took it and I walked away. I checked everything for the third time, obviously to no effect... I felt helpless and frustrated. I was angry and hungry too, so decided to go to Russell Square station and buy a cheesecake at Tesco's over there. Guess what... There were three more Jehovah Witnesses crouching by the store! It was about 6am - I wonder how much those people get paid for doing that job... It must be good money! As soon as I left the shop two of them sprung! "Excuse me sir! Have you got a minute?" I looked them up and down: "Jehovah Witnesses are not appealing to me!" "Why is that?" - One of them, a fellow in his thirties, seemed surprised. "Well, you haven't tried, have you?" - He chuckled strangely... "A gay boy?" - I thought to myself and just said: "Listen..." "I'm listening!" - He answered very quickly. "I don't want to be rude to you... Have a nice day!" - I rode away focusing my thoughts on the cheesecake. Still seatless, but at least free from religious propaganda, I came back to the base at last. I had spent two hours searching in vain for my fucking seat. I was really pissed off. Then I saw Gradu who wanted to know what happened. I told him briefly what was the score. I even mention Jehovah Witnesses. He laughed and said: "Well, it sounds just like one of your crazy stories!"
A day after I saw Om again. By the way, I was actually working on a new seat... "So you didn't find it..." - Realised Om. - "I'm so sorry! I feel like it's all my fault... So much needless hassle... The things like that happen to me all the time recently!" "Don't worry bruv! It seems like you made some ghosts angry, or something... They clearly decided to take something from me as well... Next time you call me about a lost pump..." "You will tell me to fuck off!" - laughed Om. "Naaah! I will simply tell you that I'm very sorry but there's not much I can do about it..."

Children of the night

Me and one fellow rider from Bangladesh (think his name is Ariv) had a long lift from Regent Street to that popular club called Fabric in Farringdon. As soon as we finished by Smithfield Market I was approached by two fellows who asked me to take them to London Bridge. We were negotiating a price for a moment and finally one of them simply sat on my trike. "Do you want to do this?" - His friend asked him, kind of surprised. He looked at me then, produced some notes from his pocket and inquired if I wanted the money upfront. I said I trusted him and he could pay me once we arrived. He thanked me and shook my hand. Off we went. As I started the guy who sat on the rickshaw first yelled roughly: "Pump it!!!" I didn't like it much so I looked him in the eye grinning a warning. He just laughed loudly and extended his hand to shake mine. Only by then I noticed that his face was all covered with bruises as from a recent fighting. I also realised that their eyes glistened in a peculiar way. Both of them were high as fuck. I started to regret I didn't take the money beforehand but it was too late. We only got around the corner when the other fellow (not the one who's face was all bruised) asked: "Do you like cocaine? Do you want some?" I refused politely and felt somewhat relived. They seemed friendly and relaxed, not hyperactively paranoid and aggressive as some people get when on drugs. "It's puro! Good stuff! I got it from my neighbour!" - He insisted but let go when I refused again. He clearly was in a chatty mood, though. "Are you married? Have you got any children? How old are you?" I told him I was 32, no children. "Come on man! I'm 30 and I've got two already. My oldest son is 14!" "You didn't waste your time, huh?" - I smiled at him. "It's in my blood!" - He stated proudly. He paid me without any problems, after we arrived, both of them expressing politely their gratitude.

Marathon Marathon

On Marathon Day me and that percanta Juan Mario waited on Spring Gardens for potential customers. Other riders kept coming and going all the time. It was still early in the afternoon, for me a very unusual time to work. I haven't slept the night before, at all, and many energy drinks were very much welcome. There were crowds of people everywhere but we didn't get much business yet. At some point a rider, known as Satan, arrived. There's something about his looks that strongly recalls Gimli the son of Gloin. Not that I am necessarily a Keanu Reeves kind of looking guy, let's be honest... Satan though is one in a million! (Hail Satan , if you read it!) I was already feeling dizzy out of exhaustion and then Satan started to tell his stories. "Look" he indicated vaguely "It's a Canadian  flag over there! You know? You can do a great outdoor there, in Canada!" "What do you mean?" "For example I read about one Scottish fellow who went from Canada to Alaska in a canoe!" "Really? How very splendid!" My 'enthusiasm' was unlimited. "Yeah! He could fish a huge salmon per day and after a while was so fed up with them that he started to hunt down porcupines! He had to shoot them down from the trees!" "Do porcupines live on the trees?" I asked doubtfully. Satan winked  fiercely and carried on paying no heed to my question. "That guy says that he once saw a porcupine on a tree and that animal was making so much noise up there that it scared off a moose!" I assume it was playing a trumpet, or something... Satan went on about some black bears and another fellow who had a big shotgun but cried every time he spotted a plane, while outdooring. Daedalus and Icarus would surely feel for him... Listening to Satan very soon I felt even dizzier than before...
Meanwhile London Marathon attracted thousands of people. Those who dared to enter the competition were stumbling, limping and hobbling everywhere around. More likely to get some attention than out of a genuine pain, but seriously, it was their five minutes, wasn't it?! I was with them wholeheartedly and ready to help too! Two big streets (Northumberland Ave and Whitehall) by Trafalgar Square got shut to the traffic and the marshals over there were taking their jobs very seriously. Some of them were coping easily and with a smile, some others let the pressure built on them and were literately foaming with rage. Whitehall from Trafalgar Square up to Parliament Square was tightly packed with people. Round, round, round we went on the roundabout plying for hire, mostly to no effect though... That was exactly when I joined that piltrafa Juan Mario on Spring Gardens. So we were stood there, people watching us with curiosity, we watching them with hope, trying to chat them up etc. Suddenly a gent appeared. He was walking a dog, a collie. It didn't seem to be very happy. We were like: "Sir, sir! Your dog looks very tired! Surely it needs a lift" Then he just smiled and said: "Unfortunately it doesn't have any money..." Fortunately soon afterwards the business picked up significantly and we managed to help many tired people uphill and to the tube stations: Green Park, Leicester Square or even Waterloo. It was another opportunity to prove ourselves in a dense traffic. Many appreciated our efforts for in such conditions there's nothing faster in London town than a rickshaw!

Salesman in the rain (snow and sleet)

On that Sunday night it was raining, snowing and sleeting all at once or at very short intervals. The weather here rarely gets as bad. My trike was all covered with rain shields. I use a proper gear too. Goretex jacket, trousers and overshoes keep you dry. My cycling gloves, though, got soaking wet very soon. Having my hands wet in a cold wasn't exactly comfortable but I didn't want to give up either. Cycling gloves are made of such a fabric that they don't feel wet as long as you are worm working out. I kept pedalling vigorously around, trying desperately to catch a lift rather than a cold. There were few rickshaws around and for a good reason - to get drenched in a temperature around zero Celsius is nothing to be sought for. I couldn't get any lift for a long while. Nevertheless I gritted my teeth and carried on. On Piccadilly Circus I passed two conspicuously tanned gents with huge umbrellas. One of them held a vast Union Jack while the other walked proudly with an immense Chelsea FC. As I was passing by I saw them watching me but, somehow, cat got my tongue... All too bad, for my sixth sense screamed: "Those are your customers!" They walked slowly up Regent Street, towards Oxford Circus. "Now or never!" I said to myself, made a quick u-turn, and another, to stop my trike slightly ahead of them, and waited thinking of an appropriate chat up line. I was lucky - there were no other rickshaws around and soon I was approached by them and asked for directions. Those gentlemen were from United States and felt a little bit lost. A good salesman has to play things cool. I explained expertly the whereabouts and advised them on which way they should follow. Next I offered my services assuring that I could, both, take them to wherever they were going, or help them to find a great place of entertainment. My hands were wet, cold and I was broke. It could be my only chance that night... Nevertheless I had to be gentle. Being visibly desperate or even pushy would scare them off. They didn't want to go anywhere but to their hotel. "How much would you charge us? How much is a taxi?" "A taxi would be about ten pounds cheaper but I need to pedal and let me tell you - it's an entirely different experience!" Chelsea FC looked at Union Jack and said:"It's up to you." "Let us talk about it for a while." Suggested Union Jack and they walked a few steps aside. I did my best to look indifferent, looked away, just breathed and tried to think about something else. Then I realised that even though me and them spoke English, their lingo was somehow so much different. As if they were from another planet, or something... They were back in a minute. "Okay, let's do it!" Said Union Jack. "Thank you sir!" "Don't call me sir, I'm Gil!" Saying that he produced a cigar and asked if it was alright to smoke on my rickshaw. It was. "Take it easy! Don't kill yourself!" They advised me as I pedalled on cheerfully. My hands were not cold anymore and it was a long distance lift. I was finally making money, even counting on a tip! They seemed to appreciate the ride. Chatting and laughing all the time, suddenly they broke into a song. We got to Gloucester Road tube station in no time. "Well done!" Exclaimed Gil and shook my hand. "Thank you sir!" "I'm Gil!" He reminded me with a slight reproach and walked on to pee on nearby Burger King. The shorter and even more tanned fellow produced an impressive wad of notes, paid me and gave me an extra fiver... To be honest with you I can ridicule those two Yankees as much as I want, truth is though, that they were two extremely friendly individuals and they made my Sunday night, when it was raining, snowing and sleeting all at once or at very short intervals...

Pussy's smell again!

I came back from work pretty late at night. It was quite cold outside. About zero Celsius is not a usual thing in London. Obviously there was a bunch of fellow riders sitting over there, chilling or rather warming up... Someone told a poor joke about cunnilingus and that, somehow, set L. off. He went on with his story: "I was twenty and I went to visit that girl of sixteen, at her place. There was a lot of licking and sucking going on... What I didn't know was that her father was at home too. At some point I went to the kitchen to get something to drink. To my surprise I stumbled upon her father there.
I was pretty startled. Not only I didn't expect anybody else to be at home, at all, but also as soon as he saw me, the father took a deep breath and stated: "It smells like a pussy here." I just finished eating his daughter's pussy about five minutes earlier, so I really expected him to punch me in the face, next thing. Nothing like that happened though. 'Have a cigarette!' He passed a fag to me and lighted it up for me too." L. face became very serious. "This is how I grew up." He said. "That explains everything!" He added and laughed out loudly.

Sarah

Late at night I was trying to get a lift by the corner of Oxford and Soho St. It was somewhat misty. Streets were empty. Suddenly Sarah emerged from the mist, just-like-that pulling a large hoover behind her. "Look! Someone threw away such a great hoover!" For a while we mused at the rare beauty of the device. Then she bid farewell and disappeared in the mist again. I remained there on my rickshaw, like a large spider on a web, wondering if that just really happened...
Sarah is the best rickshaw mechanic in the world. And certainly much more than that! Craig Taylor dedicates her an entire chapter of his book "Londoners: The Days And Nights Of London Now - As Told By Those Who Love It, Hate It, Live It, Left It, And Long For It".

Sarah's incredible personality has been inspiring me for a very long time. She helped me to look at many things from a different angle. After many conversations, that we shared, I dare-say I smartened up a bit... (I'm sure she would just laugh at me, though.) There's that Jewish joke she loves to repeat every now and then, perfectly faking a Jewish accent. It tells a story of an English gentleman who ordered a pair of trousers from a tailor. The garment maker took his measurements and promised his customer to get the trousers ready in a month. After one month, though, when the gentleman visited that needle worker again, the pair of trousers was not ready yet and he was asked to come back ...in a month. The whole situation repeated itself five times more. Finally, half a year after the order was made, gentleman's trousers were ready. He tried them on and they were absolutely perfect! He paid the man, couldn't stop himself, however, from remarking that it took God seven days to create the world whereas it took six months for his trousers to be made. The tailor looked at him seriously and said: "Good Sir! Please take a look at this world and now take a good look at my trousers..."
The other day as soon as we met she announced: "Listen to this! I just saw that documentary! Did you know that the centre of South Pole is not covered with ice? It's just a bare rock, for the constant wind there is so strong that it removes everything in the area and it has been blowing non-stop for quite a while... That space is so unfriendly that there are no big predators in that zone, at all. That's why the penguins chose it as their mating grounds. First they eat as much as they can and then they travel through the frozen hell to reach that empty space in the centre. There the males build a nest to impress the females, for there's no any other use for it... They mate and then a female lays an egg. She passes it to a male and... disappears! Literately leaves him all alone and goes for a greener pastures... Fortunately Mother Nature has an answer to every question. A part of male's belly forms a kind of a pouch and the egg is safely hidden there. He stands there for four months, in a roaring wind, without food, balancing the egg on his feet until it hatches! The crew who filmed the documentary was brought there in a helicopter, and their base was screwed down into the ground. That was the only way the wind wouldn't take it away. The environment was so unfriendly, that they were scared to leave their shelter at all. They were very well equipped, of course, with all their bodies covered, wearing goggles etc... Nevertheless they only dreamed about getting done with their research and leaving... Who would think that a penguin is such a geezer?! He must be something like Polish people, who through the centuries simply focused on survival at the price of nearly completely losing their humanity, not to mention a sense of humour of any kind..." A Pole myself, I had to admit that, so far, I hadn't been appreciating that elegant bird well enough :P

Probably illegal substance

"Stop!" Some fellow flagged me down right next to Center Point. As I soon realised he was accompanied by about 6 other people. They looked Arabic, spoke with American accent and mixed English with some, probably, Arabic words. The guy who stopped me was already sitting on my trike, consuming some white powder from a little plastic bag. His friends also seemed to be a bit... confused. They asked me about B.L.C. (British Luxury Club). They were, obviously, too many for me to take them there all at once. It wasn't a big problem, for they were very indecisive... One of them, a fit looking girl, wanted a cab, each of the guys started to talk about something else, somebody was complaining that it was too cold to take a rickshaw, somebody else asked about BLC's address, the chap on my rickshaw was seriously busy taking his, probably illegal, substance... For a moment I was sure that he actually stopped me just to lick his plastic bag clean, out the public sight... Suddenly, though, another fellow with a serious, Muslim style, kind of reddish-dyed beard grasped quickly my goatee exclaiming: "I love your chin-chin!" Him and that girl joined the dude sitting on my trike and asked me to go to BLC. There were two sets of lights between me and our destination. I had to stop twice, as each of them turned maliciously red. The bag-licker kept enthusiastically slapping my bum. I said to him that it was gay and demanded him to stop. His friends were very apologetic and tried to stop him too but the fellow had been in a serious state and couldn't get easily persuaded... I decided to add it to the bill. Even though BLC is not far from Center Point, as soon as we got next to it my customers told me they needed a cash-point... I carried on and found one a bit further down, where New Oxford Street forks with Bloomsbury Way. The bag-licker got off, slapped my bum passing me by, stopped in front of the cash-machine and talked to it for a long while. In the meantime his bearded friend apologised to me for him, asked if I was surely all-right, assured me that us, the bearded men, should stick together and invited me to share some powder with him and the lady. I refused politely. The chap by the ATM kept talking to it, then decided to take a leak in a doorway right by. Next he started to talk to it again. I couldn't see any cash coming out of it, though... Finally the bearded guy got off too, tried to take some cash himself and found out that the hole-in-the-wall was actually out of order. The bag-licker told him to relax and was about to start talking to that cash-machine again. The bearded got upset and pushed him towards my trike telling him to get on it. The girl also got off, went to the cash-machine, tried to take some dosh herself, only to confirm that the actual machine was clearly out of order... I asked them all to sit down, to take them to another one. The lads were very close to fight each other. The lady got back on the rickshaw, the bag-licker was telling loudly the bearded to relax, fortunately the bearded told his friend how much he really loved him and also sat down on my trike. The bag-licker kept telling everybody to relax, however didn't want to come back on the rickshaw, for he was convinced that the ATM took his card... Personally I didn't even think he had ever put it in there, in first place. The bearded started to yell at him that it was absolutely impossible and that he had better check his pockets. Finally I got all of them back and moved on to the corner of Bloomsbury Way and Southampton Row, to another cash point. The girl took some money out. They kept snorting as I brought them to BLC. The chaps just got off and moved away, paying no heed to me whatsoever. The girl payed me the fare. I extended my hand to help her to get off the rickshaw. She took it, thanked me politely and, as she was pulling herself out of the pedicab, she squeezed my hand gently three - four times, in a quick sequence. To be honest, that was the most pleasant part of that job...

Golden Apple of Discord

To watch humanity is my little game. We the People are predictably vain and selfish. Anything could become the Golden Apple of Discord. One night, me and a fellow rider Julian P., we stopped in front of that NCP car park on the corner of Lexington and Brewer St. in Soho. A young couple was passing by. She was one of those ladies who imprudently wear a very high heels and then you can see them stumbling around like disabled (if you have a disability, please, turn a blind eye at this metaphor) up to about 3 am. Later, fed up and shitfaced, off they go shamelessly bare-feet, holding tight their stilettos. The couple saw our rickshaws and brazenly asked for a free lift. As it wasn't happening for the first time, I quickly rose to the occasion and, innocently, asked them where were they going. As usual, it apparently was "just to that corner there". Hearing that I offered them a lift for a fiver. They said it was too much or that they didn't have any cash on them... "I see." I played along. "If so, I can give a free lift to the lady here but you, sir," - I addressed the fellow - "will have to walk." She was delighted and immediately moved towards my rickshaw when he literately pulled her away and moved on. "What are you doing?" She squeaked defiantly. "Are you looking for an argument?" He answered boldly and kept pulling her away. Struggling on her high heels she followed clumsily. Eris the Greek goddess of chaos, strife and discord laughed loudly in my ear. ^_^

Eris by telthona1

Jimmy the Incredible

Chilling after work we inevitably found ourselves floating in depths of absurd. Somebody mentioned a recent encounter with some Lithuanian chicks. Jimmy the Japanese Rastafarian said that Lithuanian girls were very nice. Then he grinned at Andrius, a Lithuanian chap and added: "...but the boys not at all! They don't even want to shake your hand!" Encouraged by some smiles from the gathered, he carried on with his anthropological lecture. "I've noticed that Poles are very fat and Lithuanians are very skinny.  It's because Poles eat potatoes, whereas Lithuanians eat only potato skin and sand and drink buckets of vodka!" Everybody roared in laughter. Andrius took the banter and rose to the occasion: "Jimmy why are you so small? You must be from North Korea!" Everyone laughed again. "The capital of Lithuania is Riga, right?" Jimmy asked quickly. "With this attitude, no wonder, no Lithuanian want's to shake your hand, mate!" Was the Andrius' answer. Nothing could stop Jimmy though. "Are you sure you are from Lithuania? Perhaps you are a Latvian? There are only two cities in Lithuania, the rest is a countryside where only sheep and cows live, and him!" Jimmy indicated Andrius and added: "No electricity!" "Yeah, right! And Japan's capital is Beijing!" Said Andrius. He seemed to be thinking for a while and finally added: "Actually I heard about an old Lithuanian woman who eats sand and claims it really keeps her healthy and energetic. She got herself in the Guinness book of records for that reason." Jimmy was delighted. "Is she Lithuanian? I knew that! Only Potato skin and sand, mate! Just like I told you!"

By hook or by crook

I met C. on Old Compton Street. We both stopped in front of that little liquor store, across the road from that Spanish restaurant. As we where looking at the variety of spirits on display he said: "You know there's that place around the corner. They've got a bottle of whiskey over there worth thirty five grand! Someone should take a picture of that bottle, forge a label, put it on a regular bottle of whiskey, go there, ask them to let him take a look at that madness and swap the bottles." He laughed. "You could sell the original one for twenty grand on eBay..." At that point Sting the Crackhead appeared, riding a Barclay's bike, big blue bag in his hand. "Do you want a printer? A FIVER!" "No thanks" "THREE QUID!" We definitely didn't need a printer. Stingy didn't really mind. "OMG!" He exclaimed with delight. "I found all sorts of different shit today!" He handed to us some nail clippers/bottle openers. "A present!" Next he produced some toys from McDonald's and started to play with them, before finally passing them to us too. C. told him about the very expensive whiskey and what one should do about it. "Naaaaah mate! The best thing to do would be actually going to a shop like Boots and nick something for about 250 pounds. Then you come back there and buy exactly the same thing. Just make sure you cause a lot of mess while buying. You ask for assistance and you involve as much staff as you can, you want to talk to the manager too. Everyone must know that you actually buy the product. In half an hour you go there again and you tell them 'Sorry guys, my wife has actually got one already...' They want to give you a refund and then you 'realise' you 'lost' the receipt. You start to make a scene in case they try to refuse you. All of them know you bought it, on top of that you tell them to check the cameras if they want to. They must give you the money back. Next thing you go to another branch, you still have got the receipt and the actual thing, so you simply double your money." It was exactly when The Undertaker showed up. We call that rider The Undertaker cause he's always black-clad and unlike any others he wears a suit. He's kind of peculiar too, so that nickname fits perfectly. C. immediately started to advertise Sting's printer to him, pointing out that he can get a decent equipment for only a tenner. The Undertaker soon made up his mind and gave the dosh to Sting. The crackhead quickly picked up "his" Barclay's bike, put some change into C's hand and pedalled off. "What was that? What did he give you?" The buyer grew suddenly uneasy. "A commission, mate! Initially he was selling it only for a fiver."  Sting was already gone. "What?!" Yelled The Undertaker. "Why did you ever tell him?" I asked smirking C. The Undertaker looked really pissed off... "Don't worry! It's worth it!" C. tried to calm him down. "Yeah, right!" I thought. "We don't even know if that junk actually works..." Considering the circumstances I decided that it was definitely about time to follow quickly and not purely metaphorically, the path of my destiny.