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...

Olympics

Superman Alex also known as Alex The Cindy said he read my blog recently. He told me he liked it but it seemed to him that I lost interest in writing: "You are slacking off! There are so many things to write about, Olympic games for instance." It's hard to write about something that doesn't happen though or, in other words, it's simply no fun to write about a disappointment. Anja Gottschalk, a rider with most likely best looking bottom in the world, said a few days ago, interviewed by Evening Standard: "...Everyone has been scared off coming into the centre by all the warnings about public transport, car parking and the greedy hotels putting their rates up three or four times." Anja is absolutely right on this one. Streets of Soho are empty and whoever expected a financial boom is a doomed dreamer. Sad news is that on top of that Anja got arrested (her rickshaw got impounded) for stopping on double yellow line for a minute... Alex The Cindy, her beau, avoided detention calling his mom, who confirmed his address... Police doesn't get tough only on rickshaw riders. Critical Mass was cut short by Mets and 182 people got arrested too, for maybe protesting the Olympics: http://www.care2.com/causes/182-cyclists-arrested-for-maybe-protesting-the-olympics.html#ixzz22DhUjIUi. Clearly Olympics brought rather general tension than expected prosperity. People keep talking about a nuclear doom and UFOs over London. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1262668/Olympic-Armageddon-Top-thriller-writer-imagines-terrorist-attack-London-2012-Games.html
This video, fortunately, has less than 8000 spins.

Let's be honest! UFO strikes ruthlessly, no doubt! http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2181066/Olympics-2012-UFO-sighted-Games-opening-ceremony.html.
The harsh reality, though,  remains unaltered. UFO or not people get same drunk and messy.
One of these days I met an American by Leicester Square tube station. He had that face of a liquor soaked alcoholic. "I lost my partner and I lost a thousand pounds!" - He informed me. "You probably got robbed." - I suggested. ""I'm quite good at it." - He answered somewhat mysteriously. After a while his expression changed. "YES! I GOT ROBBED!" - He got all passionate - "THEY SAW I WAS DOING WELL AND THEY ROBBED ME!" Casinos are surely dangerous places, aren't they? And here was a truly Olympic deal for me. "I need to go to Lancaster Gate!" - He stated. I had nothing better to do. "I'll take you there for twenty quid." He gave me a chagrined smile. "So you've got no money?" - I guessed. "It's not this... I've got thousands of dollars... However I've got only about seven pounds on me... I'll give you the rest when we get to my hotel." It was late so I decided to give it a try. On the way he seemed to be pretty vexed. I heard him saying to himself: "How am I gonna explain this to my partner?!" As we arrived he handed his passport out to me and asked to wait a minute. He had many stamps from Paris, Amsterdam and States there. Soon he was back carrying a mug full of coins... We counted pounds and pennies until we reached twenty, not even a pence more. He took back his document saying: "This passport equals a loser!" and was gone.
About two days later I saw an interesting situation on Charring Cross Road. You know, them hustlers, they have that peculiar quality. Any time they see an attractive girl they absolutely have to have a go at her. An average "bad boy" usually stops in front of a girl spreading his arms, waiting until she literately steps on him and then he attempts to give her a hug. Another popular technique is to grab a passing-by girl's arm in attempt to stop her, talking some bullshit simultaneously. They usually call a girl "Sexy" or "Princes" and soon enough offer their company, ask for her number, invite for a drink etc. I don't need to explain how very much welcome is that kind of intrusion. That night I saw one fellow pinching a random girl on a cheek, calling her a "cutie" or something. Let me tell you - she didn't like it! She was pretty small and he was quite a big guy. Nevertheless she pushed him away immediately, screaming: "Don't touch me!" She started to punch that hustler's face. She really could punch! I could tell he would love to beat her back, but all eyes were on him. He had to simply take it, begging her to stop. People around watched with satisfaction. I hope he learnt a lesson.
...and by the way: the Olympics are FULLY ON!!!

Honest man

It was after 3am. I was hanging around Soho as usual. It was a weekday night and at that time everything was already very quiet. Too quiet. On Wardour St. I spotted a streetwalker talking to some guys. They exchanged a few words with her and went on. There were two of them. I approached them and asked if they looked for anything. They said that a nice place to have drink would do. After 3am nearly everything was already shut. I told them that and added that they got two options left over. A stripbar or that club on South Central St. - The Den. One of them, an American judging by his accent, started some peculiar talk about how a combination of tits, pussy and anus would successfully replace a woman as such. He declared he would like to create a sculpture like that. His friend, a posh English boyo, wasn´t too happy to pay an entrance fee to get into a stripclub. They just stood there yattering. Suddenly some guy looked through a widow on first floor of a building near by. Checked us out, waved and disappeared behind a curtain. "Hey dude!" - American wanted to socialise - "don´t go!" "Why does he leave the windows open anyway? It´s cold!" - He wondered loudly. I advised him to stop it before they start to throw things at us. Then some other guy approached. He said he was from ..., he was robbed, and he was a student, he presented some IDs and obviously asked for some spare change. They refused him politely. The gringo finally made up his mind. "K´mon!" he addressed his friend - "Let´s get on that thing and let´s see where it will take us!¨ Dandy reluctantly got on my trike and uttered:

"Now take us somewhere we can have fun and if you don´t we´ll beat shit out of you!" Very quickly I got off and faced him. "Ok! You better beat me now!" The American guy got pretty scared. "Let´s just get off!" - he said to the other. Boyo answered that he was joking. I told him not to talk to me like that. He apologised and then he added that he even used to ride "one of these things" once himself, for about half an hour.Finally we moved on. By Oxford Street they asked me how much was the lift. I said I wasn't charging them yet and asked which one of those two mentioned places they preferred. They chose The Den. On the way they went on how guilty they felt about me pedalling while they remained seated and how much they appreciated that. After a little while we got there. Boyo passed me a can of beer. I said I would prefer a fiver per person than a beer. He produced a tenner from his wallet, hesitated and said it was outrageous. I asked what he meant. He said he got an impression that the lift was for free and that me myself had said that. I asked him what was his occupation. He said he was a programmer. I inquired if he ever enjoyed doing his job for free. He answered that I was wasting his time. Some people gathered up around us watching the scene with curiosity. I told him he was a bloody cheat but nevertheless, I added, I wasn't desperate. If he thought it was all right then he should just fuck off. He started to walk off eagerly calling his American friend to follow. Now I must admit the other guy didn't like it. He wanted to pay me. Unfortunately he had only a fiver on him. He tried to give it to me. "Yeah! Take a fiver!" - agreed the tight programmer. I said that I wasn't asking for a change and offered him a free lift to a cashpoint. Finally he followed his dickhead friend. "Be careful! He will fuck you up as well, soon!" - I said to him. "I'm an honest man!" - protested the boyo loudly. Off they went.

One hundred pounds

I stopped in Wardour St. not far from Village, that gaybar. A guy came running, jumped on my trike and exclaimed:"GO! GO!" I looked at him with disapproval and asked:"But where are we going?" "Just go! Please! I`ll give you one hundred pounds!" I moved on eagerly. "Please! Move faster!" "What is it? Is anybody chasing you?" "Yes! A bunch of Pakistanis wants to beat me up thinking that I`m an American!" I could hear that twang in his voice too. "In fact I`m Canadian but they didn`t want to listen to me!" We were approaching Oxford St. undisturbed. "So where are we going?" I asked. "Could you take me to St. Paul`s Cathedral? I`ll honestly pay you one hundred pounds!" I cracked on pedalling. Quickly I got to Strand. As I was getting to Waterloo Bridge one of the axles got broken. Cursing my bad luck I apologised to my customer for not being able to take him any further. He was very grateful anyway and he handed me out five twenty pounds notes. I told him not to be silly and accepted only forty quid. I reproach myself for that ever since...
:)

What`s your story?

Once an American, somewhat corpulent guy, asked me to take him from Old Compton St. to Edgware Rd. As soon as he got on my trike he asked me: "What`s your story?!" I told him something like: "The nights are dark and grim and so is my soul..." I guess it didn`t prove satisfactory for him, for he kept shouting this question to everybody we met on our way and people were looking at each other saying under their breaths: "Aha... An American!" After a while we got on Oxford St. At some point I needed to hit the breaks abruptly. My customer not expecting that, lost his balance, fell forward and landed on my back. Clearly it turned him on! He started to praise my strength, repeating how fuckin fit I am etc. Finally exclaimed: "You are hot like Beyonce!!!" I wasn`t quite sure if I should be thankful for this, a very uncomon indeed, compliment. Next he started to ask me if I had a girlfriend and didn`t seem to be very pleased hearing that I did. Notwithstanding he added quickly: "Is she also hot like Beyonce?" I told him she was not too bad at all.
When I eventually got him to his hotel he very much wanted to invite me for a drink but seeing that there`s no way to persuade me to it just said:
"Come here tomorrow with your girlfriend! We`ll ride around!!!"

Freezing

It was a long winter night. Temperature had gone so low that I felt guilty when offerring lifts to people. To my true astonishment and undisguised joy two Englishmen wanted me to get them to Victoria Coach Station. I didn`t let them ask twice for it. On the way we stopped in a red light, next to some fat car. Window by the back seat got open and a young fellow asked my customers with a sham of concern, his accent conspicuously American: "Aren`t you freezing, boys?!" One of the Britons answered quickly: "It`s better to be cold than to be a Yankee." There was much rejoicing...
;~)