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