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...