Pedicab Man

La Hacienda and Casa Grande Mexican restaurants call the PCM from time to time to provide transporation between the two establishments which are about a mile apart. One day, Mission Mexican was to transport one of the little brown guys from the Hacienda to the Casa to take care of a staffing problem. This trip made me feel like a human resource professional. Another time during College of Charleston Homecoming, there was an emergency call for more tequilla, which I transported post haste (contributing to the deliquency of college kids always give one a feeling of accomplishment). Yesterday, I got called and fiqured it was another staffing problem or liquor emergency but didn't really know because no one speaks English (How do these people stay in business?). As you can see from the picture, this was my most important mission yet.

I stopped by the cart for a talk with Hot Dog Man yesterday. The back ground noise at dog cart central (corner of King and George streets) was punctuated every half second by the pounding of a pile driver working on the foundation of the new student dormitory being built on George and St. Phillips a few hundred yards away.

"Hey, Hot Dog Man, bet you've gotten use to hearing that pile driver. Bet it's just white noise to you?"

"Yeah, don't even hear that sucker anymore."

"When I lived in Tuscaloosa there was a railroad nearby, and the sound of trains in the night became a real comfort after a time. Know what I mean?"

"Look, Pedicab Gramp, I have the same thing in my neighborhood here in Charleston. In the night I hear gunshots, bang bang bang and then a voice holler out, 'You better get out of here mother fucker.' It gives me real comfort to know everything is normal, and I can roll over and go back to sleep."

On the Saturday before Easter, Charleston has the annual Easter Hat Parade. Garden-club type ladies, with big hats, walk a few blocks from Broad Street to this big house on East Battery, get a little tipsy and make good customers for PCM. I guess stupid hats get a free ride because I charge them our regular fare.

Click on picture to get a better view of the party.

First grandbaby, Keeley Steen Short, born a few days ago, weight 8 pounds 7 oz. and 21" long. Ain't she pretty? She is also a very good baby who let her mom and dad get a good night's sleep her first day home. Geez Louise! At the grand old age of 50 , after helping raise 3 daughters, Anne tries to give me instructions on how to hold a baby. Like how much could holding a baby change over the years?

I caught this hung over Irishman in my cab today [the red eyes were a dead give away]. I would have thrown him out on his ass but he owns the cab. So I took him for a ride and lunch. We drank water and tea at lunch but wait till the 5 PM Irish rule; we'll be on beer, wine and vodka and off the cab.



Pictured is Nick Herron co-owner of Charleston Pedicab.

Click on pictures for better view, it's worth the effort.

These guys sell sweetgrass flowers. During one of our many wars, ladies use to weave these flowers from long grass blades, let them dry out and paint the petals for the boys in uniform. A few years ago some entrepreneuring kid started making and selling them on the street. It's become a nice little cottage industry. These little guys --12 and 13 years old-- gave me five bucks to carry them from the Market to the Battery, so they can sell the flowers. They say it takes about one minute to make a flower and this one branch will make about $40 worth of product. Since they let me take their picture, I gave them the five bucks back. I had to work hard to get them to smile a little for the picture almost had to tell a stupid pedicab joke.

Scooter met Bandit, the Raccoon, last night. She was at home with her two live-in house guests, Raccoon Lady, and Max, the Wonder Dog.

When we were in the car headed home after the visit, I turned to Scooter and said, "Wasn't that a wonderful and genteel evening?"

Scooter growled at me and said, "Genteel! Are you out of your f---ing mind? That so-called raccoon is a RAT. A rat with an ass as big as Kansas. Still had on the prison uniform from her escape from Rat Hell. Did you see the bitch climb up on the mantel, lay on her back and look at me with those glowing eyes? For crying out loud she was upside down putting the stare on me! I'll be shaking for two friggin' months.

"Yeah, all you could do was shake and growl, but didn't you like Max the Wonder dog?" I asked.

"He's not a bad sort, but the big oaf kept drooling on me."

"Well then what about the Raccoon Lady?"

"Look, Jimbo, let's face it, they're all whacked."

"Cool. You know how I like weirdo, whacked folks."

Picture is of rally at Marion Square, either to support or not to support the new immigration bill in Congress. When I asked people if they were for it or against it, all I got was, "No hablo inglés."

PCM is for opening the border with Mexico. If you're not in favor, take this test:
1. Take one live chicken, wring it's neck (you can use the optional chopping off of the head here, but the bird definitely needs to be dead before the next step).
2. Dip the headless bird in nearly boiling water for a couple minutes (you'll just love the smell of step two).
3. Pull off all the feathers. Are you getting used to the stink yet?
4. Open up body cavity. In time, you'll learn that a hatchet and very sharp knife work best for this step.
5. Clean out body cavity. Are you getting used to this new smell? Yes, the white stuff is chicken shit.
6. Pull out a butcher chart of a chicken and chop into appropriate parts.
7. Dig hole, bury head, body cavity stuff, and feet. (If you're doing a bird for me, just bury the whole damn thing.)

Remember, the next time you're chewing on a chicken wing that some little brown guy pulled the feathers off those dimple spots you'er sucking on.

The PCM helped Raccoon Lady with a rescue of 5 little kits [baby raccoons] found on James Island. Two were just days old and three were a few weeks. Let me tell you, these little guys can be a handful, and being a mama coon is hard work. Of the two who were days old, one was in bad shape and this little brother didn't make it--there were tears in the night. We figure it's better to die in a warm hand than on the cold ground, so maybe there was some good done even in a lost cause. After little brother left, the little sister had to be held. Otherwise, she cried, and it ain't possible to sleep with a crying coon in the house. It's also hard to sleep with a moving ball of fur on your chest, but you can't be mad at a poor girl who lost her mom and brother on the same day. All four survivors are safe and sound at St. George facility of Keeper of the Wild. Pictured is one of the older guys.

My mom's friend Francesca thinks I'm a pig. She is a smart lady. She put a scarf around my neck so I won't eat my ears.

Big time pedicab business this weekend starting with the 40,000 runners here for the Bridge Run. Right out of the box on Saturday morning a couple of bridge-run refugees had to get to Big John's Tavern in a hurry. They were dancing in the street before noon at Big John's. I picked up one girl at the finish line who wanted to go five blocks back down Calhoun. We had to ride about four miles to get around the streets that were shut off (she gave me $20 bucks). By 10 a.m. there were still thousands walking towards the finish. Lots of tired puppies needing a ride--we kicked ass.

At 10:30 I had a two-hour ride with some locals and their out-of-town guests. Nice people, who really enjoyed the ride. It's great to haul around folks who have plenty of money and think $50 per hour is a deal. Beats those tight wads from New England. At 2:00 p.m. I had another one-hour ride with a lady and her granddaughter who live on Church Street. I got a lot of local gossip on this ride. The PCM loves gossip.

Later, I led a group of five cabs [pictured above] for the Young Wedding at 4:45. We milked 1.5 hours out of this gig, which turned out to be mostly sitting around. In a three-day period I'll bet I made $200 off the Young Wedding--all nice people from New Jersey. Funny how they were complaining about the loud mouth, horn honkers from New York moving over to Jersey. Go figure........