A Gambling Tip for the Common Man

A friend of mine operates a website/blog named Johnny Wraith Stories (link on sidebar). This is where he posts his fiction stories, allows others to post their stories, receives comments on his stories, and comments others stories. The other day he posted a question about gambling.

Here's Johnny's question:

So, is there a trick to win at slots? For instance, if I have $100, do I just put it on any machine and hit MAX BET until I am out or rich, or do I switch from machine to machine based on some algorithm, or do I limit my bets based on results, or what?

Maybe because I'm closer to Johnny that the average person, I understood that it was a joke question designed to "stir up the pot." He does this from time to time, just to see if any responses might generate story ideas. Some people obviously didn't get the joke. Some called Johnny stupid, while others implored him to invest his money more wisely.

I liked my answer the best. But then again, I'm an egomaniac. For your enjoyment, or disgust, here's what I said:

Johnny,

If you're going to throw your money away on gambling anyway, the best way to obtain maximum benefit and enjoyment from a one hundred dollar bill is follow this simple, five-step process:

1. Take your hundred-dollar bill, go to a nice restaurant, have a forty dollar meal, leave ten for a tip, and insist you get your change in the form of a single fifty-dollar bill. Go home. Maybe listen to some soft music, or put in a DVD. Relax until you hear the call of nature.

2. Answer the call, taking along the fifty-dollar bill, and one of those resealable sandwich bags. Sit down on the throne, relax, and let nature take its course. Meanwhile, pull out the fifty, and examine it closely. Look at the intricate design formed by the engraved plate upon the paper. Leave no detail unexamined. Commit it to memory. Consider how you exchanged one piece of paper, similar to the fifty, for a meal, and received a different piece of paper in return, and how absurd this course of action would appear to an African Bushman. When you are finished doing your business, instead of toilet paper, use the fifty. Be careful: it's smaller, and rougher. It will get the job done, if you're patient. When your ass is clean, place the fifty in the sandwich bag, very carefully sealing the bag. Stand up, buckle up, and wash up.

3. Go down to the nastiest part of town, and find the dirtiest, grungiest, smelliest hobo you can. Give him the fifty, safely secured in the sandwich bag, telling him he can only use the bill to buy himself a nice dinner. Drive him to the restaurant where you had dinner. Recommend his courses to him; remind him which wines would be appropriate. Tell him to tell the waitress to "keep the change."

4. Go home and consider how this whole process is a metaphor for life. It's how shit gets passed down.

5. Laugh until you cry.

I did.

-----

Drive a cab for more than a few months, and you may find this to be your attitude towards life. Though I resist, sometimes it is for me.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

PS - I highly recommend going to Johnny's website. It's a hoot. There's a link on the sidebar.

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Flat Rates and a Newbie Lawyer

In the cab world, generally, when you work the really, really late hours, your customer base is radically different from the daytime sort. They tend to be wackier. That's why I prefer to work when the sun is in the sky. It helps preserve my sanity.
Last Monday evening I stayed out late to have a little fun at the Lone Butte Casino, south of Chandler on the Gila River Indian Reservation. After being there about an hour and a half, and losing some of my hard earned scratch at the blackjack tables, I figured that it just wasn't my night, and decided to go home. I cashed in my remaining chips, said goodbye to some of the dealers I knew, and headed for the parking lot.

I had come to the casino directly after work, and so I had my cab with me. I usually have my cab with me when I'm not working, for two reasons. Firstly, I'd rather run up the miles on the company's car, rather than my own; and secondly, I can go to work at a moment's notice. I don't mean to imply that I'm tied to the job, far from it. But if a personal customer should call, and wanted to put fifty dollars in my pocket for an hour of my time, then I wanted to be able to jump on it.

Anyway, I got into my cab, started it up, and began the thirty-minute drive back to my house. Just for laughs, I turned on the computerized dispatch system, just in case there were any calls close by. As luck would have it, there was a call between the casino and my house, about five miles away. I went ahead and bid on it, and received it.

"Cool," I thought, "I'll be able to recoup a little of my losses, then go home."

It took me only about eight minutes to drive to the customer's house, but in that time he called the dispatcher two times to check on my ETA. Not a good sign. At least I knew he still wanted a cab. But he was very impatient. Impatient people can be a handful of work, to say the least. I really didn't want to deal with any kind of crap from this guy. I hadn't even met him, and I already didn't like him.

Arriving at the pickup address, "Peter" was standing outside, practically hopping up and down on one foot. I really hoped he didn't have to pee! Rolling down the window, I asked him the obvious:

"Are you Peter?"

"Sure am!"

Peter started to get into the car, and without even giving me his destination address, asked me the most insulting question you can ever ask a cabbie:

"Will you give me a flat rate of forty dollars?"

My usual response to the flat rate inquiry is a resounding, "NO!" But he had stated a dollar amount, without a drop address; maybe the fare would be less than forty. I had to check before saying no.

"Well, where do you want to go?"

"Bell Road and Tatum Boulevard."

"Sorry, no, that's about a fifty dollar fare."

"Well, you should do it for forty dollars, 'cause I'm a big tipper!"

"Yeah, I know all about those big tips. As a matter of fact, I can feel you trying to put your big tip in my bunghole. It's a fifty dollar fare, and if you want to go, then I want the money up front!"

"I'll pay you when we get there!"

"No, you'll pay me here, or you'll never get there. Let's not even start the whole 'don't you trust me?' debate, because, after you started our relationship with the whole flat rate issue, no I don't trust you. Pay up, or get out!"

Not very appealing customer service, I know, but he wasn't a very appealing customer. And I was on a bit of a short fuse. Trust me, you had to be there. But after a few more seconds of verbal sparring, Peter finally gave me a hundred dollar bill as a surety against the fare. I turned on the meter, and we were off.

As it turned out, Peter, although he was a little drunk, was an okay guy. I say this even after finding out he was a lawyer. His idea of a compliment was to call me the biggest prick he had ever met. I didn't take offense, because coming from a lawyer, it is indeed praiseworthy to be a considered a prick. Plus, he told me up front that he considered being called a prick to be a compliment, so he thought he was being complimentary.

I told him I wasn't offended; he'd know right away if he ever stepped over the line with me.

"How so?", he asked.

"I'll pull over and let you walk. With no refund."

"My God, I so admire you! You are the biggest prick I've ever met, maybe could ever hope to meet!"

Are you starting to get the picture of what late night customers can be like?

"Well, Peter, you're not so bad yourself. But you need to work on your prick skills, 'cause frankly, you suck at it. I know of at least half a dozen lawyers with better fare negotiation skills than you have. Hell, at least two of them would have convinced me that not only should I pay the fare, but I should give them thirty-three percent of the action to boot. You've got a ways to go, kiddo. But I mean that as a compliment!"

"It didn't seem so complimentary to me."

Yeah, but it was okay for him to call me a prick, just because he thought calling someone a prick was a compliment.

"And by the way, cut me some slack on the negotiating thing, will ya? I passed the bar exam, but haven't even been admitted yet. I'm still learning."

"Fair enough."

Well, we had a pretty nice conversation for the thirty minutes or so it took to get him to his destination. And I really did begin to like Peter, even though he was a lawyer. He had a good, solid, if somewhat drunk and narcissistic, head on his shoulders. He probably will make a pretty good lawyer someday.

Pulling up to Peter's destination, the meter showed fifty dollars and fifty cents. I decided to cut him a little slack.

"Well, the fare is fifty dollars. You gave me a hundred, I owe you fifty."

"No, just go ahead and give me forty. Keep ten for yourself. I told you I was a big tipper."

"And so you are. Never doubted it for a moment!"

And so he was. It certainly was how odd, though. After all, he tried to cut his fare, and my wage, by twenty percent; but having failed in that endeavor, he tipped me to the tune of twenty percent. I'll never figure out people and their money issues.

As Peter exited the cab, I gave him my card, saying,

"Call me anytime. Hell, I might even give you a flat rate next time!"

"Hey," he said, "I take back everything I said about you being a prick. You're a hell of a nice guy!"

"Just joking, Peter. I never cut my fares for anyone. It hurts the wallet way too much. But thanks for calling me a nice guy! It means a lot to me, coming from a newbie lawyer."

"Prick!", he exclaimed, while laughing. "Thanks for the ride, I really enjoyed it!"

"They always do," I thought. "They always do!"

See what I mean about the overnight customer base? You just never know what you're going to get.

Thanks for stopping by.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

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The Scabbie Cabbie

Hey, how are you doing? I'm glad to see you! Hop in, let's go for a ride. Don't worry about the meter: this one's on me.

The company that I work for has a contract with the local Greyhound Bus Station for one of its brands (I'll just refer to this brand as XYZ Cab) to be the exclusive supplier for on-site cab service. What this means is that any driver of an XYZ Cab, if driving a properly authorized XYZ Cab unit, and in possession of a special ID, may sit on the cab stand at the Greyhound Bus Station, and wait in line for customers. All these conditions must be met in order for the driver to wait on the stand. If for some reason he forgot his ID, or doesn't have one in the first place, he may not be there, even if driving an XYZ Cab. Drivers of the company's other brands may not use the stand. Likewise, drivers from other companies may not use the stand.

As a matter of fact, if they're not "stand qualified" they may not even be on the property at all, unless dropping someone off; in this event, they must leave as soon as their passenger exits the cab. If, in the event that a Greyhound customer calls another company to pick them up, that driver may enter the property in order to pick up that particular customer, but must then promptly leave.

Greyhound, because they own the property, has the right to control who has casual access to their property and customers, and dictate the terms of cab driver qualifications. They recognize that some people may not like XYZ CAB, so of course, those people have the option of using other brands, if they initiate the call. I think this is a good system. XYZ Cab is one of the largest brands in the Phoenix market, and one of the most reputable. We who are stand-qualified drivers self-police the activities of ourselves, and others who may attempt to circumvent the rules of the site. We do this to protect our company's investment in their partnership with Greyhound, and to ensure a high-quality level of service. Our drivers, on average, have not just good, but excellent, driving records; our cabs are properly licensed and insured; and our cars are maintained to very high standards. I wish the same could be said of every other cab company in the Phoenix Metro market, but it can't.

I happen to think that the customer has the right to choose any cab company they wish. If not mine, fine - bust out a quarter for the phone, and call some other company. Just remember, that other company that charges twenty or thirty cents less per mile may not maintain its cabs as well as we do. Or carry proper insurance. Or ensure that they have safe drivers. When the newspapers report problems in the taxi industry, our company is typically not named as having any violations (usually, any noted violations are minor ones), and is routinely held up, with another large company, as a model of the industry.

That's what your extra twenty cents per mile buys: safety and reliability. And more than that: a certain level of security. Some of the "scab cabs" that try to sneak in are even cabs at all. They're just private cars owned by private drivers, who may not even have valid driver's licenses, or even any kind of insurance, let alone a proper level of coverage.

So why did I bring all of this up? To provide some background, context if you will, for the real story: The Scabbie Cabbie.

This last Sunday afternoon, I was first in line down at the Greyhound, waiting for a fare. To help prevent scab cab "scooping" (which is when an unauthorized cab attempts to steal a fare), the first guy in line parks his cab right in front of the door. (Up to an additional three other cabs may park about twenty-five yards away in specially marked spaces.) So there I am, waiting for the opportunity to make a little scratch, when I notice a cab from another company (which has had numerous Weights and Measures violations) parked at the far end of the lot. This is absolutely unacceptable, but I'm not one to jump froggy right off. I flashed my lights at him several times, waited a minute, and flashed my lights again, thinking that he'd realize that he'd been spotted, take the hint, and hit the road. He didn't.

Generally, I would have preferred to let the Greyhound security officer deal with the infraction, so that it wouldn't look personal, but I couldn't find him. So I walked over to the other driver, to remind him he couldn't stay on the lot, whatever the reason. (Now that I think of it, this last isn't strictly true: it is possible that a cabbie might bring someone to the station to pick up some baggage, or a friend; that customer would then exit the cab, conduct their business, and then get back in the same cab and leave. If this was the case, the driver would leave his meter on to show what he was doing. If anyone complained, all he'd have to do would be to go get his customer, and have that person confirm his story.) I noticed that he was on his cell phone, but his meter was not turned on. To be polite, I waited for him to finish his call, then I started to talk.

"You know you can't stay here, don't you?"

"Fist-you, I'll do what I want. I dropped a guy off here, and I'm waiting to see if he can get a ticket," the scabbie cabbie says to me. "I have the right to drop people off, or pick them up if they call me!"

Two things here. In the first place, I didn't appreciate that the very first word out of his mouth was "Fist." But I maintained my cool. In the second place, unless the ticketing machines are broken, you can always get a ticket. As a matter of fact, this is true even if the machines are broken: Greyhound staff will hand-write a ticket if need be. So this was a pathetic lie: I know the guy isn't coming back. But I maintained my cool.

"Of course you're absolutely correct on those points," I reply. (I actually did phrase it that way. Sometimes I'm subject to "putting on airs.") "The problem is, you dropped him off, and until, and if, he calls you back, you have to leave. I know you know this. Please leave the property, and wait off site for his call."

He has to leave: it's not just a dumb rule. This is to prevent people from just walking up to him, whom he can then claim as "the customer I just dropped off." Besides Greyhound wants it this way, and, like I said, that's their right.

"Fist you, you can't tell me what to do. I go where I want, and do what I want! Now just take your fat ass back to your cab, and leave me alone.

Again with the F-bomb, and a personal attack. Now it's on!

"Okay, fine, I'll just have security handle this, you immature, foul-mouthed little child."

I turned to walk away. He started his car, and proceeded to leave the lot, but I guess he couldn't resist a parting shot.

"Fat Ass!"

Okay. It's true, I have a fat ass. I don't deny it. I'm not proud of it, but it doesn't really bother me. The way I see it, if you know I have a fat ass, it meant you looked at my fat ass. Like they say in show business: a bad review is still a review!

"Thanks for noticing. I appreciate it!," was my parting shot.

You might think that would be the end of it, but if you've read any of my other stories, you know it isn't.

As luck would have it, I immediately secured a fare, and left the property, turning right onto the street, and then moving over to make a left turn. Scabbie Cabbie was several cars ahead. He must have noticed me, because after making the turn, he moved into the right hand lane, and let me pass him on the left. I expected an uncomplimentary remark as I passed, but didn't get one. After I passed, he pulled in behind me. I could guess what he was doing, and you probably can, too, especially if you know, as some of you do, that the phone number of the company complaint line is pasted on my rear bumper.

Within a few minutes, my dispatcher asked me to call the Road Supervisor. The coincidence was exquisite. It had to be about the scabbie cabbie. I was not disappointed.

After informing me of the complaint, in which the other driver characterized his own behavior as polite, and mine as foul-mouthed and out of control, he asked if I had any response.

So I told him my side of the story. You know what I mean: the truth.

Well, of course he believed me, and told me not to worry about it.

"I figured it was something like that," he said. "But I have to investigate every complaint, even if on the face of it, it smells fishy. You did absolutely the right thing. Just do it that way every time, and we'll be able to keep things under control down there!"

The final score at the end of the game? Your Cab Guy: 1; Scabbie Cabbie: 0!

A win always feels good.

Well, here we are, back where I picked you up. Now you know why the ride was free: you didn't actually get anywhere!

Thanks for listening, please exit on the curbside, and I hope that you have a nice day!

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

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Get Rich Quick

Hello again, Gentle Reader. A couple of days ago, I was sent this e-mail, purportedly from The Desk of: Mr. Kim Chun, offering me the opportunity to earn almost ten million dollars. What would I have to do to earn this windfall? Well, why don't you just read the e-mail yourself.

I have not modified Kim Chun's e-mail in anyway, and (except for line-width: my blog is narrower than his e-mail, which got "scrunched-up") have left all errors of spelling, grammar, and formatting intact:

FROM THE DESCK OF: MR. KIM CHUN

HANG SENG BANK LTD.
Shop 1110-1011, G/F,
Yiu Sing Mansion,
14 Taikoo Shing Road
EMAIL: kimchun2@gmail.com

I am Mr. Kim Chun, Manager, foreign operations dept of the Hang Seng Bank
Ltd, Taikoo Shing Branch. I have an obscured business suggestion
for you. Before the U.S and Iraqi war our client Colonel Sadiq Uday who was
with the Iraqi forces and also a business man made a numbered fixed deposit
for
18 calendar months, with a value of Nineteen Millions Five Hundred Thousand
United State Dollars only, in my branch. Upon maturity several notices was
sent
to him during and after the war with out any response from him.

We later find out that the Colonel and his family where killed during the
war in a bomb blast that hit their home. After further investigation it was
also discovered
that Colonel Sadiq Uday did not declare any living next of kin in his
official papers including the paper work of his bank deposit. And he also
confide in me the
last time he was at my office that no one except me knew of his deposit in
my bank. So, Nineteen millions Five Hundred Thousand United State Dollars is
still
lying in my bank and no one will ever come forward to claim it.

What bothers me most is that according to the banking laws of my country at
the expiration 5 (Five) years the funds will reverts to the ownership of the
Hong
Kong Government if nobody applies to claim the funds. Against this
backdrop, my suggestion to you is that I will like you as a foreigner to
stand as the next of
kin to Colonel Sadiq Uday so that you will be able to receive his funds.

WHAT IS TO BE DONE?

I want you to know that I have had everything planned out so that we shall
come out successful. I have contacted an Attorney that will prepare the
necessary
documents that will back you up as the next of kin to Colonel Sadiq Uday,
all which is required from you at this stage is for you to provide me with
your Full Names,
Address and telephone number so that the Attorney can commence his job.
After you have been made the next of kin, the Attorney will also fill in for
claims on
your behalf and secure the necessary approval and letter of probate in your
favor for the move of the funds to an account that will be provided by you.

There is no risk involved at all in the matter as we are going to adopt a
legalized method and the Attorney will prepare all the necessary documents.
Please
endeavor to observe utmost discretion in all matters concerning this issue.
Once the funds have been transferred to your nominated bank account the
sharing
ratio will be 50-50, though, open for negotiation be you.

Should you be interested please send me your full names and current
residential address and I will prefer you reach me on my private email
address below
kimchun2@gmail.com . I shall provide you with more details of this
operation after I get the requested information from you.

Your earliest response to this letter will be appreciated.

Kind Regards

Mr. Kim Chun.

Well, Gentle Readers, what should I do? This offer is certainly tempting on it's face. I'm sure that Mr. Chen has only the purest of motives on my behalf, as evidenced by his willingness to allow all of the money to be deposited in my back account, before he gets his due share. Why, he's even willling to negotiate how we share the proceeds, though he does suggest a fifty-fifty split.

And it certainly makes sense that he would ask for all my private residential information, as he will need it in order that he may send me any necessary doccuments for my signature.

But I wanted to be absolutely certain that this was on the up-and-up, so I Googled "HANG SENG BANK LTD." to see if it really existed.

It does. HANG SENG BANK LTD. comes up first on Googles search engine, one of over a million entries with variation on the phrase HANG SENG BANK LTD.

I didn't bother to go the the first entry, as I was more interested in the second entry, which I have linked HERE.

If you read the information on the linked page, you might come away with the impression, as I did, that Mr. Cheung Pui ranks higher up in the hiearchy of the Hang Seng Bank, Ltd., as he has found an account with an even greater stash of loot.

Which leads me to ask several questions:

Should I curb my greed, just accept Mr. Chun's offer, and be content?

Should I contact both Mr. Chun and Mr. Pui, work with them both, thereby earning even greater wealth?

Should I decline both offers, knowing that with riches such as these I would probably discontinue driving my cab, thereby making this blog irrelevant, which would deprive you, my loyal readers, of the great joy you obtain by reading my words of wisdom?

Or should I just remember something that my mother taught me: "If it seems to good to be true, it probably is!"

What should I do?

What would you do?

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

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