Best night ever

And there was I all happy and stuff because my son started work last week. Three days later he quit, all because his boss was an A1 prick. From the first moment Michael entered the garage his boss was angry. He never cheered up once. The second day proved to be the best as they shared a bit of banter but by Wednesday he was hurling full scale abuse and insults at my poor boy who is simply not used to being treated that way. He rang me in tears of rage for advice during his lunch break. I told him to go have it out with the crazy man. He texted to say it was all sorted but within and hour he was back on the phone saying he was at it again, worse than ever. I told him to get his tool box and wait for me outside the garage. At that point I trapped a job to Heathrow (my first in ages) and the traffic was solid all the way there. He had to wait an hour and a half for me outside that garage. The boss and his daughter, who was also nasty to him, walked past a few times and never spoke a word to him. It was probably for the best. It baffles me as to why they hired him at all.

I had my best day ever yesterday. Over the last week I’d had a few days off and had failed to check my diary to see what bills were due. I suddenly realized that pot-loads of money needed to be earned to meet payments today. I started at around midday on Sunday. Traffic was light and there was plenty of work at all the stations. Within a couple of hours I had already made my first hundred and it was at this point that I went home to feed the hoard. Some of us had steak pie and chips and the others had pork chops and chips. I watched the Newcastle Bolton game on TV and was feeling extremely tired but knowing if I went upstairs for a lie-down it would be fatal I got up and went straight out to work. It was still mega-busy out there. One in, one out everywhere. By midnight I was £10 short of £300 and was making my way home when four lovely ladies flagged me down on Tower Bridge and asked me if I fancied a long ride out into “the sticks”. I was really tired by this time but knew this ride would really help the cause. They asked for an approximate price to Hatton, Datchet and finally to Langley. After a quick bit of mental calculation I came up with a price of “at least £80”. They seemed ok with that and all piled in. Can somebody please tell me what it is that makes women able to talk incessantly for hours on end? These women never stopped. In the end all the sounds sort of merged and sounded like hens in a coup. The one to Hatton got out first and the noise level dropped a tad. As I dropped another off in Datchet the meter was already above £80 and an uncomfortable silence set in. I started preparing an answer for the inevitable question, the question of why it was more than the price I’d quoted. Although the meter decides what the final price will be some people like to know more or less before the journey starts. I can sometimes quote them to the penny or in the case of longer jobs out to the suburbs I can get it terribly wrong. They never asked me why but the atmosphere was tense. As I dropped of the final two in Langley the meter clicked up to £107. There was a bit of silent debate in the back whilst the money was being found but finally it was all handed over and they got out without saying a thank you or goodnight. Was I bothered?

Total for the night was £397 and the best night’s work I’ve ever done in all my seventeen years behind the wheel.