Extracts from a Chauffeur's Journal

The Lime Green Turban (part 2 from A Chauffeur's Journal)

The sales staff at the Abercrombie and Fitch store on Oxford Street thought I was insane.

“Yes sir, we have plenty of different t-shirts with Abercrombie inked on”.

“No” I said, “I just want an Abercrombie”

“All our products have Abercrombie written somewhere sir, it is part of our brand” was the reply.

“I want an actual Abercrombie,” I shouted down the phone.

“But sir, everything is actually Abercrombie, we are the actual designer store!”

And so it went on, all because my new boss had told me to buy something I'd never heard of.

 It was extremely difficult to obtain the relevant insurance documents that Neville required, as I didn’t own the car. I had borrowed it from a friend when I arrived. However twenty-five years in Sales, Marketing and Bullshit eventually won the day. So I had my licence, insurance, and new black suit. Common sense finally won overand the light came on,  I bought a medium length black coat; an Abercrombie apparently. I arrived back at Precision Cars office on time and suitably attired and substantially poorer!

 Neville met me at the door of the office to check over my car. Although new in the industry, I had the foresight to clean the vehicle. He was happy and we went into the dinghy office to meet the controllers and other members of staff. The Gypsy Queen’s name was Daniella and she had been in the business for years. It seemed she new everything there was to know, and turned out to be my teacher and friend. The next person I met was Mitch; he looked like he had just gotten back from Woodstock. He had an earring and a flowery shirt, medium length greying hair and had a clipped English accent. He was also a controller (whatever that was) and was Danielle’s assistant. Next came a co coordinator, yeah I know! Job creation or what!! Then there was Albie, who was on his way home. Albie was the night manager and had just finished his shift. He was about fifty and balding, rotund with yellow nicotine stained fingers. He welcomed me with a vigorous handshake and a friendly grin saying “I’ll talk to you tonight”. Then he was gone.

 What followed was a conversation about me as if I wasn’t there.

“Let him go to the BP garage at Hammersmith and wait.” Daniella said to Neville.

“No, it’s difficult to get to as it is on a dual carriageway.” He replied.

Yes but he’s got to work it out somehow, it’s a good holding area and it’s ideal for the gyratory and for Heathrow and Fulham.” She said

“Send him around the back of the hospital and he’ll find it.” Mitch piped up.

“Look” said Daniella “there’s a job here picking up from the Disney building going to Heathrow. He can do that and then help with that two car job at T4 later”

T4, gyratory, holding area, shit! What ‘am I doing here? I thought.

 Neville handed me a name board and a receipt book and then scrawled a diagram on a piece of paper and muttered, “if you found your way here, you’ll find this place. It’s a large garage on the way out of London, near Hammersmith. Hang around there until we call you”.

“Ok” I said and headed for my car.

 I found the garage quite easily, after a convoluted trip around the back of a hospital. Charing Cross hospital in Fulham! Yeah, go figure. This is one of the many confusing things about London; places weren’t where they should be. Just to make life difficult for me they put Hammersmith Hospital in Shepherds Bush and Chelsea Football Club on Fulham High Street.

 The first job came in via my mobile phone, Mitch was chattering in my ear.

“Go to the Disney building and take a Mr. Smythe to terminal 3. Call us when you get there”.

“Ok, where is it and what time should I be there?” I asked.

“It’s the middle of the Hammersmith Gyratory, The building is shared with Coca Cola. Turn left out of the garage, down the slip round and you’re on the Gyratory, circle the building on your right and your there. Go now.” The phone went dead. More confusion.

I set of and quickly realised that the directions Mitch had given me were spot on. The building was in fact circular and incorporated a shopping centre and a tube station below ground. Above ground, the building was circular, half being Coke and the other half, Disney. There was a small waiting area, so I parked the car and went to reception to ask for my first passenger. He was waiting for me in the foyer; I led him out to the car, put his bag in the boot and opened the rear passenger door for him. I had already noticed signs for Heathrow on route, so at least I set off in the right direction. The way to the airport is well signposted so I dropped Mr. Smythe at terminal 3 without any problem and phoned the office.

 I was in trouble as soon as the phone was picked up and I’d identified myself. Mitch’s voice was in my ear again.

“You didn’t call me p.o.b.” he said.

“What”

‘You must call p.o.b. Anyway go to terminal 4, you will see one of our drivers with a Precision Cars name board.  You will be meeting 7 passengers between you. Take them to The Park Lane Hilton”.

The phone went dead again. I decided this guy must have been smoking something that killed the manners cells in his brain, and what was p.o.b?

In the massive Arrivals Hall at terminal 4, were probably 40 individuals in dark suits with name boards and mobile phones. They were standing alongside a barrier, which formed a walkway for arriving passengers. I started to read the various company names on the boards looking for one saying Precision Cars, and there it was, at the end of the line a few feet away from the rest.

The person holding the board was about 6’ tall with broad shoulders, goatee beard and moustache. He was wearing a black suit and wrapped around his head was a Lime Green Turban. He resembled a cross between Sadam Hussein and one of Ali Baba’s thieves. He was truly an awesome sight.

I walked up to him, offered my hand and said “Hello I’m Pete, just joined the company”.

“17” he replied.

“17 what?” I asked.

“It’s my number.”

So that’s how it’s going to be, we are just numbers, great, had I been given a number? I couldn’t recall; But I decided there and then I wouldn’t just be a number, I would not be stereotyped, I would be different! Yeah, right.

The passengers arrived and 4 of them were brave enough to get into Ali Baba 17’s car. The other three came with me. I only knew that the hotel was on one side of the Monopoly Board, so I stuck to the Turbanator like glue............

With my back to the river I can find Heathrow! (part 1 from A Chauffeur's Journal)

I arrived back in the UK after 30 years in Africa. London was the obvious place to settle, any further north and I’d be to cold. Besides I had a business to set up and run and London streets are paved with gold, right? Wrong! The streets are narrow, windy, potholed and certainly do not have any precious metal set in them. Business was handled differently here and the buyers had no time for a middleman, even if he gave them more options than they would normally have had. My business idea failed, I had no money, no job and a borrowed car.

 The Evening Standard had a small-classified section where I found some adverts for drivers, there were about twenty (these days you would be hard pressed to find five). I chose one at random and called the number. The voice that answered told me they were an Executive Chauffeuring Company and that I should come and see the Operations Manager. A time was set for the following day and I was given the address and some general directions.

 Next morning I jumped into the car and drove into the fray. My god! I had never seen so many cars in so many lanes travelling so quickly along a motorway called the M25. I had heard of this motorway; it is said to be 125miles in circumference and is the busiest ring road on the planet. I had heard a Greek tourist had circumnavigated it 6 times until noticed on a CCTV camera. When finally stopped by the police he told them he couldn’t find the end. I became immediately claustrophobic and a little paranoid, I had to keep my distance, keep my wits, watch my speed, not hog any particular lane, and keep a keen lookout for junction 16. Oh and I had to make sure I was going clockwise.

 Shortly after exiting junction 16, I came across a large intersection called Hanger Lane. This is a roundabout with 5 exits, everyone queued on the approaches and became grid locked once in the circle. After a delay of about 15 minutes navigating this mayhem, I was on my way again. After a few mistakes on some side roads I arrived at my destination, Precision Cars. It sounded more like an engineering shop for Grand Prix racing; in fact it was a glorified Mini-Cab or Taxi company.

The company was situated on a small industrial estate near Wembley in North West London, at the time it didn’t occur to be that I had come all the way from South London. Anyway I stepped into a small dank and dark office, four desks were set in a square facing each other two by two. Each desk had a computer monitor and a telephone on it and there was a person sat at each one chattering away. Beyond the desks were two offices, one occupied by a guy with long greasy hair and an Acne scarred face. He was wearing a bright orange t-shirt and black leather trousers. The second office was occupied by his mode of transport to and from work. A low slung, high handle barred Harley Davidson, Chrome backrest, Silver Fire Logo on orange fuel tank. The Works!

I am not sure what I’d expected when I entered the office, but the cacophony of ringing phones and heated conversation threw me. I just stood in the doorway agog. I couldn’t say anything as nobody would have heard me, and everyone was so engrossed in what they were doing no one noticed me immediately. As I was about to turn and run the woman at the desk nearest the doorway must have sensed my fear and looked round. “Hang on” she said into the mouthpiece of her phone. ‘Can I help you” she said to me. She was wearing a headscarf, bandana style and wire glasses; she was missing a few teeth, and the remaining ones were chipped and black. That song about a Gypsy Queen sprung to mind!

“Erm! Yes I hope so” I said nervously, “I have an appointment with Neville”

 “Office, over there” she replied rather abruptly, turning away and continuing her phone conversation before I could thank her.

 I entered Neville’s office without knocking because he had seen me walking over and waved me in, he was on the phone also. He pointed to a seat from an era way back. I sat and waited; didn’t they ever get off the phone in this place? Surely they would not have a business if the lines were stolen! Wait a minute your not in Africa now, that doesn’t happen here. You’ll be safe, no muggings no hi- jacking no theft, no power cuts, your in London now, I told myself.

 Neville finished his call leant over the desk and offered his hand. I took it, firm handshake, good start. He proceeded to tell me about the business, unaware that I was a total novice. “We have thirty five drivers and service some large corporate accounts and some high profile V.I.P. passengers,” he said. I managed to glean that by accounts he meant the likes of Coca Cola, Universal and a few investment banks. By V.I.P. he was talking celebrity and company director. He reeled of names I’d never heard of, but I didn’t let on. All of a sudden he said “any questions?”

 Yes, I thought, hundreds, but said “just two. I am very new to all this” sweeping my arm in a semi circle, “so where do we take these people? And as I don’t know London very well, will they direct me?”

 “We take them mainly to the airports and to meetings” he replied “and NO! They won’t direct you, but you found your way here on time, anyway we will teach you some routes, and get you used to things, client by client. Remember though, being on time is everything. He took a piece of paper from a pile on the desk and scribbled an address on it, then handed it to me. ”Pop up there with your vehicle log book and buy some private hire insurance, then come back tomorrow with your drivers licence and new insurance document and you can start work”.

 As an afterthought he said, “I assume you know where Heathrow is?”

“Yes” I lied, “I have a good sense of direction, I know east from west, put my back to the river and I’ll find it.” “Good” he said, “so tomorrow, come suited and booted and I’ll introduce you to the controllers, they are to busy now. See you then.”

I was wearing my best beige suit, so I asked “what do you mean suited and booted?”

“Dark blue or black suit, white shirt, and plain tie” he said.

So my tie with the letter W followed by an Anchor wasn’t suitable then!

“Oh and get an Abercrombie too” he called as I was closing the office door.

“Ok” I said, what on earth is an Abercrombie I wondered………….