In Edinburgh, the best business comes from drunks. Drunks want to have a good time. Drunks want to spend money. Drunk want to go somewhere else and get drunker. And drunks don’t’ know where they are exactly but they want to go home.
Not surprisingly, drunks can be a problem. Drunks can pass out in your cab before they tell you where they are going. Drunks might not have any money. Drunks can be violent or belligerent.
During my first busy Saturday in Edinburgh, I was approached by a gentleman wearing a white t-shirt covered in dried blood that was probably not his own. At that particular moment I was pedaling three women over North Bridge, which is a hard little hill. This gentleman demanded that I sell him two bottles of wine and when I said that I didn’t have any wine, he acted like I was discriminating against him. He left without taking a swing at me but I could have easily ended up covered in my own blood. My customers, three drunk ladies, didn’t help by taunting him as he started to leave.
Still, hills and drunks considered, I’d rather work in Edinburgh than in flat and mostly sober Houston where I spent the majority of last March during the Houston Rodeo and Concert Spectacular - shuttling people between Reliant Stadium and it’s giant parking lot. First, Houston is ugly and Edinburgh is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe with its castles and churches and miles of perfect Georgian townhouses. Secondly, Houston pedicabs work on tips meaning they are at the mercy of people’s generosity.
The tips average out to about $7 for rides that range between a quarter mile and a mile long. If you’re doing a lot of those in a row they add up. If you sit in line for an hour before getting a ride, you might as well be half asleep at a Dairy Queen till, particularly if somebody gives you $1.
As might be expected, a wealthier crowd typically tips better. At the Hannah Montana concert, it was common to see the wives of oil executives arrive with their pre-teen daughters and ten friends – all of them screaming out the windows of pink stretch hummers with portraits of Barbie painted on the doors. $20 plus tips were common that day. The flag-toting, flag-mating Toby Keith crowd wasn’t nearly so generous.
I say the tips averaged out because the $20 bills were balanced out by those who seemed aroused by the idea of 21st century slave labor (if you only make enough for food, clothing, and housing – you are a slave).
I believe the gold medal in this category went to my friend Tony Hamen. He picked up a couple that had just won a rib-eating contest. They had one of those giant 4’x2’ checks that read $2000 in the amount section. The ride was short but they’d just gotten paid a couple grand for gorging themselves and Tony figured he was in for a generous tip. He got two quarters and a dime.
You might say at least he got something. But getting $1 or less from somebody who has money is much worse than getting stiffed by somebody who has none. Getting $1 or less is just insulting. The taste stays with you even months later when some drunk Glaswegian plops down in your cab and demands you pedal him to London.