Dogs and Drunks

As Arthur Dent once said in the HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy, "I just never could get the hang of Thursdays."

This last Thursday was one of those Thursdays. I was to take our stretch limousine and pick up a couple in Fremont and take them to Carmel-by-the-Sea. A lovely day for a lovely drive and the Giants were playing and I could stream them on my smart phone with client-proof ear buds. I was excited.

I showed up at their high end hotel and waited. No sign of them. Finally, a cab pulls up and a drunk literally falls out onto the pavement and without spilling his beverage, he gets himself up, brushes himself off, looks over to me and announces, "Oh, you must be my limo! Let me get the little woman."

With drink in hand, he disappears into the hotel, in such a big-lebowskian way that I'm sure, the "Dude" would have abided.

He comes out alone 15 minutes later with several pieces of luggage that I load into the trunk. He reeks of tobacco. He turns to me and announces, "We have dogs."

Ok, I think. It's a 2 hour drive to Carmel on a hot day with drunks and dogs. I'm thinking this won't end well.

He comes back a minute later with a white toy poodle whom I'm introduced to as the Mama Poodle. He then tells me they've been at this hotel for 30 days and I do the quick math: minimum of $250 per night times 30 is at least $7,500. They've been here so Papa Poodle could have doggy chemotherapy which must not have been successful as they now have Papa Poodle's ashes that they're transporting to Carmel for a doggy ash spreading ceremony on the beach.

He disappears back into the hotel and soon, the wife shows up, relatively sober, but with a bottle of champagne, one glass and with Puppy Poodle in tow.

We're finally loaded after an hours wait and I head south to Carmel.

The drunk husband passes out and she plays on her iPhone. The dogs sleep. The Giants are playing and I'm enjoying thru ear buds. The Universe is in balance.

South of San Jose, he wakes up and the wife starts yelling at him for being such a sloppy drunk. Soon it's fisticuffs in the back seat. My eyes are on the mirror, the Giants are forgotten and I'm listening to determine how bad the fight will be. So far, she's giving and he's taking. She's ahead on points on all scorekeeper's cards. I keep on driving.

I'm just waiting for it to get bad enough to intervene and then drop them all by the roadside. Good bye, good luck and good riddance.

He escapes to the front portion of the stretch, out of reach of her pounding fists and it all settles back into a dull roar.

Momma Poodle now decides that she, too, has had enough of them both. She jumps thru the partition and onto the front seat. With me.

She explores a while and comes to the conclusion that I'm a whole lot nicer than the drunks in the back. She then settles down on my lap and soon we're the best of friends for the rest of the trip.