Karma. It can be good or bad, but the more I take notice, the better it is. The dollar I spent on a Mega Millions ticket didn't pay off last week, but another small investment I made did. Being out and about often, you come to know and recognize others who are "on the streets" often as well. That includes more homeless people than I'd ever expect to find in a city this size. All hours of the day, they sit, they walk, they strike up conversations with me. I see the same people pretty much every day and have gotten to know many of them by name.
One evening, I headed into a convenience store for a snack. Although I'm surrounded by dozens of delicious restaurants whose aromas taunt me as I ride through town, I try not to be tempted because I'd be spending money rather than earning it, and who wants to eat dinner alone? As I walked out of the store and headed back to my bike taxi, a woman (I'm trying to be politically correct but since I want to paint a picture of the scene, it was a man rocking an 80's style woman's haircut and wearing women's clothing) asked me for a dollar. I assume she was homeless because I've seen her a few times since then. I had already torn into the bag of Cheetohs I had bought, so feeling guilty that I was eating and she was not, I reached my bright orange Cheetohs covered fingers into my pocket and procured a dollar. She was appreciative and headed into the store too. Would she come out with Cheetohs and experience my sense of enjoyment as well, I wondered? I watched as she returned with a cigar. Not what I was expecting, but I didn't judge. I thought about what I'd spend a dollar on if I only had one. Guaranteed it wouldn't be a cigar, but to each her own.
A day or so later, I was at the farmer's market picking up some veggies. I only had seven dollars in cash but only needed a few things: garlic, sundried tomatoes, spinach, onions and cucumbers. I grabbed a melon because it's melon season and I knew it'd be nice and fresh. Well, that melon brought my total to eight dollars and rather than hold up the line while I fumbled for my debit card and changed my method of payment, I told the cashier to just put the melon back. A lovely woman behind me in line said, "Oh no! Give her the melon. Here ma'am, have a dollar." I really appreciated the offer, but my pride got the best of me and I felt guilty because I could have bought it with my debit card so I said, "No, thank you, I really don't need the melon." She insisted though and said if it felt more fair to me, I could give her one of the five garlic heads I had in my hand that came as a package. She only needed one, and there was no way I'd use five anytime soon, so I was happy to oblige. I smiled as I thought of the dollar I'd given away just a day earlier and knew that I'd just been the recipient of a karma melon. What goes around really does come around.
So reflecting back on the lottery drawing I didn't win. I understand comparing a melon with a winning lottery ticket is like comparing apples to oranges. But regardless, I believe it's karma in action. It's evident to me that if you share even just a little bit of kindness with others and take note of the small joys that you are the recipient of, you'll reap far more rewards than you may realize. Some may say they'd prefer a Mega Millions winning ticket, but I feel so lucky to have all the "melons" I've received in my life, whether it's actually a melon, or a phone call from a good friend sharing good news, or the enjoyment I get from a bag of Cheetohs. To me, all this is like winning the lottery over and over again.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The Little Bike that Couldn't. Until...
I'm one of those people who gets thoroughly frustrated when I can't do something. Especially when it's something I know I am capable of.
The plan was to shuttle luau-goers from a party, up about a 50-meter incline. Maybe a hill in some books, but not in mine. That is, until I was pulling a 200 pound bike cab and two very average sized women. I switched into the climbing gear and pedaled and pedaled. Slower and slower. And then, as I recall and would explain to other drivers, the gears slipped, the shocks bounced and me, the bike, the pedals and the two women stayed very very still. Seconds passed as I put every ounce I had into moving forward but was no more successful at it than the Statue of Liberty would be. Then my biggest fear was realized as we started rolling backwards. I was certain my tip was slipping away too. Luckily, the brakes worked, as did my very helpful colleague who jumped off his cab to pull one humiliated driver and two embarrassed passengers up what was seeming like Mount Everest.
Needless to say, with my inability to get up this hill, it was a rough night on my legs and I can't say my efforts were rewarded financially. I kept making excuses to myself and the bike boys, blaming the gears and the shocks. Eventually, I swallowed my pride and decided, being the wuss I'd convinced myself I was, to sit at the top and "help folks who were too tired from walking up the hill."
None of the guys gave me too much grief about it, to my face anyway, but one of them took the very same bike out the next night. I smiled inside when he told me he returned it to the shop immediately because it was too difficult to ride. Indeed the shocks were shot and the gears had some serious issues. I got that update and breathed a sigh of relief just before I had to haul two grown men up that very same hill on a different bike. Which I did with no problem.
Lesson learned: If you can't do something, try and try again. Then place the blame somewhere else, and cross your fingers your excuses are validated! I'm curious how often this method works...
The plan was to shuttle luau-goers from a party, up about a 50-meter incline. Maybe a hill in some books, but not in mine. That is, until I was pulling a 200 pound bike cab and two very average sized women. I switched into the climbing gear and pedaled and pedaled. Slower and slower. And then, as I recall and would explain to other drivers, the gears slipped, the shocks bounced and me, the bike, the pedals and the two women stayed very very still. Seconds passed as I put every ounce I had into moving forward but was no more successful at it than the Statue of Liberty would be. Then my biggest fear was realized as we started rolling backwards. I was certain my tip was slipping away too. Luckily, the brakes worked, as did my very helpful colleague who jumped off his cab to pull one humiliated driver and two embarrassed passengers up what was seeming like Mount Everest.
Needless to say, with my inability to get up this hill, it was a rough night on my legs and I can't say my efforts were rewarded financially. I kept making excuses to myself and the bike boys, blaming the gears and the shocks. Eventually, I swallowed my pride and decided, being the wuss I'd convinced myself I was, to sit at the top and "help folks who were too tired from walking up the hill."
None of the guys gave me too much grief about it, to my face anyway, but one of them took the very same bike out the next night. I smiled inside when he told me he returned it to the shop immediately because it was too difficult to ride. Indeed the shocks were shot and the gears had some serious issues. I got that update and breathed a sigh of relief just before I had to haul two grown men up that very same hill on a different bike. Which I did with no problem.
Lesson learned: If you can't do something, try and try again. Then place the blame somewhere else, and cross your fingers your excuses are validated! I'm curious how often this method works...
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Your leg is dirty
Let's get something straight. I'm not doing this job to get rich. If I wanted or needed loads of money, I would have stayed in the position I was in. I would make my Masters degree work for me. I would not be volunteering one day a week and I would not be working for free for a year and a half starting up a non-profit. Nor would I have contacted the owner of the bike taxi company and asked to work a few shifts a week for a few dollars a day.
So, to the former co-worker who pulled up to me in a work vehicle yesterday and said, "Really?? Really?? THIS is what you're doing. Ewww. Your leg is dirty!!!" Yes. Really. Really. I happen to enjoy the bike chain grease that looks like a cool tattoo on my leg. I'm sorry that you have to go back to your office and sit at your desk because obviously you are miserable. And no, I'm not saving for a vacation, I happen to enjoy doing what I do and am glad to earn a few bucks doing it. I feel sorry for anyone who can't say the same thing every minute of the day.
It's baffling to me the stigma that comes with taking a job like this. People have asked if I'm embarrassed, if my husband is embarrassed. Why would either of us be embarrassed? Thankfully, my husband loves me enough to want to see me happy. I'd be more embarrassed if he made me stay at a job that was not my passion. And quite frankly, Mr. Suit Finance guy I met last night, it's none of your business how we pay the bills. Maybe we don't live beyond our means and haven't been living beyond our means like the rest of America. You are not my financial advisor and after that comment, I don't think you ever will be.
Change of gears (no pun intended). Obviously this particular evening started off a little rough as I pondered how some folks just don't get it. But in no time, I was enjoying the company of wonderful people who were consuming culture, food and wine at the monthly gallery walk around town. I picked up a gentleman who had probably an hour long commute from one side of the river to the other and back each day. He made it there by way of bus, bike and foot. Every day. Today he paid a few bucks to shorten that commute and I learned his wife's name was the same as mine. I drove a group of girls my age around to the galleries and was touched when one ran back inside and came out with a cup of sangria just for me. It turned out to be a lovely evening.
Friday, August 20, 2010
First Day
I don't know why I'm writing this. Perhaps because I think one day someone may want to publish this and I'll be rich. Perhaps it's because I have a narcissistic need for everyone to know about what I'm doing on a daily basis. Or perhaps because I want to share the stories of individuals I meet on a daily basis because I find them unique, interesting or inspiring. After one day on the job, I've certainly met some characters.
I left a high-paying, account executive job less than a month ago. It was "sucking the life out of me," as another previous colleague put it. Although I know voices in your head are probably not the best advice to listen to, one kept telling me, life is too short to be wasting 40+ hours a week doing something you don't love. Money isn't everything, living life with passion and happiness are. I can't say with one hundred percent sincerity that driving a bike taxi started out as my passion, but it's one of several ways I thought I'd love spending my newly acquired free time.
After my brief orientation with the bike and riding around with some other drivers, I began to think, how can I make people want to ride with me? My husband is in sales and I used to be in sales, so we started brainstorming about what objections I'd receive when I asked people if they wanted a ride and what rebuttals I could use to overcome them. We both agreed, I needed to give people an experience on a bike cab, not just a ride. And I'd use humor to do it, like a cheesy tour guide on a double decker bus. I'd put on a show, using my stellar acting skills I'd perfected in high school drama club.
Just like we had for sales pitches, we worked up a script. A pretty funny one at that, as long as you have a sense of humor. I had some solid rebuttals that were sarcastic, cheesy and witty. They were designed to make people want to hop on my cab and at least spend a few minutes with me. Then, I had to decide what to wear. Should I be hippie, relaxed and casual, tee-shirt and khakis, or do I want to do clean, pretty and athletic? I decided, I'm here to make money, so I sucked it up. I washed and curled my hair, put on make up and little pink running shorts and an athletic tank. I felt like no one would be able to tell me no and I was prepared to hit the streets. I was excited to prove that I could make some money on my first night, even though I've been warned it's rarely done.
After cruising around a little bit with some more experienced riders, I decided it was time to try to fly solo. I rolled away from the history buff driver who was showing me the ropes after I'd heard one too many stories about the rise of Hershey, PA. This was so far a waste of my time because we hadn't even tried to give anyone a ride yet. I wanted to make some money. I was told offering a free ride over an old half mile long steel bridge across the Susquehanna might result in some tips, so I played it safe and asked an older Mennonite couple if they'd like a free ride. It was good experience I'd told them, since it was my first night and I had yet to take two passengers. I got the experience I needed, but no tips. I tried this approach again, and drove two women halfway across the bridge. But this time, I was sarcastic and goofy. I acted like a flight attendant. I told them it's a good thing they got in the bike cab because the bridge is far too dangerous to walk with all the holes in the steel grates. One of the women said to me, "This is great, and I like you, you're funny!" Cha-ching! A tip! That is what I was going for. I then decided to hit the city streets.
A homeless man asked me for a free ride three blocks to the Y. I said no problem. We quickly discovered that we had both been in sales. He used to sell women's shoes and make commission. He showed off a fantastic pair of Levi's he was thrilled to report he just bought at the mall, "but they just don't make them as tough as they used to." He was so proud to tip me one dollar when the ride was finished. I was humbled, but did not want him to think I was devaluing him, or discriminating against him, so I very graciously accepted the tip and fought back tears that were welling up because of the generosity of the human spirit.
The next women I met were clearly lacking in this department. I noticed they were outside a fancy restaurant and assumed they had dinner so I asked if they'd want a twilight tour of the city or a ride to a coffee shop for dessert. They declined saying, "you must not get paid much to do this, there's no one in your cab, how are you making money?" I explained that I don't get paid a ton of physical money to do it, but I get paid in so many other ways doing something I enjoy and meeting such wonderful people, "just like you two lovely ladies." When they asked what I do if I get fat people in the back, I really wanted to tell them to hop in so I could show them, but I bit my tongue. Moving along.
My other customers of the night included a wonderful man who'd "always wanted to ride in one of these" and I convinced him, saying there may never be another opportunity, as you don't know what tomorrow holds. He said it was the most relaxing break he'd had. I also picked up a volunteer for the art association who clued me in about a pretty little garden that might be a beautiful place to take a break, gave me a few poop jokes to tell passengers and that she really supports what we're doing. After giving a brief charity ride to a woman whose feet were clearly hurting, I went to pick up a young man who I met earlier in the evening sitting on his front porch. He wasn't from the area and his heart was hurting from a recent breakup. He was thankful for the conversation and a safe, green ride to the bar.
I locked my bike back up hours after I'd first set out, feeling tired and satisfied. I'd made money and had met some incredible people from all walks of life. I knew that each night I did this, I'd experience the same thing and couldn't wait for my next shift. I had to deal with the bike cab boys tell me a few times that I'd make money simply because I was a girl. I fought back telling them, I may be a girl, in little pink shorts no less, but I'm also an incredible salesman.
I left a high-paying, account executive job less than a month ago. It was "sucking the life out of me," as another previous colleague put it. Although I know voices in your head are probably not the best advice to listen to, one kept telling me, life is too short to be wasting 40+ hours a week doing something you don't love. Money isn't everything, living life with passion and happiness are. I can't say with one hundred percent sincerity that driving a bike taxi started out as my passion, but it's one of several ways I thought I'd love spending my newly acquired free time.
After my brief orientation with the bike and riding around with some other drivers, I began to think, how can I make people want to ride with me? My husband is in sales and I used to be in sales, so we started brainstorming about what objections I'd receive when I asked people if they wanted a ride and what rebuttals I could use to overcome them. We both agreed, I needed to give people an experience on a bike cab, not just a ride. And I'd use humor to do it, like a cheesy tour guide on a double decker bus. I'd put on a show, using my stellar acting skills I'd perfected in high school drama club.
Just like we had for sales pitches, we worked up a script. A pretty funny one at that, as long as you have a sense of humor. I had some solid rebuttals that were sarcastic, cheesy and witty. They were designed to make people want to hop on my cab and at least spend a few minutes with me. Then, I had to decide what to wear. Should I be hippie, relaxed and casual, tee-shirt and khakis, or do I want to do clean, pretty and athletic? I decided, I'm here to make money, so I sucked it up. I washed and curled my hair, put on make up and little pink running shorts and an athletic tank. I felt like no one would be able to tell me no and I was prepared to hit the streets. I was excited to prove that I could make some money on my first night, even though I've been warned it's rarely done.
After cruising around a little bit with some more experienced riders, I decided it was time to try to fly solo. I rolled away from the history buff driver who was showing me the ropes after I'd heard one too many stories about the rise of Hershey, PA. This was so far a waste of my time because we hadn't even tried to give anyone a ride yet. I wanted to make some money. I was told offering a free ride over an old half mile long steel bridge across the Susquehanna might result in some tips, so I played it safe and asked an older Mennonite couple if they'd like a free ride. It was good experience I'd told them, since it was my first night and I had yet to take two passengers. I got the experience I needed, but no tips. I tried this approach again, and drove two women halfway across the bridge. But this time, I was sarcastic and goofy. I acted like a flight attendant. I told them it's a good thing they got in the bike cab because the bridge is far too dangerous to walk with all the holes in the steel grates. One of the women said to me, "This is great, and I like you, you're funny!" Cha-ching! A tip! That is what I was going for. I then decided to hit the city streets.
A homeless man asked me for a free ride three blocks to the Y. I said no problem. We quickly discovered that we had both been in sales. He used to sell women's shoes and make commission. He showed off a fantastic pair of Levi's he was thrilled to report he just bought at the mall, "but they just don't make them as tough as they used to." He was so proud to tip me one dollar when the ride was finished. I was humbled, but did not want him to think I was devaluing him, or discriminating against him, so I very graciously accepted the tip and fought back tears that were welling up because of the generosity of the human spirit.
The next women I met were clearly lacking in this department. I noticed they were outside a fancy restaurant and assumed they had dinner so I asked if they'd want a twilight tour of the city or a ride to a coffee shop for dessert. They declined saying, "you must not get paid much to do this, there's no one in your cab, how are you making money?" I explained that I don't get paid a ton of physical money to do it, but I get paid in so many other ways doing something I enjoy and meeting such wonderful people, "just like you two lovely ladies." When they asked what I do if I get fat people in the back, I really wanted to tell them to hop in so I could show them, but I bit my tongue. Moving along.
My other customers of the night included a wonderful man who'd "always wanted to ride in one of these" and I convinced him, saying there may never be another opportunity, as you don't know what tomorrow holds. He said it was the most relaxing break he'd had. I also picked up a volunteer for the art association who clued me in about a pretty little garden that might be a beautiful place to take a break, gave me a few poop jokes to tell passengers and that she really supports what we're doing. After giving a brief charity ride to a woman whose feet were clearly hurting, I went to pick up a young man who I met earlier in the evening sitting on his front porch. He wasn't from the area and his heart was hurting from a recent breakup. He was thankful for the conversation and a safe, green ride to the bar.
I locked my bike back up hours after I'd first set out, feeling tired and satisfied. I'd made money and had met some incredible people from all walks of life. I knew that each night I did this, I'd experience the same thing and couldn't wait for my next shift. I had to deal with the bike cab boys tell me a few times that I'd make money simply because I was a girl. I fought back telling them, I may be a girl, in little pink shorts no less, but I'm also an incredible salesman.
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