LIMO LINES: An UnLucky Dog

LIMO LINES:  An Un-Lucky Dog

                                                                                  KENNETH E. HALL -  24 May, 2014    Houston

Limousines are usually seen as symbols of power, wealth, and prestige. They are by design ostentatious vehicles, but they are not always used for that purpose. 

It's PERCEPTION!! Sometimes what we perceive is correct, but often the opposite is true. 

I had returned to the university to finally get my degree. To pay the tuition and to support my family, I got a job driving for a leading limousine company. It was a great job - very enjoyable - and the dispatcher worked around my schedule. 

Sure, we had rich and powerful clients. We also had businessmen, wedding parties, prom kids, tourists, entertainers, and many other customers. There were also the good-timers out to do the town. My company offered opulence by the hour. 

I drove a beautiful, stretch Lincoln limousine, complete with wet bar, TV, telephone - the works. I wore a suit, tie, and hat. 

I was not a driver... I was in every sense of the word, a chauffeur.

I remember a particular job I did. I picked up an elderly lady at the Pontalba Apartments on Jackson Square. It was a beautiful day, and the place was bustling with tourists, taking in the sights of old New Orleans.

The lady I was to pick up was just going to the airport. She asked me if I could help her with her luggage, and I happily obliged. I brought the suitcases downstairs and took them to the limo.

New Orleans' French Quarter is a fascinating, eclectic place. The food there is unbeatable. On the streets of the Quarter, there is another more mundane fare: the Lucky Dog.

Lucky Dog vendors are ubiquitous in the Vieux Carré, and they make no claim that their hot dogs are French, Creole, or even Cajun.

Approaching my clean, gleaming limousine, I saw, much to my chagrin, a Lucky Dog. It had been smashed malevolently right there, smack-dab in the middle of the hood of the car, oozing mustard from the bun.

I was beside myself!!! It took me quite a bit of work to get that fine machine in tip top shape to drive whoever, wherever. Now some sorry, sad son-of-a-gun who hates the world had shown massive disrespect!

I jumped up on the bumper, and began to address the passers-by thusly:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, can I get your attention for a moment, please?!" I began.

In a minute, a crowd of nearly a hundred folks gathered to hear what I had to say.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to direct your attention to the hood of my limousine! What you see there is what remains of a New Orleans institution known as the Lucky Dog. Available everywhere on the streets of the city, Lucky Dogs can be a somewhat wholesome meal."

"But somebody among you, or somebody in the immediate vicinity, apparently doesn't appreciate a good Lucky Dog, and decided to get rid if the uneaten portion by smashing it on the hood of my car!"

I made a sweeping gesture - pointing to the francture Frankfurter atop my car hood.

"Now whoever did this," I continued, "no doubt thought he was sticking it to "the MAN", figuring  this limo belonged to some rich Fat Cat."

"Well the only one that got stuck was me! This is not MY car; but I am responsible for its upkeep. Now, I have to take it back to the shop and wash it by hand, and towel-dry it, and HOPE the mustard didn't ruin the paint, 'cause if it did, I'LL be the one paying for it."

"Now anytime you don't want to eat all your Lucky Dog," I advised, "the city of New Orleans has  thoughtfully provided trash receptacles everywhere for your convenience. Just be nice and please don't smash them on car hoods, OK?"

I got applause for my speech, took the lady to the airport, and then went back to clean up the mess. Mustard can damage paint, but happily, after a bit of soap and elbow-grease, tall remnants of the leftover Lucky Dog had disappeared.

I didn't really think of it as a "hate crime" at the time, but looking back on it, I suppose it was.

I hope that the perpetrator, whoever he (or she) was, heard my diatribe and thought about appearances and perceptions. A stone thrown can hit someone other than it's intended target.
  

That same year, I did a job for free once - it was for the Make-a-Wish Foundation. That day I played a very small part in making a dying little boy's wish come true. How incredibly SAD it would have been if the act of hate, jealousy, and spite I received at the Pontalba Building would have occurred on that job! Glad I didn't tell that dying child that somebody smashed a hot dog on his limo.

Perhaps it's better to be kind - and to not throw stones, or hot dogs...
you never know who you might hit!