Unlike the most of you, Saturday is quickly becoming my very own hump-day. The very middle of my week... the completion of 33+ plus hours "behind the wheel of a large automobile", with 22 or so left to go. It's shown itself to be the day I just fold up and collapse in order to catch up with the sleep I've stolen from the last three nights in order to maintain some form of existence in... your world.

Last night I pushed my exhaustion through a meeting with friends, then another get together with another, then a bit too far beyond and into getting a few things I needed doing done; leaving a grocery shop to the very last minute before wolfing down four frozen burgers while trying desperately to simply drop into bed before nine-thirty... an accidental, almost ghostly too totally real n' unreal image haunted me all through the night. A silhouetted couple in a brightly lit doorway ate away at the good sleep I so wanted, no, needed... Upon waking I was faced with an uneasy feeling an unusually uncomfortable CAR 29 and... leftovers.

I had been wondering these last few weekends just when would the remnants of just another wild Saturday night begin to appear as my early Sunday morning fares. I got these first ever leftovers from last evenings today... the first just after five-thirty AM. A young fella and two, young ladies all dressed in black. All giggling and bubbling with an energy I once had when I was much younger and then had once, twice then three times again, when I was on something while much older. 

Me and this giggling, bubbling gang made three separate stops to drop each of them off separately across the top of town. The last drop, the fella all by his lonesome but still laughing at himself and his situation. I reminded him, she'll likely be happy that you left it where it was left last night, where we dropped her. And tried to persuade him that she'd likely accept the call that I suggested he make bit later this evening.

More leftovers...an older still tipsy, not yet hung-over fella... I picked up this older man in town from the county to deliver him from the Heights to the truck he'd left downtown near the Lone Star. He'd just finished up a long morning, running right through to a some might say a successful yet frustrating POF date that ended in a plea for commitment he'd no intention of accepting. He was shaking his head in my direction as he described  how he was off home to work with his son on some rooftop. Maybe to fend off a bitter disappointment of not yet becoming comfortably positioned between his old life and this one... and all the yet to come long running into the morning POF date evenings.

Then yet another pickup n' delivery to a truck left somewhere in the evening. Another lost lonely pickup left ever so smartly behind down on Princess. A player all dressed up for golfing, a now scramble-brained fella admittedly regretting having made this obligation for such an early morning tee off. On our way down Division, he spent most of his time reviewing his txt'ngs to find all the stupid things he'd texted to other players late into last evening. A hurried call leaving one of those oh too familiar next morning regretful apologies, all the time hoping we'd find the pick up just where he'd left it. We did, and I left him right where he'd left off... and onto the fairway... 

Then... a break from these leftovers when I accepted a call from my good n' humbling buddy, ol' Bob.

I spoke with Bob briefly, mentioning how ...near the end of yesterday, in my state of exhaustion while speaking with good friends I'd presented the suggestion, most likely more even to remind myself...  a notion that accepting is not synonymous with ignoring or avoiding, forgetting nor denying or letting things fester in hiding on one's old dusty n' dirty back shelf. Accepting seems to me more of the facing, constantly reviewing how little control over what others around me may be thinking or doing... how little my problems and worries may mean to most others. Accepting is hard workings, grasping the understanding that it's just not about me, my impact n' inputs... it's a striving to get out from underneath one's truly deceiving and ego driven self.

So, I worked through this all throughout my new hump day, slept with uneasy visions of silhouettes in doorways bringing back vividly some old painful memories of calamities I've have consistently over some time found so utterly useful. This morning as I rode along with and drove these folks I'll call Saturday's Leftovers to their now sun lit in varied different destinations... CAR 29 remained unusually uncomfortable until Bob's call when I was able to drop off that last and unsteadiest of fares... that no longer young fella uneasily reminding me of one's foolish self pity... this older guy apparently from time to time still holding, reviewing, reflecting and facing all those now olden ill feelings towards my own gloriously useful and treasured... leftover feelings.

Just as the most gorgeous of fog was burnt off by the prettiest of sunrises,.. a call out to the base... picking up a Rear Admiral and a Brigadier General out front to the Officer's mess to be delivered to the Train Station... Good dudes, both younger than me (yikes); one had grown up in Trenton, the other, stationed there for his three...

They got my standard "thank you for your service" spiel... the spiel I give, every chance I get to the service men I meet.... the firemen, cops n' soldiers et all who toil away in harms way on our behalf.
A pleasant conversation with a couple of guys humbled enough to seemingly know their rank was as much PR as it was a definition of their leadership (which I'd never put to question)... both had served "over seas" which I come to find these days, seems to be code for having served in Afghanistan. These past few years, I've not met a military man who hasn't... (The Woodstock syndrome? I doubt it).

Good guys... no tip... it happens.

Later today, a dream call... rather than driving an empty cab back from dropping a fare all the way past Treasure Island, I was again called into the base... another railroader delivery... this time a Captain in for courses designed to help him advance to Major (way way younger than me, this guy)...

The standard thank-you spiel led to his interest in telling me how he'd been to NYC a few times... mostly to attend that Electronic Music Fest they hold out on Randall's Island each year... a "three day" I never made it to (sadness overcomes me? not really)... We jib-jabbered on about this DJ n' that... the scene's we'd seen over the years... His shining-star moment was organizing an Afghan-leave to dance to some spinners in Cote d'azur (who knew this service I'd been thanking these guys for could be so... "cool man")

We turned into VIA just as we were agreeing on how peaceful and respectful the vibe at all those parties had been... I suggest that he give Bedouin a listen, I think he might...

Good guy... ten dollar tip... it happens.

It's funny how little the military presence is felt in this town. A town where the harbor is essentially a strung out fortress and there appears to be a cannon on every corner... I look forward to the next foggy sunrise lit gorgeous morning I'm called to service our service men and women... good guys put into uniform service... it happens.

Thanks guys!

The long-time locals do so like to grumble when "the kids" return to this litlle limestone college town. I've only been through it twice, it IS quite the event... an adventure even.

The other day I was having what may just be the best (in terms of business) day I may ever have in CAR 29. Call after call, drop off n' pick ups, one right after the other... each one just ahead of the last, all headed in the same right direction... forward motion swirls around n around this preciously littlest of cities...

I picked up a fare downtown, dropped 'em near the Kingston Shopping Centre... picked up a fare just down along the Bath Road golden mile and drop 'em at the Riocan. The next pick up, just across the street, Progress heading out and into the Days Road area... bing, bing, bing... cha-ching.

While zipping along Bath towards the Riocan, out and up Gardiner, I notice a larger than usual plane coming into the airport that, until recently I never believed existed... (I made a mental note). After dropping the next fare off beyond Days, near what passes for Bayridge around these parts... I think a busy thought to myself, well... I may as well push on along westward, a little further out and see who and how many get off that plane... (an opportunity to learn how to work the airport stand)...

...a long line of "little kids" each with more baggage than one would ever have imagined. Oh right, it's move in day, I've heard stories... horror stories... AVOID ZONE 6 (avoid the campus) at ALL COST! ('cause, it'll cost ya)

My guy in line is a fresh young thing. Still bouncy after a full night's flight from Calgary to Toronto then onto the Norman Roger's none too International Airport n' flyin' club... All wide eyed and a little, maybe nervous... Definitely on the verge of the next big thing that'll ever happen to him.

As we pull out onto Front Street (at this point, think road rather than street, country road at that)... as we pull out and roll along the road that runs along the lake and get that first windswept n' white caps shoreline view, my little guy literally explodes with joy... lets out a bit of a wow-ishy boy-like screamie little squeaking noise... "Have you visited Kingston before?" ...he'd only been here once, in the dead of Winter for an orientation weekend... chitter chatter... whatcha studyin', bits of personal history n' all that fill the ho hum gaps by the old n' gorgeous Dupont monstrosity... I can see the thrill n' wonder on his face straight out through these freshly grown "backseat eyeballs"... on the back of my head.

When we break past the last lakefront house along the King Street shore, where the view opens up at that lakeshore park... he gasps for air... I've already asked him were he'll be living, Morris Hall, I have him turn his head just a little to the left, opposite this view... "You'll be living right there..." – Lets just say, this news made the ensuing 45 minute of the snarled traffic that snaked through the campus this of all morning, move in morning, a way lot easier! ...Queens University really does have a stunner of a campus!

Grumble?

Oh sure they're drunken idiots, they make a big mess, throw beer bottles all over the place and light things that shouldn't really be burned on fire. Many have this sense of entitlement, maybe an over-confidence especially when travelling in packs. They're dreadfully young, way under dressed for any weather goofy annoying and loud.., but...

Their yet to be weighed down by the day by day still not bridaled, and unchecked enthusiasm! I must say... I find it bloody well infectious.

Welcome to Kingston boneheads! I still kinda know how you feel.

[...later that week I picked up four of the female variety of this species, all hung over n' giggly, way too made up and like, you know... gawd they make me laugh, smile and make this pleasant job that much more... wonderful]

"CAR 29" (go ahead car 29) "Is Morven on the meter?" (repeat car 29) "...is Morven on the meter?" (car 29, don't speak so closely into the mic) "...is Morven on the meter, the city... er town of Morven?" (car 29 is your mic off the hook, put it back on the hook) "...got it, I have a fair, says she takes a cab to Morven daily, on the meter" (Morven is on the meter car 29)... (more on this fare later)... for now... this fare...

...this so far seems to be a pretty much routine job with the opportunity for pleasant surprises. The other day I was hangin' in ZONE 2 (most likely at the wrong time of day... more on this later). A call comes over the "dispatch lottery machine" (more on this later)... pick up on Thomas Street (street names changed and numbers to be omitted for the purpose of privacy)... Destination... UNKNOWN.

Of course, given the vicinity of the pickup, I'm already (even just one day of training into this job) thinking it'll be another trip to the methadone clinic on Hickson (possibly, more on this, later)... A rough lookin' youngster, pony tailed in construction clothing meets me on the street... "Kingston Solar Farm, Zone 2... out on Unity Road"... Imagine my confusion... (I tippy type Unity Road into my GPS, to no avail)... As with most of my fares, the good people of the city of Kingston are more than happy to assist me in completing my training in my knowledge of getting around this place where... I kinda know where everything IS, I just don't know what everything is CALLED (just yet).

So... my first full morning... a pleasant AND pretty surprise. A way north of the (relative) hustle and bustle of this little limestone 'burg we go... SHEEP... look up!

(and away we go) (oh... and when CAR 29 and I return... we stopped in at the CAT Centre... just to look at the clouds ...and to see what ZONE 14 is like