I have a regular now! After seeing this blog, this person actually returned without being prompted by Facebook or anything else. She just came. Ain’t that a trip? Her name is Tessa and she looks like this:

She knows Shakespeare. In fact, she once got on all fours and performed the witch scene from Act IV of Macbeth in the parking lot of the Lolicup Teazone because she lost a game of Egyptian Ratscrew. Four studs in military fatigues came up to watch, and it took her 39 seconds to notice them standing there. She fell over and had one of the little seizures that she is prone to having.

It was real funny.

I’ve been roaming downtown Denver for years. I ran catering for a BBQ place on the 16th Street Mall when I was 14. I worked for Greenpeace one summer and covered the Mall, Lodo, Sobo, Lohi, Bilbo, and anywhere else. One of my favorite things to do is just get on my bike and just roam around the city.

But I never drive it, and for biking and walking, one-way streets, sidewalks, intersections, parking lots, alleyways, and parks all fall into a kind of wilderness in which the trails aren’t always marked and cars become nothing more than Frogger-style obstacles. I know it by feel and instinct, and never bothered to learn, like, streets. You wouldn’t expect a deer to know the different branches of Appalachian Trail.

That’s right, I’m a deer.

This map show’s how I have seen downtown Denver (at least, my main pedicab area) for the past decade.

1: Streets that start with “C”
2: Streets that start with “W” (except Welton)
3: Some hotels are up here
4: Unknown wasteland
5: There’s a McDonalds in here somewhere
6: Watch movies here!
7: Jerri’s Tobacco and Wine
8: Tewksbury Tobacco and Wine
9: Enter here on bike
10: To library
SB: Starbucks

But with pedicabing, people expect you to know downtown better than a Google Map. When they say,

“Where’s a good place for 30-somethings, lively, but not crazy?”

I’m supposed to say,

“Oh, you may try The Firepot at 18th and Curtis, they have Latin jazz with mild 50’s-era undertones, but blues every Tuesday and Thursday. You can also check out Forest Room 5, tonight they’re featuring blah blah blah blah blah”

And so on ad infinitum.

Unfortunately, the places that people most like to go, bars and hotels, are places I know the least, me being a native and my idea of a good time being Egyptian Rat Slap with people who go to college in New England. It usually pans out like this:

Why don’t people play more Egyptian Rat Slap? It’s a quality game.

I have a pen tablet, but no pen of my own. Fortunately Kevin let me borrow his! It looks like this.

It makes my drawrings a lot smoother and better. Here’s me with the tablet.

I’ve gone through about three of them so far, and pens for Wacom Bamboo tablets are not cheap.

But it’s my fault. I’m like a three year old who keeps killing goldfish after goldfish. I just don’t do well with pens. I chew them constantly. I borrow them compulsively, and lose them instantly. If the IRS found out how much I owe in collective pen debt, I would have to declare Chapter 11 before my junior year, which is early even for a Philosophy major.

At the start of the school year, I bought a pack of like 50 pens from Target. It was the Bataan Death March of office supplies.

In fact, I sent my first tablet pen in for repair, but they actually called me to tell me that the warranty was void because it looked like I bent it in half.

But don’t worry, Kevin. It’ll be safe and sound.

For those of you in Alabama who don’t know what Kevin looks like…

He runs his own blog in the comments section of my blog. Check it out.

Toodles.

Billy Elliot is in town. It gets out at eleven, and the rush is almost always good for a pedicab ride. As an aficionado of the theatre (spelled with an -re just so you know I’m not one of those non-pretentious theatre people), I feel like catching this rush sets me just a little bit above those other uncouth, philistine pedicabers.

It is a delusion I can live with.

Problem is, for me to actually be high enough in the pedicab line to catch one of the rides, I would have to get there so early that it wouldn’t be worth it. So I take a break at ten fifteen, go to the DCPA (DPAC? hell…), plant my cab at the front of the line, go to a nearby coffee shop, and pretend like I’m a sophisticated patron of the arts for forty five minutes.

But last night I didn’t get a ride from a single one of those bluebloods. Even with all my best jokes. I took some pictures with my phone, but the quality isn’t the best.

5 minutes after show lets out.

10 minutes after show lets out.

37 minutes after show lets out.

Donald O’Connor rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette.

So I drive a pedicab now. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to a real job in years. I like the arrangement. You rent a cab, take it out, and keep what you kill. You do this whenever you want. Plus, it’s an unexpected pleasure to not worry about a boss finding out that I’m just doing the job until I earn exactly enough money to go somewhere else.

But there are some drawbacks. First of all, most jobs pay by necessity. As long as you flip the burger, stand by the register, or keep the kids alive, you’ll probably get paid. But pedicabbery is more like fishing. You’ll probably catch something, but staying out all day and still having nothing to cook in the igloo is always a possibility.

Working for Greenpeace was the same way. And Greenpeace made me despise the world and everyone in it.

So I gotta look out for that.

Sometimes the clientele isn’t great. See, pedicab drivers would never hire a pedicab. In fact, I don’t know anyone who would use a pedicab, which probably means nobody reading this blog would use a pedicab. There are two kinds of customers. Daytime customers.

And nighttime customers.

Though sometimes they come in strange combinations.

But that guy paid me $20 for four blocks, so I guess it’s ok.