A few years ago I decided to buy a rickshaw or more commonly known as a pedicab today. I have had quite a bit of fun pedaling people all over Grants Pass during special occasions like this weekends "Back to the Fifties" celebration. I remember one particular event that I will never forget...
I was invited to rickshaw employees that worked at one of our local cell phone companies to their big annual awards banquet. The motel they were staying at was a block away from the convention center and the company thought it would be nice if I could transport the ladies over to the party rather then having them walk over. Arriving a few minutes before the gig was suppose to start, I was taken aback by the number of ladies needing to be transported and also by how they were all dressed in beautiful flowing formal attire. I felt pretty out of place in my spandex biking shorts and Hawaiian shirt, but off I pedaled like a bat out of hell, with the ladies' gowns billowing in the breeze. There was some road construction going on in the city street at that time, and it was after banking hours, so I was cutting through Evergreen Bank's parking lot between the motel and their banquet destination. Jetting through the bank's back parking lot, I had to negotiate through a drive-up teller's window or ride over a speed bump on our way to their big party. On each trip I would look over my shoulder at my guests and ask, “Speed bump or jump?” —jump because the drive-up window ramp was slightly raised.
Having made lots of trips back and forth that evening, I continued to look over my shoulder and offer, “Speed bump or jump?” On one particular run all three of the gorgeously dressed ladies said, "Speed Bump!" I will admit I probably did ride over the speed bump a bit faster then I should have. All of a sudden I hear a bloodcurdling shriek, followed immediately by a great amount of laughter. Quickly snapping a glance back over my shoulder to see what tragedy I had bestowed upon my honored guests. I beheld, when we hit that little old speed bump, the lady sitting in the middle had had both her ample breasts explode out the top of her tight fitting gown. The ladies sitting on either side of her were beside themselves with screaming laughter as they pried her dress top open and were trying to slug each of her bosoms back into the confines of her dress. The aghast look on the face of the exposed lady in the middle seat was unforgettable. Her two best friends cheerfully tried to reassemble her ensemble before we arrived at the convention center. Being a fairly new rickshaw operator at that time, I wasn’t sure if I should stop and personally lend a hand getting her reloaded into her dress or just keep on pedaling and pretend I didn’t see anything. Finally arriving at the convention center with my extremely perky gang, I calmly got off the rickshaw and offered each one of the fine ladies a hand out of my carriage. In as professional voice as I could muster, I reminded these new lady friends, “What happens in the Rickshaw stays in the Rickshaw.” as they went giggling off for the rest of their evening's niceties. I wondered afterwards how my insurance would have covered an accident like that.
Later I heard through the grapevine that our speed bump adventure was the highlight of conversation that evening at their banquet.
No comments:
Post a Comment