OK, here's the second excerpt I released.....no more til the book comes out. Enjoy! ZZTop and Farrah Fawcett
Posted by
CrankYanker
Jan 8 '14, 12:08
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The year is 2003. I don’t remember what month. I’m driving 6 days a week, 12 hours a day, doing 6 or 7 trips each day….it’s all a blur. I’ve been the Executive Chauffeur at the Ritz-Carlton in Laguna Niguel for about a year now and there’s never a peaceful moment. What appears to the public as a quiet, serene resort is actually a very tense, hectic, and stressful work environment. For me, though, the job is heaven on earth. I thrive on the obsessive-compulsive professionalism and my job takes me off-property most of the time so I’m not working under the constant scrutiny of management.
The guests are mostly upper crust with a very high percentage of celebrities. The amount of work and big tips causes the Ritz-Carlton to be described by drivers as a ‘cash cow’. It’s also the reason most employees endure the never-ending, exhausting work schedule.
It’s about 10am on a typical, sunny, blue-sky California day. I’ve just finished the morning airport departures which usually start at 5am. Dispatch calls and tells me I have an unscheduled ‘AD’ pickup at John Wayne Airport. ‘AD’ stands for ‘as directed’ which means it’s going to be an hourly charge with several destinations instead of just a pickup and dropoff. These are the trips I enjoy most because I get to know who I’m driving a little better. I’m told to pickup my client at the curb on the upper level which is the departure level. Very odd.
“How will I spot the client?”, I ask.
“Look for a guy who looks like ZZTop”.
I enter the airport, go to the upper level, driving slowly when I see a man in a suit with a long beard, sunglasses, and a beanie cap carrying a briefcase in one hand and a guitar case in the other. He’s waving to me. I pull to the curb, open the trunk, then the rear door. He hands me the guitar case which I place in the trunk. I close the trunk and see him in the front seat putting the passenger seat back all the way down.
“I hate being boxed in”, he says with a laugh. He finishes adjusting the seat, gets out and gets into the backseat, placing his briefcase on the seat next to him. I get in and ask where he’s headed first.
“I need to pickup some Mexican food for dinner later. Do you know where El Matador restaurant is?”
“Yes sir”
“Oh Jesus, don’t call me “sir” today, I’m just Billy”
“They told me to look for a guy who looks like ZZTop, but you ARE him aren’t you.”
“Yep, that’s me, BFG, Billy ‘Fuckin’ Gibbons”
And with that ‘no apology’ introduction, we head to Newport Beach. When we arrive at El Matador, I park at the entrance, open the door and Billy goes into the restaurant. Mind you, he was only out of the car long enough to walk 10 steps, but within seconds other people screech into the parking lot asking me “Was that ZZTop?”
“I don’t know, you’d have to ask him”
Some people go into the restaurant while others wait outside getting cameras ready. Billy comes out about 20 minutes later followed by fans taking pictures, jumps into the backseat, and we pull out.
“hmmm, I wonder how they recognized me”, he says and bursts out in laughter.
Billy asks me if he can have a smoke. This is a huge no-no but I say ok as long as he cracks the windows in the back. To my surprise, he lights up a marijuana joint…..not a cigarette. This is an even bigger no-no but I don’t say anything. Afterall, he IS Billy Fuckin Gibbons!
He informs me that our next stop is Hot Rod Magazine’s warehouse in Huntington Beach. On the way, he spots a Mcdonalds and tells me to stop there first. Then he sees a liquor store where he buys a six-pack of beer. We arrive at Hot Rod and he tells me to come with him to check it out. They are building a street rod for him and I drool at the site of several classic cars in mint condition inside this non-descript building. A half hour later, we hit the road again. Billy gets a phone call and tells me we’re picking up a friend near LAX. When I exit the freeway he sees a Marie Callenders and says “Oh la la, I wonder if they have pecan pie, let’s stop”. It’s obvious now that he has a bad case of the munchies and we’ll be making more stops like this one.
However, our next stop is not for food. It’s a house near LAX where his friend is. He makes a call and my jaw drops when Farrah Fawcett comes strolling out. I fumble with the door to let Farrah in the car, my heart is racing and I’m starting to sweat but I make my weak knees take me back to the driver seat. Billy says to head toward Burbank and proceeds to light up another joint for Farrah. “Here babe”.
It’s now around 1pm and Billy says “Paul, I have to piss like a race horse, pull over at the next call box and I’ll pretend I’m checkin the tires”. Now I have Billy Gibbons peeing on the side of the 405 freeway and Farrah Fawcett smoking a joint in the backseat. Just then, a California Highway Patrol car pulls up behind us.
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