Faster than a speeding drunk
PETER BUFFA
There hasn’t been a new one since 1664. And there hasn’t been a good
one since 1967. Ideas, that is. But this could be your lucky day,
sailor.
Do you worry about drinking and driving, or more importantly,
drinking and not driving? You should. Alcohol and gasoline do not
mix, as if you didn’t know that. Not only do they taste awful
together, but they are extremely dangerous.
But let me be frank, even if my name isn’t. For those of us who
are old enough to wrinkle, who among us has never, ever gotten behind
the wheel when we shouldn’t have? Raise your hand. If you drink, and
you drive, and you have your hand up, I say you are full of
horsefeathers, and as any cowpoke can tell you, horses do not have
feathers.
Fortunately, by now, most of us have gotten the message. Exactly
how much is too much is a decision we all have to make. But at those
times when the fun is done and so are you, what to do about it can be
a puzzle.
Designated driver? Perfect, if you have one. Cab? Good choice,
assuming you can get back to the festival site tomorrow morning to
get your car. But what if you could get both you and your motorcar
back to your hacienda safely and soundly?
You can, if you know the right people.
“The right people,” in this case, is a fellow named Hugh Finlay,
who comes to the Newport-Mesa by way of the Emerald Isle, which is
near Ireland.
By day, Hugh is a sales associate at Neiman-Marcus, which is near
Fashion Island. But when the sun drops below the horizon, Hugh slips
into a men’s fitting room at Neiman’s and steps out seconds later as
Scooter Man -- founder and proprietor of Pacific Safe Home -- a
company that remembers where you live when you can’t.
Pay attention. This is very cool. Let’s say the party’s over or
the dinner’s done, and you realize that you shouldn’t be anywhere
near a steering wheel, least of all behind one. Just call Pacific
Safe Home from anywhere in Newport Beach or Costa Mesa, and in about
20 minutes, a uniformed driver will show up on a compact motor
scooter, take off his helmet, stick out his hand and say, “Keys,
please.” He will then drive you home in your very own car, give your
keys back when you are safely inside your door and say “Thank you ...
and good night.” You can also call ahead and arrange for a driver to
show up at an appointed time and place.
The cost? It’s almost too cheap to mention, but I will -- 30
bucks, plus tip, and they even take credit cards.
Is it worth it? Let’s see. Not killing yourself or anyone else or
having your life turned upside down by a DUI ... versus $30. Let me
think. Yeah, I’d have to go with the 30 bucks.
“But wait,” you say, “what happened to the scooter?” Aha, I say.
Now you have found the essence, the key -- the gestalt, if you’re a
Kafka fan -- of the whole operation. This is not your father’s
scooter, and that’s assuming your father even had a scooter. Hugh’s
highly designated drivers use one-of-a-kind mini-bikes that fold up
in seconds like a Swiss Army knife with wheels. The bikes, made by a
Florida company called Di Blasi, are street legal and registered with
the DMVRLL (Department of Motor Vehicles & Really Long Lines.)
As you get in your car, which can be interesting, the driver folds
up his bike, slips it into a tote bag, and puts it in your trunk, or
cargo compartment if you are of the SUV persuasion. And talk about
thinking of everything. A fuel cut-off switch on the bike eliminates
smelly gas fumes in your trunk. Back at Chez Vous, the driver pulls
his Di Blasi out of the bag, gives it a good shake, and “poof” --
instant scooter. He slips on his helmet, waves goodbye and disappears
down the road to find the next set of revelers, who can be found at
some of the nicest places, I might add.
You can glimpse Hugh’s drivers putt-putting up to the door at the
Cannery, Fleming’s, the Ritz, French 75, Bayside, and the Quiet
Woman, to name just a few.
So where did the idea for all this come from? It came from Dublin,
of all places, which is a fine place for both ideas and people,
although a little dicey on weather. A few years ago, something
interesting happened at a 40th anniversary bash for Hugh’s parents at
a place called the Barge Inn on Dublin’s Charlemont Street. When the
Guinness was gone and the Caffrey’s was capped and the Finlays made
their way to the parking lot, three young men on scooters arrived,
folded up their bikes, tossed them in the various Finlay vehicles and
had everyone back home faster than you could say “fast,” which is
fast.
A giant light bulb appeared over Hugh’s head, which struck his
relatives as odd, and the rest, as they say, is the rest, and Pacific
Safe Home was born.
By the way, if you’ve seen the latest TV commercial for Mayor
Gary’s “Skosh Monahan’s,” the young Irish fellow in the opening scene
is none other than Hugh Finlay. It is a small world, no?
Thus ends the saga of Hugh Finlay, the Scooter Man. The next time
you’re worried about that ride home, long or short, don’t be. Just
call this number -- (949) 400-5126 -- and say, “Is Hugh there?” They
may not think much of your grammar, but they’ll be there within
minutes.
I gotta go.
* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs
Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at ptrb4@aol.com.
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