Back in our dating days Mary (now my wife) came back from her psych 101 class eager to share with me a new insight into my character. She had learned that gambling and fishing are similar in that their addictive power comes from something called intermittent reinforcement. Take fishing for instance. You make a lot of casts that don't produce anything. Then, on that 500th cast: BAM! The fish and the fisherman are both hooked -- the fish for obvious reasons and the fisherman because there's just no telling when it might happen again. Apparently, fishermen are especially vulnerable to gambling addiction.
You should know that I LOVE to fish; and when I'm fishing, I have a real hard time stopping. Whenever it comes time to quit, there are two possible scenarios. Either I'm catching fish -- in which case I can't quit because I'm catching them; or I'm not catching fish -- in which case I've got to keep going till I catch something. Make sense?
In light of all this, Mary made me promise never to set foot in a casino -- a promise which I have faithfully kept because I'm pretty sure she's right. I'm pretty sure that if I ever started gambling, I'd never be able to stop. I haul passengers to Harrah's all the time, but I'm terrified at the very thought of setting foot inside that door.
(By the way, this also helps to explain an aspect of my character that puzzles some people. How does someone like me who has terminal ADD muster the patience for fishing? The honest answer is that it has nothing to do with patience. No one would describe the guy who sits at the slot machine for 10 hours straight as patient. Clearly there's a far more powerful force at work here.)
Speaking of patience, if you're wondering what any of this has to do with being a pedicabbie, stay with me. I'm working around to that by way of the following story:
Yesterday when 6 PM rolled around, I'd been on the street for 8 hours. Both of my colleagues who shared my shift had already announced over the radio that they were calling it quits for the day. It was time for me to be headed to the house too, but I hadn't had a ride in the last hour and a half. Worse still, I was a bit short of what I had hoped to make for the day.
Just one more fare, I told myself. Just one more.
My persistence paid off a few minutes after 6:00 when I picked up an older couple from Oregon. They didn't have anywhere particular they wanted to go; they just wanted to ride around a bit, and I was happy to oblige. (I'm always careful to explain to people that I can't give tours because I'm not licensed to do that, but if they want me to just to take them for a spin, why not?) I told them that they were going to be my last fare of the day.
They were still aboard when a dispatch came over the radio for someone to pick up another couple at a certain hotel. I ignored it at first since I already had riders and was intending to head in as soon as I dropped them off. However, it turned out that there were no other pedicabs available, so my boss got on the radio again to ask if I could do it. My passengers, understanding the situation, graciously dismounted, and I headed for the pickup, thrilled to have gotten two more fares at the end of the day.
I took the second couple where they needed to go and turned my bike toward the shop. When I ride in at the end of my shift, I usually keep doing my 3-second sales pitch just in case I come across someone who happens to be going my way. I don't recall that it had ever worked before, but this was my lucky evening.
"Would you like a ride?" I called out to a pretty girl who was walking the same direction I was pedaling.
"I would love a ride! I'm just going a couple of blocks up to Canal..." She hesitated a moment, and her face fell. "You know what? Never mind. I'm really sorry. I've only got three dollars on me."
"That's not a problem," I said. "I'm just about done for the day, and I'm going that way anyway. I would be happy to take you that far for three dollars." Then I hesitated, wondering if I had misunderstood her reluctance. "Of course if you don't want to part with your last three dollars, I totally understand..."
"Oh, it's not that," she assured me. "I just feel bad for you."
"Well there's no need to feel bad for me. One way or the other, I'm going home. And as far as I'm concerned, I might as well go home three dollars richer."
"OK then!" she said as she jumped into the passenger seat. "This is my first time to ride a pedicab. I've been wanting to take one of these things for a long time."
"Well I'm honored to be your first pedicabbie!" I said. And I was.
At the corner of Canal St., she hopped off, handed me the three bucks, and went on her way. I continued on my way too, rejoicing at having picked up three rides in quick succession after an hour and a half drought.
A block and a half up Canal, a colleague flagged me down in front of a hotel. He was there for a pickup, waiting for his passengers to come out when a pair of ladies (not the ones who had called) approached him wanting a ride. Would I be willing to take them?
I was more than willing. I got them where they were going, then turned toward the shop once again, headed home at last, four fares richer, and so happy that it seemed to me that my pedicab had wings.
All that to say that my susceptibility to intermittent reinforcement sometimes works in my favor. But I'm still not planning to get any closer to the casino than is absolutely necessary in order to drop off riders who want to go there.
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