I'm a nice guy. Really, I am. You'd have to be to invest such a large amount of money into a limo and then give up a significant chunk of your life to drive people from point A to point B. Most of them are pretty nice, too. They know that I'm doing them a favor; making their lives easier but not subjecting them to the horrors of driving on the expressway and finding and paying for parking.
Of course, not everyone is the ideal passenger. The harried businessman. The drunk wedding party. The dumped boyfriend or girlfriend (or worse, being stuck with the one who did the dumping and is bragging about it). The privileged trust fund kid.
They'll bitch about me taking too long or going the wrong way or they'll puke in the back or cry the whole ride or expect me to do things outside the realm of a typical driver's responsibilities.
These are the times when I'd like to be less than Mr. Nice Guy.
Jack up the heat or A/C; seasonally dependent, of course.
Pretend my brakes are shot.
Conveniently run low on gas and have to stop for a refill thus delaying our arrival.
Shut and lock the divider window.
Drop them off in the middle of nowhere with no cell signal.
Have an annoyingly loud conversation on my cell or CB radio and tell the passenger the divider window is broken.
There are so many ways I could mess with passengers. Many more I didn't even list here.
Oh the things I could do.
If I wasn't a nice guy.