there are many perks to being an uber driver. ive gotten weed, shrooms, booze, food, phone numbers, and best of all someone who said, you are so great and my mom hates using ubers so can she just call you whenever she needs a ride and pay you whatever she was gonna pay them?
the opposite of a perk is when the passenger won’t leave.
this has happened to me two times. the second was last night.
the first was a guy so drunk his friends walked him to my car in santa monica and said please make sure he gets to venice safely.
now that i think of it this has happened three times.
the actual first was when a group of girls near the grove poured their nearly passed out model friend into the backseat and had me take her to condo in downtown.
black girl. nothing but legs. shiny. does the condo have a doorman? i asked, wondering if i should carry a pillow in my trunk.
turned out there was a doorman at her condo, as her friends promised. and as he struggled with her she complained she just wanted to sleep back there. he asked me to help and i said, i dont touch passengers.
venice guy was not sleepy. he was lonely.
do you know how long it’s been since i touched a woman? he asked.
i bet i got you beat, i snapped back.
he said: 14 years.
ok you win, i gave him.
inspired he yelled, lets go to a strip club!
i was like, you realize im working right now, right?
he fumbled with his wallet and sang, lets goooooo and touch womennnnnn!
is the customer always right? in my book, yes.
but venice guy, technically, wasn’t the customer. “Doug” had ordered the lyft and i assume was the guy who told me “get him to venice safely.” not “get him thrown out of a strip club, then take him home.”
when we got to his place he didnt wanna get out, after many awkward, “you gotta go” “not going.” i said, heres what we’re gonna do, you can stay if you can sing a song all the way through.
it depends, he slurred, which what who do you want to sing?
i want to sing your favorite song, i said, but you cannot tell it to me until you get out and come to my window and i promise i won’t leave.
he got out reluctantly and did as he was told. he stood right next to my mostly closed window.
in the dark you dont always get to see people’s faces that well but this view was a little sad. he looked like a ringling brothers clown whose makeup was licked off by an elephant and then a donkey.
i wanted to ask but it was nearly 1am, rides were poppin’.
ok whats the song. we’ll sing it together, i told him, holding up my iphone.
i wish i was a little bit taller, i wish i was a baller, he said quietly on the late night venice street near the canals.
hey siri play skee-lo, i instructed my phone.
and we sung it nearly perfectly under a street lamp.
and then i scrammed.
biker chick was not like that.
she had her boots on my seat, long tanned tattooed legs jutting out from fitted jean shorts. she traced the goosebumps she was giving herself because she wanted to be a bad girl
with her uber driver
there in koreatown.
and dont think for one second i wasnt down
so many things slam danced through my head
was she trying to steal the car?
have it girl.
did she wanna kill me?
cubs won the world series. im good.
did she have diseases?
thats what the condom is for.
was her boyfriend gonna beat my ass?
or more likely her girlfriend?
fair is fair.
so then why not?
call me a gentleman, but if you could peer inside my dark heart you wouldn’t see many sugar plumbs or rainbows,
but i just dont think uber drivers should sexytime with drunk riders.
even if they are suddenly silent after you say ok, here we are. thanks.
long flowing hair, cute little lisp, smelled like baby powder and potpourri.
when she read her texts she let out a surprisingly long belch and i caught a whiff of wine
omg, im so sorry, she said with a giggle.
i said, for the next 20 minutes make yourself at home. here lemme burp with you, 1, 2, 3 and i turned down the music and got a good burp out by swallowing air and letting it rip
she laughed and i said ok, westwood blvd, am i taking you to your boyfriend’s house?
she laughed, and said, oh i dont have a boyfriend
my bad, girlfriend? im so old, i shouldnt assume.
no girlfriend either but sometimes i wonder whats wrong with me.
wrong?
i have no interest in dating, boys, girls, all i want to do is hang out with my family and animals and go to work, she said putting down her phone.
how about your friends? i asked. are they fun?
yeah, but i like to go places alone. is that weird?
baby, im driving down the 405 on a saturday night for ten dollars with a stranger. who am i to say whats weird?
the freeway was unusually packed for how late it was. neither of us cared. we were alive.
you wouldn’t know this, she said, but i lost a lot of weight recently and my parents are asking me if any boys have noticed. um THEY CERTAINLY HAVE.
right on! i said.
it’s bad, she quipped quickly. all they want is to put their babies in me.
ah yes, well that is the dance, i said, changing lanes. and an interesting one. because if i was building a house would i make a tall narrow one or a wide, spacious extra roomy one with a kickass backyard?
she laughed, burped and farted all at the same time.
then she apologized while laughing, so i rolled her window down, which startled her and she yelped. it was my turn to apologize.
are you married? she asked.
oh i wouldn’t put someone i loved through that, i said.
she rolled up her window and sighed, ive never been in love. never even kissed anyone other than this kid when we were both 14.
i looked back in the rear view. it was dark, but i could see she was pretty. really pretty actually.
were you hideous before you lost the weight?
i dont think so. maybe? but i seriously wasn’t interested in anyone. im still not.
super personal question but do you think you’re asexual?
what’s that? she asked.
what are they teaching you kids in these schools? it’s when you don’t fantasize about romantic situations, you dont look at porn, you skip the juicy parts in books, youre sorta grossed out in movies when people start making out. basically it’s when you dont wanna bone. ever.
that could be me. im not sure.
i still dont have a camera in my car so i decided not to say anything more. i didnt think she was going to give me a bad rating or accuse me of anything if i kept talking about sex, but this was just a short trip from the valley to westwood, i didnt wanna risk asking her things like has she ever gotten wet, masturbated a few times a week, or imagined being ravished by twin dua lipas
like i have.
then she said, what’s the purpose of being in love anyways?
oh you sweet butterfly, i said.
love is a funny thing, a double edge sword, i said trying to keep it real. on one hand ive never been as intoxicated as the first times i was in love. i couldn’t eat or sleep or think or even walk straight. and i had a goofy smile plastered on my face.
so like rolling on Molly? she asked.
YES A LOT LIKE THAT, except you don’t have to do whippits as youre feeling it fade.
wait, what?
yeah, the next time youre about to roll, go to the grocery store and get a few cans of whipped cream and then later in the night as things are winding down, inhale some of the nitrous oxide and it’ll kickstart things a little more. fun fact.
fine but whats the purpose of love? she insisted.
as you can see, i said, lifting my cubs cap to reveal a freshly shaved bald head, im an old man. i have been extremely lucky in love and ive kissed women who were all out of my league. every one of them.
sounds like you have low self esteem, she sneered, same.
i do, but thats besides the fact. id show you photos but im driving. my point is, if any one should know what love is and what it’s good for, it should be your humble uber driver. but even i dont really know.
really? she said, relieved.
i guess it’s to procreate, but look at this traffic. it’s the middle of the damn night. we dont need more people in LA. rent is high, food is high, the tide is high, more bodies taking up space isn’t the answer.
facts, she nodded, popping her gum.
but i will say this, i think there is something to be said about teamwork
it makes the dream work? she tried to joke.
it does! for example this car. this is a tesla model y. i can click this button and it could drive itself and get us to where you wanna go and probably won’t hit anything in the way. but it sorta needs me to make sure you’re safe. together we are a good team.
hmmmm
but deeper than that is how this car got built. it wasnt elon. he didn’t even start tesla. two other guys did. and for damn sure he didn’t build any of this. other, very smart people did. and they did it by learning from the errors and successes of people that came before them. all of the tesla team worked long, crazy hours, and elon paid them really well, but they asked each other questions and got ideas from electric cars in the past and other tech. no one just showed up with a blueprint and said yo, here’s the tesla Y.
she was quiet, i had lost her.
two naked lovers in a futon in a joshua tree air bnb can be the same way, i continued.
what?
when youre in love with someone, there will be what the good book calls a still small quiet. and in that moment you will look at each other in the eyes and you might have just been very vulnerable and giving and intimate and in that tender period afterwards you might actually believe them when they say they love you, and you might finally wanna say it back, not because you think it’s the polite thing but because you mean it. truly. they rang your little bell.
omg
but not the one you think, the one in your heart. and thats when you begin to fall. all the safety measures you’ve built over all these years will get torn down and you are almost helpless with your feeling and emotions in that space and you might not have even realized how strong and tall that wall was.
and if you’re lucky the other person will be going through the same thing too and you might even say uh oh because youve entered a new realm, a good place, maybe the best place.
woah
and if you ask me that’s where the kissing comes in because what good are words? however, when it IS time to talk, you might say things youve always been afraid to say to anyone, not the i love you junk, but real stuff, like real fears, real traumas, real dreams, real desires. stuff youve packed down deep behind those walls. and again, if yr lucky the other person will be there for you and hear you and understand and maybe deliver some of theirs back at you and you’ll say omg those arent so bad and they’ll say yours arent so bad either and of course i’ll do that gross funny thing bc fuckit lets do it now. and that’s love.
ok ok ok, she said excited, full of fresh new questions. but we were almost at her pad.
so is it ok if i just want that just once a week or on the weekends? is that selfish? is that weird? is that mean?
we were at a stop light and i turned to her and i said, your life is yours.
there life is theirs.
maybe they’ll say i cant wait for every weekend now.
really?
sure but the funny thing about true love is that nitrous lasts like a full year so you’re gonna be slightly outta control for way longer than you think
apparently if you’re born in the USA, and a teen, and you haven’t done anything illegal, the US won’t go into mexico to bring you back.
so he hung out with hookers and learned how to shoot guns and, well, make love.
being an american, all the girls wanted to marry him and then move to the US. this included a brazilian girl who could cook, spoke english perfectly, and, well… taught by example.
at first he says, they were flailing, but then she said, look if we’re gonna do this let me show you how
he said, theres a spanish word for mind-blowing and said it to me
were you tempted to marry her? i asked.
hell no
but they say brazilian girls are the prettiest in the world. was she a 9? a 10?
she was a 20! he laughed, smiling, driving that pick up flat-bed tow truck fast through the streets of la. a pack of marlboro greens (!) bouncing on the dash, waze squawking out directions, and him making fast turns, windows rolled down, howling.
we talked cartels, food, the unique world of tossing salads, and being a dad
id like to take my son fishing, he said.
where?
lake lake
i had him repeat it because i was pretty exhausted myself
lake lake, i swore he said and i laughed bc what a great name. did the laziest man in la own it?
unfortunately when i got home i learned he was saying legg lake.
but now i need to strike it rich so i can make a fishing hole and call it lake lake.
his name was marcus, forgettable features and style. dressed to fit in, not to stand out. my goal too.
he smelled funky because he had just helped inhale an eight ball of blow, downed ten shots of jameson, and dont tell his wife, but he rubbed the legs of a red-headed hooker who sat on his lap for two hours. it was his birthday and his boys wanted him to enjoy turning the big 4-0 in k-town.
since marcus was korean, that meant kbbq, karaoke, bottomless soju, and npg girls. npg? he used a three letter term i couldn’t make out. he was slurring words. did he want to go to sleep back there?
whats that, i asked?
they’re girls who will hang out with you in the karaoke rooms, and with your friends, he explained. there’s a knock at the door and five or six girls line up. if you like one of them you choose them. it was my birthday so i chose first. i took a white girl. not the prettiest. not the fittest. one that doesn’t always get picked. but pretty. they cost $100 an hour, 2-hour minimum. no sex, but you can rub their leg.
no sex, I asked? what an interesting culture.
some places you can have sex, he said, places that have private bathrooms in the room. but in most places, the girls give you their phone number and you can call them in a few days for sex, or a bj, or whatever, he explained.
are they topless?
no.
why not?
thats not how it is.
what if you tipped them? i mean, i dont mind not having sex with them, in fact im not sure i want that at all, but if theyre there to look pretty, lets all take our shirts off and sing ozzy ‘til the dust settles.
ive never seen that happen, he admitted.
marcus, if it was your birthday and i was one of your boys, and we all had npg girls, i’d make a rule where we all changed clothes after every song, like what the replacements did on snl.
change what? he asked, very confused.
ok after the first song, i wear your clothes and you wear my npg girl’s clothes. then the following song i wear hers. we’d all rotate. but the singing must never stop marcus. in fact, since its your birthday, another rule must be that you have to always have a bra on.
i dont know if thats allowed.
can you do drugs with these women?
yes, we split an eight ball tonight.
so you can coke these beauties up and do saki bombs, but you cant wear their bras? what sort of country are we living in?
i dont think you understand, he said, trying to calm me down
BUT I WAS CALM
so all of you have girls, but none of you had any sex with them?
correct, he said, adjusting his glasses after putting his phone down on the seat.
where do you get your blow jobs? he asked me directly
me? im gonna be 58 in a month. at my age, bjs are like finding money in the street. it happens and you look around to see if this is a hilarious prank, but you know it’s all luck having nothing to do with you.
you will remember, oh yeah thats where i found $20 in the gutter.
you dont use an app? he asked and told me about a site called humaniplex
this is why i drive rideshare, i told him. you people teach me everything.
WHAT ON EARTH IS HUMANIPLEX?
it’s where you can pay girls for blowjobs and handjobs.
i looked at him via the rear view mirror in the back seat. it was dark and i couldnt see very much.
i tried to ESP him, dont pay for things you can get for free. but my powers arent what they used to be.
ive been married almost 20 years, he confessed, and my wife doesn’t do that any more. once we had our second daughter, she looks at me as if i was disgusting.
bro, we are disgusting.
but she’s my wife. two minutes would mean so much. for my birthday she didn’t even give me a real kiss. i got a pat on the back as i left the house to get my lyft.
don’t drink too much soju! she said.
then he handed me the npg girl’s card which I discreetly placed in the soiled wrapper that once held my jack in the box taco.
you don’t want it? i asked.
i already put her in my contacts as soju.
and when he got out of the car he said, don’t tell my wife
got off on the wrong foot when i nearly pulled away from the swanky omakase sushi joint without letting the dad in, after the hot mom and brainy son got into my tesla, and the dapper doorman shut their door.
whoops, that wasn’t the doorman.
stop! my husband! the wife gasped as i began to go.
also it was night. also i was tired. also how gentlemanly of him to open the door for his family and then sit in the front with me? once they were in they all laughed at my idiocy.
seeing we were headed to a hotel, i asked if they were visiting us from out of town. yes, canada, the college-aged lad in the back said.
ever been to toronto? dad asked.
i tried to count in my head the exact number as a flood memories ran through my mind.
i had ice skated there, seen matthew good at massey hall, took in at least two blue jays games, did coke the only time i ever did coke – out at the beaches,
ate sushi alone, ate sushi with lowercase carmen, ate poutine with etienne
made incredible love on a couch in a giant suite next to where the leafs play
got my nipples twisted at a bar upon meeting a former stripper for the first time, then a few years later she bit me so hard on my hand it made a mark, woke up with her the next morning and opened the hotel drapes to see the thickest, softest snow storm.
i played guitar hero for the first time with bloggers led by raymi in a basement, karaoked twice at the old man and the fog, once with the beautiful BC twins, window shopped at a furrier, nearly froze my nuts off walking across the street one night, a pretty girl i was too scared to even talk to normally scooped me up from a hotel one new years eve and drove me to barrie,
and the last time i flew into yyz, i was greeted with a smile that made me melt in my high tops.
hmmm turonno? is that the town with that tall pointy thing next door to mississauga?
great laughter among the family.
you have been there! dad said from beneath a fantastic mustache that fit him so well you’d swear he was born with it.
the whole family was well-appointed. obviously pimped out for the famous chef on restaurant row where there’s only a dozen stools at the sushi bar. a warm towel is presented for each pair of hands. teas and soup arrive. then the man himself walks out as on broadway and bows to each in his audience.
$300 a head. Eleven priceless wonders are prepared right in front of their eyes. it concludes with applause, generous tips, full bellies, and pie holes bukakked with flavors and textures like nowhere else.
naturally we talked politics because that is the only thing you should never discuss in a tipping relationship, especially with a man whose knockout of a wife and genius son you nearly kidnapped in broad darkness.
the same mustached man who just tipped hundreds to the last service workers who took care of him.
tell me about your handsome prime minister, i asked.
he’s awful, the dad sneered, as if he had been personally insulted by the PM on his birthday.
the worst, agreed the son.
ugh, groaned mom.
what happened? i thought you all were so happy when he was elected?
we were, said the dad, i say this as one who voted for him, he admitted, smiling. either that fish was magical or this whole family had the best disposition because even when they talked about how much they hated pretty much all of the politicians up there, they did so with the biggest smiles.
also, we were having fun together.
yeah, i began to explain, our mayor gave us the bait and switch too when we elected her, here in la. she ran against the billionaire owner of the grove
love the grove, mom injected.
it’s loved! i continued, but he tried to buy his way into being mayor in such a weird, gross, obvious way, that la was like, nah. because we are known as the capital of contrivance and phony baloney – they say, we reject it when we sniff it out. if you’re gonna do it, be good at it.
the last thing anyone wants to be known for is insincerity. she was less so than he was, so she won.
but then she, very quickly, started doing so many of the things he woulda done, i told my audience. the typical boring stuff, like giving the cops anything they wanted, and cutting the budget for the firefighters along with her own homeless plan.
the firefighters? the boy said.
what about for president? who will you vote for? the dad asked which stunned me because i did not see that coming.
and this, gentle reader, is why i am poor and will one day be reduced to selling photos of my feet: when it comes to certain things, i cannot tell a lie, even if it means i wont get a 5, 10, or 20 dollar tip, or keep a job, or get the girl, or or or
i said, im gonna vote for the one who didnt rape a woman
and zero smiles remained in the car slowly driving down wilshire
not canadian zero, which is 32
but american zero, which is zero point zero
equal to how much bullshit i wanted to give these very nice people on this 15 minute ride to the pretty woman hotel overlooking rodeo, which, fun fact, has a canadian flag in front of it.
mr trump does not rape women. they rape him, dad said, smile returning, laughter bubbling from the back seat.
so true, i said, failing miserably at sarcasm.
no no, he did not rape anyone. dad reiterated. those women just want his money.
and then i did it again because, for the record, i am also incredibly dumb, which is why i live in a cave under the D in the hollywood sign with the skunks.
thats not what the judge and jury said, i blurted out.
in fact after he was found guilty, i went on because who cares, the jury awarded her $80 million, not for what he did to her in that upscale department store dressing room, but what he said about her while he was president. that he didn’t even know her. that what she wrote in her book should be placed in the fiction section of the book store. that she was not his type.
see, the dad said. that liberal judge denied mr trump his free speech rights.
and then sense returned to me and i was able to say, i agree. a man should be able to say what he wants, even if his job is president. and we will see on the appeal if the next judge will strike down that enormous fine, which is so crazy. $80 million for defamation? they’re clearly picking on him.
they sure are, the mom said quietly in the back as miles davis blew kind of blue from his coronet quietly out of my speakers.
so will you vote for him? the dad asked again.
is this how he made his fortune, i thought? by not taking no for an answer?
we stopped at a light and i said, i may not look it, but im a light skinned Black man. my mom protested with john lewis when she was in college, she marched with mlk a few years before i was born. i saw her last week and she said, don’t you dare do any funny business in that ballot box and Not vote for the first Black woman for President.
he listens to his mother, the mom said in the back and tapped her son on the knee.
the dad told me, you know people often change their mind behind the curtain on election day.
i should lie to my mother? the person i love the most? i asked.
you don’t have to lie-lie, he said. if she asks just change the subject.
and then it clicked. the customer is always right. i totally forgot i was at work.
you know what, you beautiful canadians, you just reminded me of something. unlike up there where the leader is chosen by who gets the most votes
ummm, the son began to say
down here, i continued, not hearing him, we have this outdated thing called the electoral college, where in most states individual votes don’t matter because the people in those states typically vote in big ways, one direction or the other. so like in mississippi, the poorest and least-educated state in the union, they always vote republican. thus that state’s dozen electoral votes go to the republican.
out here in california, which is so rich and huge that if it became its own country it’d immediately have the 5th largest economy in the world – and have the same population as… canada. here my vote doesnt count because the people overwhelmingly vote for democrats.
so our 48 votes go to the democrat.
i had lost dad, so i tapped his knee and said,
which means my vote for president doesnt count. which means fuck it, fine, i’ll vote for mr trump.
and not the Black woman with the clean criminal record.
young black guy on the curb with his hands in his long thick braids
a minute later, i spotted her standing on the gravel walking away from it all and after rolling down my window i called out
yo tisha! im your uber!
she crossed the desert road and got in while yapping on the phone.
120th and fig? i asked, confirming the $110 ride i would be paid less than half for driving her a little over an hour thru the crescent moonlight and away from the hot scene, back home to south central
yes GO nigga! she barked, slapping the back of my headrest
obedient, i darted into the darkness.
she was 21, native, knew all the streets, didnt have a man, was turned off by sex, and from what i could gather, borderline homeless; crashing with this one or that one, friends, mens, depends.
after ten minutes i know most of my passengers stories. with her, it was easier because she did, not, give, a damn
tisha reeked of stale tobacco and coconut oil. had a faint accent from the islands but swore she aint never been nowhere outside la
dark skinned, beautiful, but something had stolen her youth. looked 35. she talked to her mom first, then her girl and then me
motherfucker said, get out, switch seats with me and tell ‘em you was driving, she reported on speakerphone to her mother who replied after each complaint with lord jesus
i took my phone off its holder and frantically but stealthily searched for a way to record this angel from above, but i was speeding and all i could do was turn on my camera, select video and record my knee. all i wanted was the audio.
but it didnt record. so i strained to commit to memory the modern way she described things
i gave up on that too and just leaned back and tried not to fall in love with young tisha as she told me everything
her man was from texas, tall, strong, shiny jewelry around his thugged out tatted up neck, but he possessed a temper which she said was fine with because she got bipolar too. nothing new.
she said if a man treat her right she’d give him everything. even if she only had a penny. but he was always angry and insatiably searching for something, and frustrated that he couldnt make real money due to his past and poor choices.
like what led him to lancaster that school night.
a few months ago, he had slipped into her instagram DMs randomly, flattered her, bought some sexy things off her amazon wishlist, which she modeled for him as they sexted on whatsapp
he moved out here but immediately lost his charm
after a piece i said nigga, what DO you want?
i dont need to be dicked down erry night, but it’s nice to have a brothers face all on me. this negro don’t hug on me, kiss me, fuck me, lick me or get a room with me. narry a fingering since he been out here. it’s always, i gotta do this, can you cash app me a dime for this, why you work so much?
BECAUSE I BE PAYING FOR YOUR RAGGEDY ASS ERRYDAY
tonight he come up to the blade and say, get in, we going to a party. i think do he want to pimp me? finally nigga! lets get this! but i get in and theres a white bitch in the front seat sucking on a sorry blunt. i say who bitch this? he say, nevermind get in. we go to the 110 and i say nuh uh. stop here. lemme run the track while its hot. but he say, shut up. shut up? what this white bitch doing to you?
was it a set up? were they trying to have a threesome with you? was he scheming to use you for something? i asked, brimming with questions.
oh god, i do not know, she said. that girl said nothing! it was awkward as fuck. i sat in the back and watched her get up close to him like she his bitch. i said, guurrrrrl.
tisha then demonstrated how close she was to him by doing it to me and she noticed me flinch and sat back.
she inhaled a long drag on her vape and said, so i kept my black ass quiet because if i was finna fight that bitch right there, we would have wrecked on the freeway. so i just smoked my own blunt and didn’t share and i texted my girl and then i guess i went to sleep because right before we crashed something told me to wake up and i woke up and BAM! that mothafucka hit a mothafuckin pole. dumb nigga.
earlier i handed her a bottle of water and now that it was empty she was squeezing it making crazy plastic sounds. as we drove through the dark hills of canyon country on the 14, i thought what if she bipolar slits my throat and tries to steal my Y but then realizes she doesn’t know how to start it?
then i thought, use your imagination for positive things dummy. but it was a struggle, lemme tell you.
the only thing i told that dumb bitch before i fell asleep, she contunued, was you best take your legs off the dashboard because in a crash your passenger princess ass be paralyzed. and sho nuff blonde bitch be howling when we hit that pole.
WHERE MY WEED, WHERE MY WEED? her man asked, once he woke up and saw what he had done
apparently he had just bought an eighth and didnt want the cops to find it before he did
just an eighth? i wondered out loud, doing everything i could to let her know i was on her side. thats all? had he been drinking?
no. he don’t drink. he dont do shit ‘cept talk about what he gonna do.
then why was he worried about so little pot?
because this trifling fool was on parole and has two strikes and that white chickenhead was talkin’ bout some mess that didnt concern me so i got my phone, called my uber, and got to steppin’.
im too cute for this.
do you have another blunt, i asked her?
just this here, she said holding up her vape
if you roll down the window you can smoke it, i said at the rear view mirror. you been through it. but i gotta tell you, someones looking out for you because i gotta be the only uber way out here who actually wants to be going to LA at 1 am. from a crime scene.
oh you stay in la?
hollywood
my niiiggggga, she said and blew a stream of smoke out of the tinted window there in the back.
what was she thinking?
what was i thinking?
as we kept driving, she said her legs were hurting. i dug around in the square compartment that teslas have, where the gear shift would have been in the olden days. they are deep and light up when you push the button to open it.
in there i had tootsie rolls, my house key, jack-in-the-box napkins, ketchup packets, and a half bottle of “headache relief,” my final purchase from the 99 cent store.
you can have the whole bottle, i said, then mansplained what endorphins are and why the fact that she was only now hurting meant her body felt safe enough to take care of it instead of masking the pain.
sloppy. all these niggas be sloppy, she said, staring out into nothing
this other man want to be my pimp. i say go on then, but he really a drug dealer. he aint gotta go out there and nearly get run over in long beach, he aint gotta be getting chased by crack heads and gangsters on western
why are these people chasing you? i asked.
to prove you need a pimp. because if i had one he’d bust they heads and say, stay away from my ho before i take yo hos.
so this man want me in his room with him at 11, but i say you should be out on fig with me at 11. thats the time to make money, not sleep. he always be sleepy!
lord jesus, i heard on the phone.
didnt know mom was back on speaker.
if he’s a drug dealer, why doesn’t he snort a little coke to stay up? i asked her, hyperfocused on their relationship. i wondered which of the endless run-down motel rooms on figueroa she had to beg a man with a pocket full of drugs to help her turn tricks
because he sells it.
i know, but why wouldnt he pinch to get the night rolling? does he never do the drugs he sells? i asked
yeah, he had just done some molly after i woke up around 5, thats why he was sleepy and sweet but dumb
of course not, but my sister and mother took care of the big stuff.
i had $50 cash in my pocket.
i was going to walmart to get one of those stupid airplane pillows shaped like a horseshoe.
tiktok had a video where someone was raving about how they had reinvented it and not only was it soooo comfy but it prevented jet lag.
google told me the new plane horseshoe was at walmart but id learn later that google lies.
his car was nice enough. a little dirtier than id expect from such a nice man.
god he was a slow driver but that gave us more time to talk about two of my favorite subjects: weed and driving uber.
this guy liked to pretty much only drive from waikiki to the airport and a little up the west side of the coast. i asked how much money someone could make doing that in like 5 hours. he said $60-$70 depending on if he got any tips.
i said perfect, check it out. how about shut off the app when you drop me off, i’ll give you $50, take me back to my hotel and drive me to the airport?
he thought it over carefully. was i a cop? did i work at uber? was i going to ruin the way he makes $1,200-$1,500 a month? he told me, shockingly. there is a small market in hawaii for 72-year-olds to make that kind of money.
he went for it. which is why you should always lead with weed. cops would never.
i ran in, got the bogus normal pillow that sorta worked later in the plane but not really. ran back out to the car and he took me back to my hotel, which ive gotta say, was the smallest room ive ever been in. i pretended i was in tokyo.
i got my luggage and we were on our way to the airport when somehow he drove even slower. so i tried to ask probing questions which would inspire him to get me to american airlines asap.
at 72 does your wife love you or just tolerate you? i asked.
ive never had a wife who loved me, he said.
did you go through a few?
my current wife is my third.
where did you meet her?
a filipino dating web site. it’s for women who want to marry americans or europeans.
i thought, he got a mail order wife? i looked at him differently. more respectfully. grampa knew what he wanted, went for it, and made it happen.
how long did you two, type type type, with each other before meeting?
email for a long time, then whatsapp, then i learned how to use skype for free.
a strorm was coming to o’ahu. you could smell it. the humidity was thick. the birds were getting their affairs in order.
my dude was driving below the speed limit.
we have a four-year-old son, he said, huge smile stretched on his clear but somewhat wrinkly face.
get out, i said.
michael jordan martinez chin
how old is your wife?
she just tuned 40.
you got her at 36?
35
and you knocked her up right away?
we kissed quite a lot at the beginning, he said smiling brighter.
lemme ask you, did you know your swimmers could still swim at 68?
69. and no. i didn’t.
you son of a gun.
i would drive more but i love being with my son. thanks to you, i can go home now and watch youtube with him. he loves youtube.
i’ll tell you what then, i dont mind if you speed up to get me to the airport. that way you can get home quicker.
so many times i want to cancel the ride right before I get to the pick up.
psychologically, this might be why i’ve never been married or even engaged.
it’s not that i haven’t dated incredible women, it’s because i am equal parts an idiot and also ridiculous.
it was a slow day of being peppered with $4 and $5 offers and i wanted to drive for a few hours and do some fat trips. so when i saw a $42 ping to go from silver lake to palmdale i couldn’t mash the phone quicker. especially after i saw it was estimated to take a little over an hour.
uber and lyft try to shoehorn us into a $25 an hour death spiral. so half-hour trips for $12, fifteen minute shorties for $6. if you take those trips you’ll never make enough profit to save up for your next rideshare vehicle after you and your passengers destroy your current car.
the keyword is profit. people say, oh youre making $25 an hour you should be happy. we would be happy if the car was free and the insurance was free and the repairs were free and the women kissed you all over and sat in the back seat and said, oooooh weeeee do i love a bald king, heres my number and my best friends number. what time you get off? and also if the maintenance was free and food and drinks on the road were free. and it was nonstop $25 every hour for 8 straight hours. but that’s not the case.
so you really need to make more than $25 an hour, which could be plausible if people tipped, but we know they dont, so I feel you’ve gotta adjust if youre gonna stay in this field.
step one, cut your expenses. in my case, i switched to an electric car whose energy and maintenance costs are a fraction of a gas vehicle. step two, take these long ass trips far away from la, even if a ride back is not guaranteed.
but by now you know the only guarantees in life: rock-n-roll will save yr soul and the chicago cubs will break your heart. so gamble on yourself while continually saying little prayers to the angels.
it was risky to pick up bebe and her kids at a silver lake children’s center. when i saw that the mom had a giant stroller, plus a collapsible wagon, plus three little girls, and mom was yelling at the kids because they had knocked over the wagon which spilled soccer balls and toys on the ground, i have to be honest, i thought about hightailing it out of there because — were the kids gonna be crying for an hour in the car? Was the mom going to be a terrible person? and who awaited us?
also, do i even like kids? even for an hour?
but they were black, as am i, and i have a soft spot for my people. i am not a nyc taxi driver who would have def canceled on that scene. i am a christian man who, even with the grace of god, still might not make it to heaven, so… i put on a smile and helped the kids and mom load up.
they were three little girls. adorable. one cuter than the next. oldest was in 4th grade, middle was in 1st, the baby was in her car seat and almost one. deandra, delilah, and dee dee, respectively.
they immediately won me over.
mom was ok too. just on her last nerve.
shush for a sec, my princesses, i asked them, i need to tell uncle elon where we are going.
i pressed the button on the wheel and said the address. within seconds the giant screen gave us directions to their destination – grandma’s house up in palmdale.
one thing i’ve noticed with tesla navigation: it gives me different routes than waze ever did over my years with rideshare. i’ve taken several trips from hollywood to palmdale. they typically go from the 101 freeway to the 5 to the 14, which is a like being at the bottom of a letter C and riding that curve to the left and up and back around.
elon routed us as a bird would fly, a straight shot. but that would take us through the desert mountain road. A two-lane scenic wonder that in all my years id never taken.
it was like discovering there was a door to your attic and finding the most beautiful treasures up there. it was green and desolate and naturey and 20 minutes from where id spent the last 23 years of my so-called life.
it was so remote that the girls’ internet and my music streaming capabilities died and for a while we were driving in silence, which if you know me, is unacceptable.
who knows a song? i asked the kids, who were being good even after the mom had warned me “they bad kids.”
I DO I DO, deandra said, but then got cold feet when she couldnt think of the first line.
who is it by? i asked.
she didn’t know.
was it… and i sang poorly, but loudly like bill murray in a dive bar, i’m not a girl… not yet a wo-man
mom laughed, the girls didnt get it.
NO, the eldest child said, all covered in a hoodie despite how hot it was outside. we’d learn later she and her mom were hit as pedestrians when two cars crashed into each other, and that she was insecure about the scar on her forehead.
mom was stoked because a big settlement would be coming any day and they wouldn’t have to bop from a crappy motel to aunt’s apartment to grandmas house.
their $75k ship was fixin’ to come in.
was it? and i sang even louder this time: a screen door slams, mary’s dress sways, and like a vision she dances across the porch as a radio plays
NOOOO, Deandra yelled laughing
ROY ORBISON SANGIN FOR THE LONELY, i continued, poorly but with purpose HEY IT’S ME AND I WANT YOU ONLY. DONT TURN ME HOME AGAIN I JUST CANT FACE MYSELF ALONE AGAIN
NOOOOOOO! the two older girls said laughing almost screaming
he crazy delilah said, directly behind me.
lil dee dee, what song do you know? i asked.
she don’t talk yet, the mom said.
dee dee was playing with her ipad in the middle of the back seat which was making sounds in spanish.
does she parlez vous espanol? i asked.
no, i think she might be slow.
i looked in the rearview at the little child, smiling at the cartoon animals dancing on her screen, smudged with fingerprints. fully engrossed in her world. she was eating the remains of the candy corn i had handed out to the kids, which i had just purchased at the dollar general because apparently halloween is somehow weirdly near.
don’t be surprised if she already knows how to speak but has just been holding it in, i told the mom. one day next month she’s gonna tap you on the shoulder and in a full blown british accent be all, mummy, may i have a spot of tea before i resign for the evening? two lumps of sugar if you please.
the girls laughed as we drove through the bright sunlight in the mountains.
i get scared going through here, deandra said. poor dear. we were up high and the roads were one s-curve after another with steep drops. some of the travelers had pulled over at a vista to take a photo on a cliff side.
white folks, momma said quietly.
do you all believe in the lord? i asked. they said yes. i said do you all say your prayers every night? yes, they said.
you know you don’t have to save your prayers for night? god likes to hear from you in the day too. he loves hearing from you. let’s say a prayer.
the mom looked at me like, yep, he crazy.
lord, please help — girls repeat after me — lord
lord, they said.
please help our handsome driver
please help our handsome driver
grow his hair back!
grow his ahahahahahahaaha
i lifted my cubs cap and said, ok when you laugh the prayer doesn’t work. focus, ladies!
let’s try a different one.
lord, please let us
lord. please let us
make it to grandma’s house safely.
make it to grammys house safely!
a-men! i said loudly.
a-men said deandra, delilah and the mom.
and a few seconds later, a-men chirped little dee dee in the sweetest tiniest voice.
like all of my favorite people, she was out there waiting
for me
one of many twentysomething blondes in what at first looked like a scene from a disaster film.
it was only 115 am but all these young women were amassing outside a trendy washington blvd venice bar in their party dresses, either laughing or crying or worried or plotting
did the early last call confuse them? had there been a raid? where were the dudes?
as i made a u-turn to get her, i noticed three coeds sitting on the curb in tiny tops with a long blonde in the middle weeping uncontrollably, her friends on each side.
she was not my passenger, rachel was.
did the boy she liked kiss someone else? i asked as rachel got in
one sec, she said apologizing. she was 24, with a black skirt, black top, sheer, silver necklace disappearing down there
in an available but not trashy way
she was on the phone
is it cool if i swing thru? she asked him quietly, knowing the answer.
when i accepted the ride it was from the marina to downtown. a straight shot once i got on the 10. no traffic. the robot could do it so easily.
when she said bye, i asked, is it cool?
she said yeah.
whats his address?
rachel pointed at her phone and said its the one i had in there.
you bad b-word, i laughed.
and this is the problem i have. you dont get these rides at 1pm. you only get them at night. yes it gets messy, but now that ive put down my rubber mats im not so paranoid that someone will hurl,
but it’s still dangerous.
theres bad drivers, bad cops, even a few bad passengers. i seriously need to get a dash cam.
if i had one, though, would she have told me what she said? i wonder about this because if you have a dashcam, lyft and uber tell the passengers, which is good,
but it can be bad if they clam up for fear of being recorded saying:
hes rich, short, the ding dong is weird, but he smells nice and his view is better than mine. and he’s not far from me.
whats he do?
producer, she said. and usually i ask what kind, but right then i saw what looked like a spotlight to my right. cops? did i not signal?
then i saw a cop copter. it was a very bright light. unusual angle. what was he looking for?
then a car sped by me. faster than ive ever seen a car go up lincoln. a minute later a black-n-white. then another. truckin’.
within minutes the copter was circling, then wider circles, beam of light zigzagging down unto west la like it had lost a contact.
they fucked up, i told her
they sure did, she agreed, both of us fascinated with our front row seats to a real car chase and escape.
i always hope they get away with it, rachel whispered
MEEEE TOOOOOO i agreed. hey siri play the clash police on my back
cranked it.
later on the 10 i was all, so he just lets you come over booty call-like? as if he were just a hunk of meat?
well, it’s not a given anything will happen, she corrected me.
at 2am it’s not a done deal?
absolutely not.
you would seriously come over, ride that elevator up, look all cute, drink the man’s champagne and then bail?
nothing in life is free, sir.
was she a hooker? no. a gold digger? hmmmm. maybe?
oh, you’re saying he’s got to work for it? even at this hour?
she scoffed. this is The hour. he better be showering, steaming a clean shirt, brewing some tea, tidying, setting the mood. yes, he’s got to work for it. im doing my part, he has to do his part.
omg do you know that janet jackson song?
i doubt it.
siri play, what have you done for me lately, by janet
we listened and i forgot there was a tiny skit before the song, the twentysomething loved it.
facts, she said when i turned it down.
every day you have to prove your worth, i asked?
every day we all do, she said.
so if he doesn’t have the rizz, then you won’t mind waking up tomorrow alone in your place?
where did you learn that word, she laughed?
every night i listen to you kids struggle with all the things we went through
like what? she asked, downtown lights sparkling down on us through the moon roof.
like being ok with boning ppl you dont love yet
thats not what this is, she said with a lilt in her voice
of course not, but if it were… i have a trick for you. that is, if you want to hear it.
her name was kayleigh. she curled up right to sleep on her boyfriends lap as soon as they got in the car. their best friend jerry placed his bag in the trunk and sat next to me so she could stretch out. before we pulled away from the curb he said
thanks for taking us. see that guy right there in the suburban? he cancelled on us when we approached his vehicle. he said he didnt want to go all the way down to seal beach. can’t you guys see where the trip is going before you accept?
it was 1am. we were outside of the fairmont hotel in santa monica. home of the bungalow bar, where, as the beastie boys might have said, all the fly skimmies go to feel the beat mmm, drop!
i said, i hate to break this to you jerry but theres a few scumbag uber drivers out here in these streets. i dont want to presume anything, especially with so few details you gave me, but if the request comes in from a kayleigh at the bungalow on a friday night for a trip to the LBC at 1am, theres an exceptionally good chance that shes going to be hot like our sleeping beauty kayleigh snoozing away on your boy’s lap right now.
or she’ll be drunk and who knows, possibly down, or better yet she will be accompanied by her homegirls who wanna have an after party closer to home. so the driver, who may have gotten lucky or near lucky in the past, camped out next to basically the only cool late night spot oozing with drunk young goddesses and only accepted pings from prospective passengers with female-presenting names.
but once you and your bud showed up with kayleigh, his nefarious plan was ruined and he was all, yeah no, and made up a lame excuse and kept waiting for a new ping from a brenda, la tisha, linda, felicia, dawn, le shaun, ines, or alicia.
jerry was all, can we turn around and kill him?
i went like, on one hand the customer is always right, but also, im giving you the absolute worst case scenario. he might have also just needed to pee, and a 38-minute trip to seal beach might not have been wise for him to take if he downed one-too-many red bulls
jerry was getting his phd in medieval studies in boston. kayleigh and her man were from austin. they were all in town for a friend’s wedding whose rehearsal dinner was at the hotel. someone brought an escort with enormous fake cans and a tiny pink dress. he’d done it before, jerry said, and was asked not to do it again but he thinks its funny.
do you guys think it’s funny?
bro in the back giggled.
we talked about weddings and rehearsal dinners and blowing such large wads on sorta uncomfortable parties that would inspire a man to bring a hooker, several times, it sounds like. we all agreed we’d elope, except the wedding isnt really for us. it’s the woman’s happiest day of her life.
what was the happiest day in your life? i asked the dude in the back.
when i married kayleigh, he said and tried to hold his laugh but couldnt. then jerry busted. then kayleigh woke up briefly and readjusted.
how about you, jerry?
i had a crush on an instagram chick, he said. i slid in her DMs not expecting anything, but we started dating, then she got into onlyfans and one day she asked if i wanted to “make some content” with her and another OF girl and i said, can i wear a mask? so i ate some viagra and we made like four clips.
tell him the rest now, jer, his bud prodded.
and i got an std.
damn, i said, which one?
bro was all, the normal one, the herpes half the planet has.
worth it? i asked.
best day of my life, he repeated, smiling.
bro asked mine, and i turned my cubs cap around and said 2016, it was a rainy november night in cleveland
as we hauled ass down the 405, i thought about the driver with the suburban who was def probably a creep, but he might have also been really smart. driving from 1am-3am is the most profitable time of the week on fridays and saturdays. you’re almost better off doing shorter trips from santa monica to downtown and not too far away from wilshire because it’s kinda like playing pool.
when you watch the greats play pool, they look at the table and think about what their next move is gonna be after their current shot. with driving, you might not wanna take a trip to seal beach late at night because now youre in freakin orange county around 2am and all those drunks just wanna go back to hermosa or redondo or worse costa mesa or some shit and now its 3am and youre nowhere near home and you haven’t made a bunch of cash or gotten hit on by a boozy betty who smells like chanel number five and is so lonely
and sobbing
and touching your arm from the back seat.
i explained this to the men who then asked, so why did you take us?
because fuck pool. if you’re a bad ass you can sink any shot any time anywhere.
jerry was all, and you’re a bad ass?
i was like, no, im a dumb ass, who likes to gamble on the long shot which is some bad bitch might be getting canceled by some seal beach drivers bc she wants to go home to hollywood and bingo, that’s me.
kayleighs snores were cute. they talked about how she has the ability to zonk out anywhere. bus, train, plane. no white noise needed. no comfy bed.
the boys were higher maintenance requiring a cold beer or a joint or a tv being on.
i was all, you know what helps me sleep? long drives in the middle of the night with the sound of someone sawing wood near by. then i did an impersonation of the three stooges snoring and veered the tesla slightly into the next lane and laughed.
we all laughed.
men are the worst. ahahhahaa.
before we were going to drop off kayleigh and her man, jerry said, ok how do i add a stop? i go, where to? he said about 20 minutes away. i go, if you have $20 in your venmo, send it to me if its easier. he goes, but uber is saying $30. i go, professor, if it’s easier just gimme $20, im already down here.
he was all, ok. if you say so and he put away his phone.
so we dropped off the couple and started towards wherever the fuck. in the dark it’s all the same to me.
so medieval lit? i asked
yep.
is that like chaucer?
sure is!
what about gawain and that green knight?
sir gawain? youve read it?
you think if i was educated id be driving an uber in the middle of the night on the weekend behind the orange curtain?
well, i mean, he stammered….
i had embarrassed poor jerry.
im just kidding, i saw that movie the green knight with dev patel a few years ago.
ahhhh, got it. yeah. it was ok, he said.
book was better i joked.
SO YOU HAVE READ IT
the book’s always better, doc.
dropped him off at the in-n-out which was still open, miraculously. i was thinking of having one myself, but that would feel weird following my customer in there. i like to give people space. also i needed to charge the Y. i was at 8%.
there was a charger about 15 minutes away at a good price.
on the way i saw a jack in the box but it had a huge line.
got a phone call. it was doctor jerry.
im so so so so so sorry tony, i left my bag in your trunk, would you mind coming back to the in-n-out.
