fucked up today driving these ucla coeds.

maybe it was because i was tired or hungry or have a problem with impatience, but i said some things i probably should not have.

the day was good. i did 27 rides for uber and 11 for lyft, mostly around the sunny campus, where early afternoon turned into a parade of women in bikini tops and jean shorts heading to one of the many public day frat house parties, or Darties, as one passenger explained to my old ass.

a frat boy told me they only have a few a year because they’re expensive and the school makes them hire security. they build huge pirate ships and waterslides.

it’s a thing and the ladies flock.

later in the day, the majority of the sorority-types appeared en masse in gowns and sleek dresses to take formal photos in the picturesque lawn in front of the iconic brick ackerman hall.

any man would have thanked his lucky stars to see the parade of beauty and joy on such a day.

but not me. i dated an amazing person once who said im never satisfied.

so many men would have been so satisfied today.

so.

first ucla ride was around noon. picked up a young lady from a frat house. she had cowboy boots on, a baggy sweatshirt, and exhaustion.

uber of shame? i asked.

do my boots give me away? she laughed. turns out last night’s party was cowgirl-themed. i informed her of the party school i attended in college and she said, oh then you dont have any right to judge.

oh im not judging, i said. if covid taught us anything it should be: life is short, dress up in outfits, kiss all the boys.

she laughed and said, legend.

but throughout the day i noticed no one was waiting when i arrived to pick them up. a rarity at that school.

it would take me 4 to 5 minutes to get to where they should be, and soooo many of these kids would then make me wait an additional 5 full minutes to come out. five minutes is when a driver can cancel and receive $2.75 and the rider is charged $5.

most of the time at least half the people would be waiting at the curb when i arrive. sometimes they’d flag me down or whistle.

they’d be out there. not these’ns

and because they were smart, they never let the time fully expire. there were always 20 seconds (or shorter) left and they’d magically emerge next to my car.

when this happened around dinner time i asked the two women what the story was.

almost like a dad i said, is it just not cool to wait out front for the uber at ucla?

looking at the rear view window i continued: ive never seen such a thing, every bruin today makes me wait. if i get here in one minute or five minutes everybody drags this out. explain to me what im missing?

silence.

they were hurt. i had hurt them.

they were young people. who knows how old because they all look like babies to me. theyve been in front of screens, holed up in their houses. they spent the last few years in quarantine. and here i am, in a mask, as ozzy and randy rhodes eek evil out of my speakers,

here i am grilling them about making me wait five minutes. when technically they were on time because these ride share companies let them.

uber could charge them a dollar a minute for wait time. or give rebates for those who are out there, if they wanted. they dont.

it’s not these kids’ fault. as the punk said in repo man, i blame society.

so i tried to let them off the hook

i asked, is the problem most ubers take forever to come and i appeared way faster than you expected?

yes! they both said, reaching for the life preserver.

we had so much to do, they continued breathlessly, we figured we had time to do that stuff, so we ordered a ride, tried to finish what we had to do and you were down there. we didnt mean to make you wait, one pleaded

yes, but you cant order the uber after you finish your tasks?

and as i said it, i instantly regretted it cuz i knew it would shut them down.

this is not the culture of rideshare. the culture is the driver is your bitch. you pay to make him that. and if he doesnt like it he can quit. like most of them do. quickly. then the robots will come.

finally we got rolling. i kickstarted some small talk.

so where are we going?

these sweet angels were going to a ucla club banquet where they were being honored for helping battered women and homeless women during the school year and now, at the end of the year, they were being recognized.

the bruin belles, they said the club was.

and i felt so horrible.

any time i feel bad after a trip that isn’t perfect, i think, just shut the fuck up. or if you must open yr trap, ask bullshit surfacey things about their favorite class, let them talk to each other, and get them to where they wanna go.

but thats not me.

wish it was.

see how much they tipped

we were going to her job at the men’s central jail where she works the swing shift. her name was shelby.

she is not a guard, but i told her about my good friend who used to be one.

shelby is an administrator who has worked downtown for over a decade. part of the paperwork trail inmates rely on for transfers, medical help, release, all that, passes through her desk.

so if you don’t like anyone you can just, you know, lose their paperwork? I asked devilishly

she laughed and said, no no. and then laughed more as if that was the first time she had thought about it.

it’s been cloudy and gray hear in la, even in the middle of the day. gloomy. am i sick? am i sad about something? or is it the emotional vibe of not having my BFF, the sun, making sweet love to my pale bald head?

whatever the situation, it was the perfect lighting and mood to drive from koreatown to one of the most notorious jails in the west.

i had so many questions, as i am sure you would have had too.

can you hear them bone? can you hear them cry? do you know which guards are sneaking in the drugs? have you ever fallen in love with any of them?

instead i asked, is it true they’re gonna tear this old jail down?

i hope not, she said. i hope they just build a second jail somewhere downtown. why knock down a building because it’s overcrowded? why not add an additional one? she asked, clearly thinking like a normal person and not a grifting politician who only sees dollar signs when they hear there’s a problem that needs to be addressed.

shelby looked chinese, but her accent was truly filipino. if you’re lucky enough to be around those angelic people you can just tell. still, i asked her.

yes, i am. how did you know? i came here because i was tired of working in a corporate office in manila. my friend was here and saw an ad for the jail, and thank god i got it.

i rolled up the window and turned down the heavy metal.

did I hear you right? i asked, speaking through my covid mask. did you say you left the tropics of your island nation, because you didn’t like your office… so you could work in THE JANKY ASS DEATH JAIL IN DOWNTOWN LA?

she laughed and laughed. i laughed too. we got on the hollywood freeway where there was no traffic. it was either in line at in-n-out or getting high next to a palm tree.

i didn’t come here to work in the jail. i just wanted any job in the states. the pay in manila is low. working for la pays very well.

that inspired me to tell her this story:

i used to run this blog about la. when i started, it wasn’t popular yet, so i went on a road trip. sometimes talk shows like good morning america will go on the road around the country when they want their ratings to go up, taking a circular route to my point.

my angle, i said, was to show people what some cities had that was was better than la and what they had that was worse. one of my first stops was in utah where my friend was a prison guard. when she told me i could visit her, i thought we would hang out in the parking lot, but no, she got me into the prison, on the wrong side of the thick glass.

i was scared, and told my friend i was scared. she said, you see that white masking tape on the floor? you see those TVs hanging from the ceiling? if anyone goes over that line, then those TVs are turned off for a week. on Sunday there’s football. the inmates will beat the mess out of whoever crossed that line and gets their football cut off. and we will let them.

so you are safe.

shelby said, that’s right. and snickered.

how is that right, shelby? these are men who are in jail because they don’t obey the rules!

she laughed some more and said, but they obey the inside-the-prison rules, which are more important.

we got off the 101 near the train station. homeless tents here and there. billboards advertising things in spanish. a denny’s. she talked about how when she first came to la she didn’t see that many homeless people. crime was low. times were good.

but i wanted to know more about this jail. what’s the employee cafeteria like?

there are many filipinos where i work. we often have a potluck where we bring our own dishes and share.

i told her about my podcast and how i have had a few filipino guests including one guy who said la rose cafe in east hollywood is the best in la for filipino food.

the laughter stopped. she got very quiet and then said he was wrong. she said their desserts are good but in east hollywood there’s the point point joint on santa monica blvd. near vermont. it’s the best, although it’s mostly takeout.

point point, she repeated, so my stupid brain could soak it in.

i wanted to ask her if she plans to jet back to manila when she retires, because that’s what some americans do. but I didn’t want it to sound like i was all, leave my beloved homeland.

fortunately, i found the courage.

oh yes. american dollars go very far there. right now it’s 56 pesos for every dollar, she said

i explained that i studied poetry in school and am not very good with math. how much does a two bedroom apartment cost on average in manila?

why do you need two bedrooms? she asked.

i hear live-in maids are like $200 a month, i joked

a regular 2-bedroom apartment is about $300, she said. maids cost $7 an hour. so 40-hours times 7 is $280, but you are giving her a place to live? take one hundred fifty off. a live-in maid is maybe $130 as long as you don’t beat her, she said very casually.

why would i beat someone who is keeping my apartment clean?

she will cook for you too, she added.

shelby told me that i picked her up at a liquor store because she had just sent her family a few hundred dollars which will keep them happy for a month.

you people are the nicest, i said and when she shook her head i said, who’s nicer? the swedes?

canadians! she and i laughed.

i dropped her off at the doomed dark jail, and as she walked in i saw her insulated lunch bag and cursed myself for not asking what was in it.

see how much they tipped

picked up a dude in DTLA at the old American Apparel factories. id been there a few times, luckily both times, when it was still happening. but i didnt mention it.

sometimes it’s the notes you don’t play.

we headed west and passed Sam’s Hofbrau House.

guy asked, ever been in there?

nope.

why not? looks fun!

ah, strip clubs seem weird to me to go to in your own town, i explained. i mean look at me. i turned to give him a full glance at my berrymore profile. do i look like i need to go to a bar and pay to hang out with bad bitches?

we laughed as we passed through the Pińata District.

he continued, well that strip club is key to the great movie you might have heard of, Pulp Fiction.

oh yeah? who doesn’t love Pulp Fiction.

only snakes, he sneered. rumor has it Quentin was in there one night with some industry types. he was thinking about using it for one of his films. they got drunk. and when he got home he realized he didn’t have his wallet.

so he retraced his steps and told his assistant to call Sam’s.

assistant calls and asks, hey do any of you remember seeing the director Quentin Tarantino in there last night?

whoever is on the other end of the line says, don’t know who you’re talking about, but even if i did, we don’t divulge our guests. company policy.

the assistant says, fair enough. well he’s my boss and he thinks he left his wallet there.

bartender or whoever asks, can you describe the wallet?

assistant laughs a little and says, it’s very unique. it’s brown and says Bad Mother Fucker on it in all caps.

bartender chuckles and says, yes we have it, but you need to ask him where he got it because we all want one just like it.

we drove through skid row, laughing, then not laughing

from where we were it almost looks like a movie set

abject American poverty being encroached on by a slowly revitalized arts district of downtown LA to the north, and gnawed at on the other sides by advancing affluence.

ever pick up someone on skid row? the dude asked me.

yeah, i said. it was around this time of day, the sun was still up but barely, people were going home. i got an overly high fare to take someone from the middle of skid row, like next door to the midnight mission, and then take them to the city of commerce.

because im a little crazy i figured, lets see what this is all about.

my guy was all ears.

picked up this little old man outside a free clinic who waved me down. his english wasn’t great but he sure loved speaking it.

i kept peeking at him in my rear view because he looked old, but he was so full of energy. so i asked how old he was.

sixty niiiiiiiinnnnnnneeeee, he said, like a teenage boy who had learned how to say something naughty in a foreign language.

turned out he had lived on skid row for 15-years working as a cook, first at a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown, and then on a food truck. he was making enough money that he could have left his little SRO near skid row, but it was cheap and everyone left him alone.

recently his kids pressured him to move out, but he was there that day to see his doctor.

you’re 69, you could go to any doctor, right? arent you on medicare or some shit? i asked?

si, but i like this doctor, he said. everything under one roof: exam, x-rays, prescriptions. boom. boom boom. he said tapping his hand on his lap.

and they always say, yes, he laughed.

i asked the old man, what would they say no about?

he said, sometimes they don’t want to give you pills.

oh i said, but didnt really understand, so i asked what pills did you ask for today?

he held up his bag and said, generic Viagra.

you son of a gun, i called him

and thought about writing down his address so i could give him the wallet he so deserved.

see how much they tipped

do i love all of my passengers?

yes

even the ones i shouldnt be picking up because it’s past dark, which is my curfew, but i needed a few more trips to reach my goal. these days you don’t make much unless there’s a bonus attached.

and i really don’t want to go back to selling pictures of my pretty feet.

her name was hannah. she wore what i thought was a groovy ‘70s jumper and as her two asian besties slid into the back i asked her about it.

hannah, you see, chose to sit next to me.

oh, this old thang she said, parting the top to reveal a green bustier. it’s a set.

hello!

picked them up at the 4100 in silver lake and asked what they had been indulging in my favorite bar.

margaritas, hold the mix, one of them joked in the back, slurring her words adorably.

just shots, hannah said, as i busted an impressive u-turn on sunset towards virgil where we would eventually get onto the 101.

one thing led to another and i asked where they were headed

karaoke, hannah said, pulling down the passenger side sunshade to get to my lighted mirror where she reapplied a generous swath of lip gloss.

(my kryptonite)

she caught me at the red light looking at her touch up and something happened.

rarely do i ever have anyone in the front seat, and i make it uncomfortable to even consider: i usually have a jacket, some garbage, maybe a half burrito there. the seat is generally pushed all the way forward to give the passenger in the back the max leg room.

love the benz, but it doesnt have the best leg room back there.

so when she looked at me it was oddly intense. she was reading my soul. smiling.

do i still have it? impossible. i had to look away.

karaoke, you say? i asked. do you have a song you want to make sure you get to sing tonight?

every rose has its thorn, hannah said, also wearing green eyeshadow.

omg i love that song i told her, holding back from humblebragging that i was once in Studio A of Capitol Records when Poison played their entire new record of covers called Poison’d for the press of which i was at the time. and for the encore they played every rose and it sounded the best ive ever heard a band ever sound.

but then id have to explain why, if i was so fancy, i was grinding rides on uber on a perfect friday night where beauties in matching sets tunnel into your depths with their gaze.

so i bit my tongue. a rarity.

by miley cyrus, she added.

i’ve heard more than my fair share of miley, i said to the windshield, and i love how she can just sing anything she damn well pleases, including covers, and own it. but i dont think ive heard her do that one.

it’s incredible, hannah said, and sang the chorus like an angel.

as we got onto the somewhat congested hollywood freeway, i said, you have raised my curiosity. would you mind if i played her version while we drive?

would we mind? hannah sung. this is the perfect warm up!

siri, play miley cyrus’s, every rose has its thorn

from the back seat, two stylish young women sang along, knowing every arpeggio and off-the-cuff remark.

neither held back, so i slid open the moon roof so la could hear.

when we got to the boutique record shop which had been rejiggered into an impromptu after hours party, hannah put her warm hand on my forearm and said

you, sir, drive very safely tonight.

i put my hand on hers and said

as you wish

see how much they tipped

and it was with the prettiest girl you ever did see.

black girl!

curls and curls and curls

fuzzy flip flops, big purse, smelled of perfume and sunny days

picked her up in the hills of hollywood, and we needed to run some errands she told me

i bought this benz to get on the most expensive platform but those trips are rare

and i thought my car was too old, but sometimes lyft makes exceptions

i was playing old school smooth jazz from wes montgomery

blue note records with the windows down zig zagging through the canyons to sunset

smack dab on some holiday because the roads were smooth and empty

and first thing she said once we get rolling is

oooh – i like that music

she rolled up her window, so i rolled up mine and caught that familiar aroma of cocoa butter

do you mind if i vape? she asked, rolling the window down again

the presumptive close

fine as you are, i said. you could snort all the blow i have in here

and i tapped the glove box

ahahahah you crazy, she said and took a drag from her colorful plastic vape

wes was playing that thick guitar with its rich deep tone and we just watched the people of west hollywood then hollywood go about their free day

and i asked, do you believe in god?

she said of course

and i said, He is good.

amen she said while inhaling, holding, and blowing out a thick stream as we approached the hollywood freeway on-ramp, shockingly bereft of cars

is this a zombie movie we’re in? i asked gesturing at the absence of traffic

oh thats because i ordered the lyft lux no traffic option, she said and laughed like mike: he he he

i have this theory that i may have shared once before about native californians, that they are extremely mellow and down to earth because

if they grew up here

they have seen it all at an early age.

even though she had a lot of things to do that day

she was also chill

not scattered

and so we went south then east then west then south

talking about race, soul food, tacos, bell hooks, college, snapchat and most interestingly how she took three busses to get to high school

hour-and-a-half each way

while trying to look cute, but not too cute for the pervs in the six busses.

wes led into jimmy smith’s swirling bebop organ.

there were times when there wasnt anything to say and nothing was said.

rarely does that happen but there it was.

on the final stop she left smiling as brightly as i was

even the benz smelled better than it should.

see how much they tipped

picked up two saudi moms near rodeo drive. dressed great. very classy bhurkas.

i wanted to say something, but you know what i do when i want to talk to people about things that have religious meanings?

i drive with my mouth shut.

we passed a tiny park next to the montage hotel, packed with people on a sunny day.

the two ladies exchanged some words to each other in arabic and laughed.

i said, i think it’s a free jazz concert.

they said, no it’s an arab meet up.

one of the women told me that everyone gets dressed up and “casually” meets at the park and gets to know each other and they talk about all of their homes and cars and the great schools their kids are going to and they show off their jewelry.

the other woman told me that they both like to wear more subtle clothes and not try to be flashy.

i said, ive been keeping it real my whole life. ignore the shiny benz.

they laughed from behind expensive sunglasses.

one of them got a phone call. two of her kids were fighting and the nanny was calling for advice. the advice was to separate them, make them each read a book. they will be talked to when she returns.

it was super intense and clear and i would be a little scared while reading my punishment book waiting for my no-nonsense mom to come home.

the other mom had been telling me how much she loves Americans. how helpful we are.

does she live in a hotel?

then she compared the US to the french. apparently they have a summer pad in the south of france and it’s annoying to them that the town insists on speaking french even though ‘everyone knows english.’

whats worse, they are currently being forced to take ubers everywhere (this trip included) because they were forced to make car shipping arrangements in french.

her husband insists they ship their cars back and forth from europe to LA any time they know they’re going to spend a good amount of time here.

there was a misscommunication, lets say.

you know what i do when people tell me about shipping their G Wagons around the world?

i fermer my bouche.

miles davis was playing on the radio because thats who i bump when im trying to be classy with fancy ladies.

we made a stop at a big-time wilshire condo skyscraper and dropped off the scary mom. in the driveway sat a porche suv, customized to look metallic.

and on closer inspection, it had bedazzled rims. from afar they looked like diamonds.

see! see! they said to each other. arabs!

i had already taken a snapchat picture.

now that it was just me and the nice mom, she leaned in and told me things.

like even though she doesnt obsess over material objects, she does love diamonds,

great purses, shoes, nice dresses,

and good hotels.

she said shes never been to nyc but is going there in the winter because her son has three weeks off for christmas break. he goes to a british school.

she told me she doesnt know how to drive. i told her i should start a school called

saudi lady driving school

she nearly died laughing.

then said she would sign up immediately

i take ubers all over the world. life was so much harder before. the men who drove cabs were animals. and they never wanted to stop and wait when i ran errands.

after i dropped her off, she said she wished i was always her driver.

i quickly calculated what i would charge to be their private driver for the summer and probably get murdered after one thing led to a mother, i mean another.

a hundred grand? i thought.

i wished her a good trip to nyc. and she said, Inshallah.

what does that beautiful word mean? i asked.

she said, oh, it means if God wills.

so i said, As-salamu alaykum

her mouth dropped.

thanks ice cube.

see how much they tipped

she was clearly having a panic attack as i drove up to her

flushed, pale cheeks glowing as the sun set, fearful i was going to drive off without her.

i just drove here to get you, why would i drive away? i said nicely

the last guy did, she said and collected herself slowly.

i offered to get her a bottle of water out of my trunk. she said no, im late, lets go.

cute. tomboyish. jeans. sneakers. not a lot of makeup.

but definitely freaked out. still, i thought what sort of music would soothe her? turned on the tom petty station.

hey avril (her name was violet), we found each other. you can relax now, i said pulling into traffic gently.

southern accents was playing. turned it up.

i said, youve got the best uber driver in most of la, the night has just begun, we’re young (taking off my cubs cap revealing a bald head with little gray hairs poking out), and there’s very few drugs hidden in the trunk.

she laughed, and we talked and talked. it would be about 45 minutes to get to the beach. so i started off like i always do, i read off the address and asked,

so whats going on at 123 Speedway tonight?

you dont wanna know, she said.

intriguing, because even in the short trips, i’ll end up learning a lot about my chatty passengers and almost always what’s in front of us.

she was amped up and emotional. her stories were fantastic and sad.

within 10 minutes i had learned she was a hooker, had done porn a decade earlier, had a kid waiting for her back home where i picked her up, and was proud of how well she screened her customers,

including this one who she had been “talking with” over the last two days

tonight she would spend an hour with him.

oh shit, she said out of nowhere, startling me a little. i forgot gum.

damn, i dont have any, i said. lets go to that liquor store there.

typically i would never have done this. gotta keep the wheels moving. but she was more than violet now, even though she looked 22 she was dominick’s mom.

clearly on edge, as we parked at the curb, she asked me if i wanted a Gatorade or anything?

sure, some m&ms.

when she climbed out i was able to get a better look at her.

typical college look with tight intentionally torn jeans and a short leather jacket. not the uniform of a backpage escort. nothing she wore said sexy.

scattered, yes. bothered. rattled. testy.

gratefully she was in and out as promised, but as she exited the liquor store, she looked like she had been crying.

she stopped at the parking meter and threw back a mini airplane sized bottle of vodka and then another one.

she littered, climbed back in the benz and called her dude.

he mumbled something, and she said, remember i told you i get bad breath when i snort rails.

then, do you have an extra tooth brush? i totally forgot to get gum.

i never know whether to turn down the radio when people are on the phone so they could hear better, or to turn it up to give them privacy. either way is fine with me.

but in this case i turned it down and whattya know, i could even hear his side of the call. he was being nice.

the same thing happens to me, he laughed nervously. oh yeah, i have a spare tooth brush.

i forget if i asked her or she told me.

jk

i asked, hey how much do you charge a guy like him?

$900, she said with zero hesitation. im a high-priced bitch.

my mouth hung agape.

she was fine, as in average fine, as in person. but like… nine hundred dollars?

do i not know how much things cost?

instead of asking her that, i asked, do you ever worry the dude might be too rough on you?

never. i have nails. i’ll scratch his eyes out and kick him in the nuts. i might seem all soft and cute but guess what, im a bitch.

we talked about drugs and traveled the side streets across LA to avoid the traffic of god only knows what. she told me everything. too much. we even got into astrology.

when she realized we were the same signs, she asked me if i ever met a virgo with body dysmorphia?

in LA? i laughed. doesn’t half this town have that?

do you? she asked.

oh its not dismorphia, i know im a mess. ahahaha we laughed.

but whats nice is when someone kisses me, i know its not bc of my rock hard abs. i have things to do.

i have so many things to do, she said, sighed, snapped to and giggled and told me about the love of her life who was obsessed with his body to the point he was spending hundreds on huge jars of wheat germ and powders at gnc

and it turned him crazy, which turned her crazy, and he left her because he didn’t believe he deserved her.

did the wheat germ make him look hot?

he always looked hot, she said.

about a mile from what i’d soon learn was a giant all-glass waterfront condo, she started saying, i need a vibe. i need a vibe.

what sort of vibe? i asked

i need hip hop.

oh theres shade 45, i offered, naming the rap station on sirius satellite.

you aint got PWR? she asked, referring to one of the local FM stations i hadn’t thought about in years. is that 105? 106?

then she said, im not sure i want to do this.

i looked in my rearview. was she crying?

omg violet, look i can turn around if you want. i wont even charge you for the ride back bc you’re near me.

she grabbed her oversized cracked-screen phone and called her bff.

girl, i dont know.

BITCH YOU BETTER GET THAT MONEY, her Black friend yelled, pronouncing 900 in various ways.

Nine hunnnnnnnndid, nine humunuma hunima hunima, niiiiiiiiiiiine hundie before nine o’clock. GET YOURS BEEEEEEE

violet started to laugh, hung up and she was good.

justlikethat

with the windows down sometimes when yr near the beach it does feel different. a little breezier. a little less aggravating.

while stopped at the red light a block from the towers i said, this might sound crazy — im not asking for a tip, but in an hour, or whenever it’s over, would you mind tipping me one dollar in the app so i know everything ended up ok? you’re a good girl and i wanna not worry tonight.

when we got to the swanky condo he was at the curb waiting for us. tall, maybe in his 30s. dress shirt tucked into jeans. combed hair.

see how much they tipped

the pick up was for vina. i was in the valley. there is a famous porn star named vina who lives in the valley. so i accepted the trip.

$20 to take her from the hills of encino to very close to the hollywood forever cemetery. a half-hour, uber predicted.

i would need to get on the freeway, something i didnt wanna do because it was 4pm and that 101 can get gnarly over by the 170.

i took a glug of water from my thermos and thought about cancelling. i think about cancelling a lot.

is this why ive never been married? i can’t even commit to a half-hour ride with someone who might be using her xxx name for a lift to hollywood. just to see if anyone notices?

what would i even say to adult star vina?

ever consider the radness of dating an uber driver?

arrived and a woman who was not the famous star was sitting on a short flight of stairs outside a small house like the one in boogie nights where dirk diggler and his pals wanted to rob the drug dealer.

her english wasn’t good so i turned up the classic rock station spitting out elton john.

unlike most people with thick accents, she wanted to talk girl.

fine. even if i can barely understand you, imma get your life story.

vina is from el salvador. housecleaner. fifties. two adult kids. she works for an agency that sends her around LA. during the pandemic her boss loved her work so much he kept paying her even though there was nothing to clean.

i pointed behind us as we weaved our way towards studio city on the hollywood freeway. was that guy a doctor?

she wasn’t sure, but was certain he was rich. he has another place over the hill. she cleans that one too.

$120 for 5 hours. but most of it is dusting. wiping down surfaces. folding laundry. he’s clean.

why aren’t you married? she asked, pointing at my ringless hand.

beginners luck.

the hills through the pass from universal and the bowl into hollywood were so green from the recent rains.

how do you say green in spanish? is it verde?

si, she said, excited. so we kept playing that game.

earlier she had told me her rent was $1,700 a month.

how do you say 1,700 in spanish?

mil setecientos, she said.

mill see un cent toss. i struggled

mil setecientos she said again, but slower.

mill see un cent dose i blurted, then gave up. this is why i’ve never dated a mexican girl! i said.

let me slide these stories into yr inbox. it’s free. the only thing paid subscribers get is they can see how much the passenger tipped.

how old are you? she asked straight up

56. Gen X.

jan 8th? she asked, mishearing me. i’m jan 20, she announced.

is that capricorn or aquarius? we were in traffic, which was strange. odd because im rarely in traffic. is that a super power?

capricorn

ahhhh, that means you’re down-to-earth. logical.

law ju-co? she repeated poorly.

hey siri, how do you say logical in Spanish?

ló-he-co, siri said in the perfect accent.

ahhhh ló-he-co, vina said. si. im law ju co.

i knew that the famous cemetery abutted Paramount Studios, so i ignored waze and drove at it the way i knew i should.

i tried to tell her about lana del rey because I had seen her at that graveyard, but she didn’t understand me one bit.

so I played “young and beautiful” for her.

didn’t work.

ever go into Hollywood Forever and check out the peacocks? i asked

peacocks?

Siri, say peacocks in Spanish.

pavos reales

oooooo pavos reales. pee cocks. jajajaja

yeah it’s a funny word.

then she said, cacatúa. what’s that in english?

cockatiel?

yes. si. cockatiel.

she asked me if i liked the Bee Gees, so i asked if she likes Bad Bunny?

Si! she said excited. you know Bad Bunny?

all I know is he stole my girlfriend Kendall Jenner.

vina laughed and said Bunny is conejito. Bad is malo. Conejito malo.

WAIT THAT TACO JOINT WAS CALLED BAD? I asked, referring to a now shut down mexican restaurant on sunset many of my friends would meet at because their margaritas were so good, but youd never walk out of that place without spending $100 each.

It was called Malo? she asked, extremely confused at the ironic way americans name “cool” things.

I slithered through the streets of Hollywood beautifully.

Do you know Ozuna? she said.

Siri play Ozuna! I demanded and up popped a song I didn’t know but beneath it were other songs he was part of, including the party hit “Taki Taki” – which I quickly clicked and cheered I GUESS I KNOW OZUNA!

Taki taki. Taki taki. Rumba! Vina sang in the back seat.

when i dropped her off she said, i will always remember you when I hear Taki Taki.

Moi aussi!

see how much they tipped

her name was star, she ordered a priority ride. it was also surging, so i would get an extra $6 for the trip from los feliz’ house of pies to downtown. 

am i that easily bribed by a mere $6? oui.

uber has lowered its minimum cut to drivers down to $3.20 for the shortest rides, so if i can get the equivalent of two shorties (which at it’s fastest takes about 15 minutes each) in one bonus/bribe alone, then sure, lets roll. 

she was so beautiful, like woah. by now you know they all are.

before her was a conga line of precious hearts and pure souls:

the hungover gay dude at 11am, who stunk like he had danced all night with other sweaty dudes, then napped in his shirt at dawn,

the grandma and her grandson who needed to go to the craft store so she could show him how to use a glue gun, a product he insisted was fictional

the two-day drunk, oddly aggressive flirtatious sorority girls had their minds blown when i told them i was probably older than their parents. 

daddy? giggled the one with heavy eyes and a pronounced slur rocking a usc song-girl skirt and a stained crop top. i lifted my cubs cap revealing my shiny bald dome and said, this is due to reagan, two bushes and trump: don’t experiment in the ballot box ladies or this will happen to you

poor daddy, she gasped, shielding her eyes from the glare

siri, who is ray gunn? the other asked her watch

i had made aboutten trips before i made it to la’s last standing house of pies. all lovely trips, but star was different. 

she wore bright yellow under eye patches causally as if they were accessories. boss bitch energy. she was the main character. diva in the cutest way. asian, well dressed, 28. barely looked 20. 

i was quickly a fan. and told her so. and she flashed her pearly whites which were being aided by either a night guard or invisalign.

star was heading to work as a concierge at a swanky dtla hotel.

since i had recently lived with a top tier la luxury hotel concierge for four years, star and i had a lot to gab about.

tell me about your perks, i demanded. curious, because i could be tempted to take on that gig if it meant free or cheap stays in hotels around the globe.  

my property is partnered with hilton, star said, beaming beneath her closed eyes, fully reclined in the corner of the Benz’ back seat. i can get a room for $15 or $20 in most cities, even during holidays, she said, hiltons be errrrrywhere. 

omg. tell me youve been on some epic road trips, i asked all giddy, hoping she wanted to keep talking and not nap for our 18 minutes trip. i love to hear from hoteliers. 

none she admitted, poking her bottom lip out. none. 

wtf is wrong with your boyfriend? i asked, telling her that when amber was working for hilton and later waldorf we went north, south, east…. mmmmm east to the la quinta, not the chain,

the resort with Too Many Pools.

how they all got there is beyond me, but like every 150 feet theres a different pool and hot tub situation. 41 in total.

and a starlight casita on the second level with high balconies where if you’re with the right person, who wouldn’t mind it if whoops you lost your pants on the way to the private balcony deck in the absolute darkness

because somehow you can see the dazzling stars better that way i learned first hand

i dont have a boyfriend, my knockout passenger whispered. 

i paused and said, oh im so sorry, i am so presumptuous. i just assumed i had miss little tokyo in here and that you’re beating off guys left and right while they tried to woo you from your man

beating off? she asked, eyes wide open 

bursting with laughing at my word choice. 

i joined in the lols

she readjusted, pressed down on the eye patches and sang: yeah no. 

the way she said it made me ask, wait you like girls? 

star lit up and said, fucking love women, grasping her chest. eyelashes fluttering. heart emojis floating above her head.

more laughing as we rollicked over potholes, uneven roads and past gritty DTLA. 

in previous weeks i would have delved deeper down this conversational path because who doesnt like to hear sex stories from strangers? but any time i lay in my bed thinking about the day, i worry that i probe too much.

who wants to be that guy who makes people even the slightest bit uncomfortable? 

these rides are relatively short. but if they get to release something buried inside them with a driver who doesnt judge, everyone wins.

still, i changed the subject to my podcast and told her some of my favorite moments have been when people talk about love and attraction.

and coming out stories are usually great.

facts, she said and asked for the name of the podcast. when i told her she pulled it up and saw how many episodes ive done and the length of some of the podcasts.

do you write? she asked as we pulled into the garage of the five-star hotel-lined with uniformed gentlemen.

who doesnt? i said.

me too, she laughed as we came to the stop. 

i unlocked the doors and asked, what about? 

sex, she said and got out.

see how much they tipped

his name was andre and he was holding a stuffed heart when i made an illegal u-turn to pick him up. 

i wonder about breaking the rules of the road while in plain view of a soon-to-be passenger because i don’t want them to think the ride will be dangerous, but i also want them to see that i value their time enough to flip a bitch, safely. 

quickly i learned what the heart was all about. 

had heart surgery recently, he told me.

OMG do i have questions, i said, adjusting my rear view mirror to get a good look at him. the wife of a very dear friend of mine just had a full blown heart transplant, i told him as we drove up PCH through venice on the way to the marina del rey freeway to the hood. 

those are serious, and rare, he said, impressed. 

they are? i asked. my buddy was playing it off like it was no big deal.

the hard part was finding the perfect donor for her.

but once a heart was secured, he said, it was like a pit crew installing new tires on an indy car: zoom zoom zoom. 

oh no, dre said, i think your friend is just being brave. make sure you’re there for her. It’s an emotional rollercoaster. 

well, i did tell him if things went south, i’d move in and help him raise the kids. incredible family. 

mine was simply an aorta transplant. 

simply?!? i said, and we both laughed. i guess you don’t get replacements for those, so how many miles does your used aorta have on it? 

i was surprised to learn it’s man-made, he said, noting all the artificial materials that made up the thing that the body grafts to it over time like moss over a tree. 

no shit?

no shit. 

i gotta say my man, you look spectacular for a guy who just went through all that. is there anything you can’t do now that you miss? 

yes, i can’t run as much as I did, and i can’t drink coffee. 

andre was a college basketball player who told me he runs about fivemiles a day, five days a week. one day he felt like his ticker was skipping a beat, hiccupping. He immediately went to the hospital and they saved his life. 

now that the weather is better, i really want to go backpacking with my friends, but my wife won’t let me in case i need to run away from a bear. 

where the hell are you hiking where that’s going to happen? i asked, driving past the fox hills mall in south la. it was sunny, little traffic, beautiful. i had just dropped off some friends at LAX and figured why not make a few bucks on the way home. 

we had a trip scheduled for banff and i have to bow out, he sighed, sweetly holding his stuffed heart next to his chest in the back seat. 

in canada? i asked. 

you know about it? 

i’ve got some great friends in canada who have sent me pictures from there. that lake looks fake it’s so beautiful. 

yes! that’s why we want to go. the only problem is in the US we can carry bear spray for our bears, but in canada they’ve got grizzlies. they found two hikers with empty bear spray canisters next to them, eaten by a bear who wanted to bulk up before hibernation. 

holy! 

so i was looking into what it takes to get a gun license up there because i wanted to get like a .44 in case we crossed paths with a giant grizzly and needed to protect ourselves, but i was sidetracked, he said, and tapped his stuffed heart. 

you can’t yell at them? 

yelling is like a mating call, he laughed. 

sounds like my ex-wife, i joked, and did a rim shot on the steering wheel. 

the only thing you can do is play dead, he said, or shoot him in the head. 

you know, i’m pretty much anti-gun, but i guess in the wild like that it doesn’t hurt to have a weapon because who knows, you might meet some rednecks like in Deliverance and it wouldn’t hurt to be strapped. 

nah, there’s no people where i like to hike usually. and if there are, you can negotiate with crazy people by giving them food or whisky or a joint. but in canada they have way stricter gun laws. 

and that’s when i learned that women would rather meet a bear in the woods and men, even with a used aorta, think another man is safer. even if he’s crazy. 

see how much they tipped