drunk biker liked my beard

and she wouldn't leave

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 stuggled with her when 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 awkard, “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.

even if they quietly purr

and settle in

with a sleepy grin.

and a hmmm.