Just Another Manic Monday...

Since I'm trapped in the house this morning - you know, due to severe flooding in the desert - I figured I'd share my favorite Monday morning story.

This particular morning, I'd set my alarm for earlier than I actually cared to get up, get dressed and get to driving.  I snoozed.  I snoozed again.  And... I snoozed again.  Finally, I was up, ready and online by about 8am.  My first call sent me downtown to retrieve a businessman from a hotel and take him to the airport.  After dropping off the unmemorable man at the airport, I decided to avoid the morning commute traffic and take the side streets back into downtown.  As I was exiting the freeway, I got a ride request from Fernando.

I accept, seeing it's only a few minutes away.  "Back toward the airport, but not quite the airport," I thought, as I looked at where the pin was dropped.  I hit the navigate button and began my 7 minute journey.

"Dodgey part of town," I thought as I approached the pin.  I wondered where I was picking this Fernando fella up - I mean, I did once pick up a guy at the Jack-In-The-Box over this way.  Nothing is out of the realm of possibility, people.  When you need a ride, you need a ride... and some cool chic like me (if you're lucky) will come pick you up.  As I'm waiting at the light, I hear a ding!  (Cue the universal sound for a text message).

Before I get too far, let me tell you that each ride share driver has a phone number associated with them - this phone number isn't actually theirs... it's a reverse number.  So your driver sees the same number as you would coming across their phone.  This protects the innocent, and those who wish not to be bothered by the other party once their business transaction is complete.  More on this later...

Anyway...

This is what pops up on my screen.

Upon reading this text message, time stamped 8:23am on a Monday, I take a screen shot and send it to at least 4 friends - "Wondering how MY monday morning is going?  Well this just happened..."

Then, I say aloud only for myself to hear:

• Gross.
• Really?
• Why?
• Is this real life?

I look up and see that the said "Adult Bookstore" is straight ahead on the left.  I'm intrigued by who might get into my car.  And I immediately regret not having antibacterial wipes on hand.  

I wait.  

I send Fernando a text.  "Hi.  This is Anna your uberx driver. I'm here."  Followed by, "in front of the Adult Bookstore."  I chuckle to myself, knowing the second text was solely for my personal humor.  

After about 5 minutes, Fernando finally appears, wearing basketball shorts and a black wife beater.  I've never been a patron to one of these adult bookstores, so I can only assume they're less classy than an actual strip club, and don't have the "dress code is strictly enforced" sign hanging near the bouncer.  Hell, maybe it's actually a bookstore?  Maybe there's a market for these types of books?  Maybe to get the best books you wake up very early on Monday so you're one of the first ones there when they open?  Wait, when did this place even open?

With all that is in me, I want to blast off a million questions.  But I casually say, "Good morning, I presume your Monday is off to a good start?"  I laugh to myself.  My humor is totally lost of Fernando, which is good.  He starts barking directions out to me.  Clearly dude needs to get home.  And quick.

I drop him off at the exact opposite location of where I picked him up from -- right in front of a church.    Maybe that's where he'll read his new books?  

Lessons Learned:

1. Everyone needs love and/or entertainment where love might not be an option.
2. The dress codes at adult bookstores are pretty flexible.  I'm sure you're fine in exactly what you have on.  
3. A good amount of sanitizer and antibacterial wipes never hurt anyone.  

Hot-Mess 9.76

I think about process a lot – efficiency.  I tend to arrange my errands, so they are in one clear route, with no back tracking and all right turns if possible.  I mean, we all know right turns are way more efficient when it comes to time, right?  My time as a ride-share driver, is no different.  Time is money and we should aim to be efficient.  I have a strategy around when I drive for a few reasons:

1.   I have a low tolerance for drunk people when I’m not one of them.
2. I have no desire to ever have to clean up someone else’s vomit in my car,  nor do I feel like         being arrested for assault on the jackass who vomits in MY car. 
3. I’m not trying to compromise my safety.  Nothing good happens after 11pm, y'all. 

However, most drivers will tell you that the best time to get a lot of fares is at night, when people are drinking.  I say… while you might be getting more fares, your risk of dealing with obnoxious, puking, directionally challenged, inebriated passengers is higher.  And it's a risk I'm not willing to deal with, so on the weekends, I drive in the early morning – the early morning rides tend to entertain me more.  I like the feeling of knowing that girl proudly wearing last nights makeup is making it home safely because of me.  I might not be able to do much about the look of regret in her eyes, but damnit, I’m helping her out!

A few months back, when I discovered the entertaining value of the early morning driving – I got a pick up request.  I’d say it was probably around 7am on a Sunday and was from a guy named Marcus.  I pull up to the address given and there’s a guy and girl standing in the driveway.  The girl has a tiny skirt on and heels – I’m guessing she’s not going to an early morning church service dressed like that.  They hug.  The girl gets in the car – on the “hot mess” scale, she was at about a 9.76. 

Me:  (as chipper as I can exclaim it…, people with hangovers either love or hate this, but their response tells me how I get to interact with them for the remainder of the ride) Goooood Morning!  Where we off to?

Hot-Mess 9.76 (since it was requested by Marcus, I have no idea what her name is):  Um, The Valley Hotel.

Me:  Alright, cool.

Hot-Mess 9.76:  Wait, um… are you like… um… a cab driver? 

Me:  Sort of.  I’m an Uber driver, it’s a ride share app.  This is my car.

Hot-Mess 9.76:  So I can give you cash?

Me:  No, it’s all on the app.  I start the trip.  I get you to your destination and then I end the trip. 

Hot-Mess 9.76:  So I can’t give you cash?

Me:  No, it’s all attached to Marcus’ account.

Hot-Mess 9.76:  Ok, can you transfer it to me?  I don’t have that app, but I’ll download it really quick.

Me:  Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.  I mean, you can certainly download it to use later, but this trip is attached to Marcus’ account.

Hot-Mess 9.76:  So, you can’t transfer it to me?  How am I supposed to pay you?

Me (getting frustrated with her inability to understand that this ride is on Marcus):  It’s attached to Marcus’ account and his credit card.

Hot-Mess 9.76:  Wait, who’s Marcus?

Me (reveling in how classic the previous reply was): Pretty safe to say that Marcus was that guy in the driveway you just hugged goodbye.

Hot-Mess 9.76  (obviously feeling like a bit of a hussy):  Oh, hahaha.  Wait!!!  HE’S paying for this?!  Sweeeeeeeet!

Clearly this girl hasn’t come across any gentlemen in the past and needs to be excited.  Her excitement quickly turns to greed, however.

Hot-Mess 9.76:  So cool.  Can you tip yourself on his account too?

Me:  Yea, it seems like Marcus is a real gent, huh?  No, sadly, I can’t add tips to his account.  I can, however, accept cash tips.

Hot-Mess 9.76:  Crap, I don’t have any cash. 

I drop hot-mess 9.76 off at the Hotel Valley – as she stumbles to her car, I shake my head.  One because I know I’ve been there, we’ve all been there.  Two because I realize that my car has now taken on the smell of last nights vodka which she was obviously sweating out – she probably should have hung out with Marcus a little longer before she decided to operate a motor vehicle. 

Lessons learned: 

1.  While remembering names might not be your thing, practice.  You never know when you might run into Marcus again and need to thank him for his kindness. 

2.  You’re not fooling anyone with that short skirt, heels and mascara smear on your face.  We all know what you were doing last night.  And this morning.