Alright, now like a lot of people out there,
I've dabbled in the art of driving for Uber.
And by no means am I an expert Uber driver,
after all, my Uber career was pretty short-lived.
And by short-lived I mean I drove a whopping 3 customers before I quit.
But if you're out there, wondering what it's like to be an Uber driver,
well, let me tell you about my experience.
It's important to note that this was years ago,
back when I was in the middle of what I like to call my 'Quarter Life Crisis'.
And that was when I working at a dead-end job at a car dealership,
I was broke as hell,
and I was just sucking ass at life in general.
Oh, and not to mention, I had the IRS on my ass for back taxes,
so that was fun.
So running out of options,
as well as running out of shit to sell out of my house,
I registered to become an Uber driver.
Now, this was when ride sharing was still relatively new
and to be honest I didn't know much about it.
Now, the first time I saw Lyft drivers with mustaches on the front of their cars,
I was like: "What the hell?!
We're putting fucking facial hair on Buicks now?
God damn, I remember wood paneling on station wagons back in the day,
but this shit is ridiculous!"
Now, needless to say, I was pretty hesitant
to become a driver in the first place.
I mean, is this Uber thing even legitimate?
Am I gonna pick some random stranger up on the side of the road
and then be robbed at knife point for the 47 cents in my center console?
Well, considering I was broke as hell, I didn't have much of a choice.
Let's roll the dice, Uber, let's see what you can do for me.
And like I said, my Uber career was really, really short.
Three customers is all it took for me to quit.
My first customer, or passenger,
or fucking ride-along-buddy, whatever you want to call him,
was a businessman that was out of state.
So I pull into the parking lot of the hotel that this guy is staying at,
and I've no idea what the hell I'm doing.
Does the guy sit in the back seat or the front seat?
Do you let him fuck with the radio if he wants,
do you high five him when he gets out of the car?
What the fuck is this gonna be like, this is so weird!
So this guy starts walking out and he looks normal enough, I'd say.
So I try to be polite and lean over and open the passenger door for him.
All of a sudden this guy looks at me like I'm some kind of fucking pervert
and I'm trying to have my way with him in the front seat and shit.
Oh, alright, well, that answers the first question.
Everybody sits in the back seat,
unless you're a pervert, you're up front.
So we start cruising along in silence
and the silence is pretty palpable at this point.
Because well, there's a grown man in my car
that thinks I just actively tried to seduce him in the front seat.
So I figure how about a little bit of small talk
to ease the tensions in the car?
"Uh, so, are you from out of town?"
"Uh, yeah, that's why I'm staying in a fucking hotel after all."
"Oh, okay, well, I'll go fuck myself, how about that."
Okay, and we're 0-2.
But believe it or not, the guy didn't write me off completely.
"Hey, so what's a good place to eat around here?"
A good place to eat?
Dude, I don't know, I eat fucking Del Taco 5 times out of the week.
The hell am I, a fucking tour guy for the shitty city I live in?
"Uh, you ever been to the Applebee’s?
Their Wonton Tacos are pretty good.
Needless to say, we didn't talk much after that.
That's what happens when you offer up Applebee’s as a viable place to eat.
The guy in the back seat is probably questioning my mental capacity.
"Fucking Applebee’s, is this guy serious?
Hey, why don't you just keep your attention on the road
and try not to hurt yourself?"
Finally, we pull up to this guy's destination.
He gets out of the car, we do not high five whatsoever.
But he does give me a five dollar tip.
Now, granted I think he just felt bad,
because he thought I had some kind of condition of some sort.
"Uh, do you have some kind of donation jar in there
like they have at gas stations, or do I just give the money to you?
But I don't care, $5 tip plus $15 for the ride,
that's 20 bucks I made.
I mean, that's 20 bucks the IRS made,
but at least I got to touch it for a little while.
Now, my second rider happened shortly after my first.
And to be honest, nothing really happened.
We just sat there and talked about
how shitty of a show Full House was back in the day.
"Yeah, fucking Full House sucked ass, didn't it?
And Dave Coulier was fucking weird."
"Yeah, I concur! And fuck the Olsen twins while we're at it!"
Again, there was no high five,
but I did make $12,
and I got a $2 tip on top of it.
Now, you might be sitting there, thinking, "Well, what the hell,
you're driving around, making money, talking shit about Full House,
being an Uber driver sounds great!"
Well, sit your ass down, you haven't even heard about my third customer!
Now, at this point it's like midnight and I'm tired as hell.
But I'm still active on Uber,
because, well, last time I checked, I'm still broke as hell.
So I'm half-awake
and I get a goddamn notification on my phone of a new rider
and of course, it's on the shittiest side of town that nobody wants to go to.
I just sit there and have a conversation with myself.
Do I really want to get up right now,
do I really want to go to the fucking hood?
"You bet your silly ass you do!
Now get in your Ford Taurus and go make daddy some money.
So I get in my car and off I go
to the fucking armpit of the city.
And I pull up to this guy,
who is standing on the sidewalk with a book bag,
and needless to say,
he looks like he's a few french fries from a fucking happy meal.
"Oh boy, well, this doesn't look too promising, now, does it?"
So this guy gets in the car,
and I have to say that this guy reeks.
Now, I don't know what methamphetamine smells like,
it wasn't exactly a scratch and sniff sticker when I was a kid,
but if I had to guess it would be this guy 100%.
But at this point I'm like, "Whatever".
Methamphetamine-shmethamphetamine,
let's just drive this guy wherever he wants to go.
Let's not think about whatever this guy is all hopped up on,
or how many barbiturates are in his book bag.
Let's just take this guy wherever he needs to go.
So again, I try to have some casual conversation to break up any tension,
"Hey, you see over there by that liquor store,
that dead hooker in the street,
yeah, there used to be a Denny's right there, that's good, Denny's is good."
But this guy could give a fuck about Denny's.
In fact, he could give a fuck about anything.
Because all he's doing is sitting there muttering to himself like a psychopath.
"Emm.. Am..
Me-me... mama-meme...
moma-sebami..."
So now I start freaking out,
because clearly this guy is unstable.
It's only a matter of time before he whips out a knife from that book bag,
and I'm negative 47 cents.
So I start thinking, "All right, you need to strategize here.
Maybe you should start doing some weird shit yourself.
Give the guy a taste of his own medicine.
"Ame... amenunini...
uninini, nu-nu..."
"
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Alright, no, I'm not gonna do that, that's stupid as hell.
Maybe instead I could like, intimidate him somehow, you know.
"Hey, just a warning, buddy,
I keep a fucking flamethrower in the trunk of my car,
so no funny business!"
But I'm not gonna be able to intimidate this guy,
he's whacked out of his mind.
Not mention fucking Drops of Jupiter playing on the radio right now.
♪ Now that she's back ♪ ♪ in the atmo-sphere ♪
♪ Drop of Jupiter in her hair-eh-eh-eh-eh ♪
Yeah, I'm not intimidating jack shit, that's for sure.
I might as well be fucking
Pippi Longstocking in the driver seat for Christ's sake!
Now, thankfully, this guy didn't request a very long trip.
It was just a couple of blocks.
He easily could've walked it, which I'm surprised he didn't,
because I thought meth heads had a lot of pep.
Apparently, not this guy.
So we reach his final destination,
a pawn shop next to...
active crime scene or whatever the fuck it was.
This guy opens the door,
but he doesn't get out at first.
Instead, he starts rummaging through his book bag.
That's when I start thinking, "Yep, I knew it.
I knew it I'm about to get shanked for pocket change, God damn it!"
Meanwhile, Drops of Jupiter is blaring out into the streets and shit.
♪ Na-Na, Na-Na, Na-Na ♪
and this guy keeps searching for whatever it is he's looking for.
Finally, he finds it.
And you wouldn't believe it if I told you,
this guy pulls out of his book bag
a fucking thing of Tic Tacs.
(shk-shk-shk)
"Oh, thank Jesus, Holy Hell!"
It's a bit anticlimactic, I know.
But you guys can kiss my ass,
I was happy not to get shanked by a shank.
So the dude gets out of my car,
and right before I peel out of there like Smokey and the Bandit,
I look at my phone to see how much money I made,
and it was a whole $5.50!
"Oh, what the hell?!
I was an accessory to a third-degree felony for a whopping fucking $5.50?!
My car smells like a fucking burning bucket of army guys, for Christ's sake!
You could at least give me a tip!"
"Your tip is you got to keep your life, you little baby back bitch!"
So needless to say, I retired from the Uber life after that
and decided that making shitty cartoons for the internet
was a slightly safer way to make money.
So the lesson here is, if you're gonna drive for Uber,
make sure you have some fucking Tic Tacs.
Because meth heads can be pretty scary,
but they still care about having fresh breath.
The end.
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