You’ve heard of us, the elusive and mysterious female ride-share drivers who only appear during the “safe” hours between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. With a wink and a sweet-smelling engine rev we deliver you from the train to your dentist appointment while ignoring your open-mouthed gawking. You have questions. Where did we come from? How long have we been here? What ritualistic sacrifice are we going to save your skin flakes for? Please, if you’re going to ask questions, make sure they’re the ones you actually want answers to and not just “so how long have you been doing this?” (Since 5 a.m., you goof-toothed son of a bitch.)
To help save you the effort, I went ahead and already answered a few of your burning questions:
“Why do you drive?”
Since long before man’s creation, female ride-share drivers have answered the call of the heat-stricken pavement, giving our souls to the seductive whisper of traffic lights and pot holes. We thrive on the soft, pale glow of your smartphone screen on your down-turned face as you grunt at our continuously cheery “Good morning! Are you Nicole?” There is no power greater than that which we cradle in our hands as we take your fragile lives into our backseats and bring you out into the world of south-bound stop-and-go. Also, every entry-level position I’ve applied for wants six years of experience and I need to make rent next month.
“Do you ever drive…at night?”
Your hesitant gulp between the beginning of your question and the conclusion is enough to tell me that you really want to know if I’m ballsy enough to go outside after the sun is down. More than that, you want to know if I, a woman, allow strangers into my car when it’s dark outside. Well, with much trepidation, my face upturned, lip trembling, I answer “yes.” It turns out that taking Patricia to meet her husband for dinner after work has the same danger level during the daytime as it does in the evening.
“Okay, but what about drunks, though?”
This question always tells me more about your drunk behavior in cars than anyone else’s. If you’re that concerned, you need to re-evaluate the way you treat your next drunk ride home.
“What are you doing now/when you are off?”
Oh my god, I’m so glad you asked because actually I was planning on throwing my livelihood out the window in order to accompany you up the stairs to your corner apartment where you’ll undoubtedly offer me a Corona on the couch you got from your ex-wife, the sneaky bitch. Obviously I come as a part of the driving service – you get a lift home from the bar AND a girl for fucking! We believe in total customer satisfaction, which is why it’s not inappropriate or insulting for you to ask me when I’m off with a drunken face-spasm I can only assume is meant to be a wink.
Bonus: A Note on Screaming
Look. I’m navigating four highways before 7 a.m. on one cup of coffee. Every once in awhile, I’m going to miss a turn or take a wrong exit. The only way you’re going to make this problem worse is by screaming “OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING WHERE ARE WE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WILL GOD EVER FORGIVE OUR FOOLISH HUBRIS.” The answers I would supply you had you asked in a calm and collected manner are as follows: We are getting back on the highway in the right direction; we’re under an overpass; I accidentally took a wrong turn; and no, of course not. God has left us and it’s entirely because I missed the airport exit. You’re welcome.