A little bit of everything
“Would you mind slowing down a bit?”
The woman asked me in almost a begging voice.
I moved to the right lane and slowed down to around 5 miles under the speed limit.
I smiled at passengers flying by on my left.
“There it is. My adversary.”
Her right hand extended into the front seat with her index finger pointing at the four-mile bridge on the horizon.
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I pulled up to the front of the house in a suburban neighborhood outside the city. The person was heading to a party in the city, and from my first impression, I would say the costume was a contender for the top prize.
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“Don’t do that, the driver won’t like it,” the young woman lightly commented to the two children in the back seat.
Immediately my thoughts ran wild.
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My future book, “Rideshare by Robert: Volume Two”, will include selected blogs published in the Baltimore Post-Examiner.
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After the ride, I checked out the backseat. Sticky wet spots everywhere. On the partition, on the windows, on the seats and floors. There was so much hair, my rear seats looked like a shag carpet.
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I sensed that she was hurting and anxious. “Ohhhhh,” She moaned in pain from the backseat. I’m so sorry. I think I might be going into labor. My contractions are only 10 minutes apart, but I feel like I’m ready to pop!”
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Eight years of driving, or if you prefer, “story-hunting,” and over 26,000 rides, have yielded a lifetime of great memories. The experience of meeting with people from all over the globe, while sharing a slice of life for a moment in time, is unique and special.
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If you’re a rideshare driver, especially these days, you either get used to the smell of weed, alcohol, and other substances in your vehicle, or you simply don’t drive. The rider isn’t using drugs in your car as a rule, but they often reek from whatever they were doing before they get in.
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I always ask experienced rideshare riders if they have any favorite rider stories to share. I listen to wonderful stories about other drivers from people in the backseat of my car. I also augment other driver stories by introducing myself to other drivers and inquiring about how they got into the gig economy as a driver, how long they’ve been driving, and if they have any stories to share.
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About 10 minutes into the ride I heard the distinctive clicking and loading of magazines into handguns. My first instinct was to second-guess myself about what I was hearing from the backseat. Mumbling, loading weapons, and the sound of my heart beating faster.
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