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Don't Bring Home Any Whores!

by L A about a month ago in Workplace
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A Ride Share Driver's Story

Don't Bring Home Any Whores!
Photo by Peter Boccia on Unsplash

As a rideshare driver, one of the most common questions I get asked is "What is the most interesting passenger you've ever had?" or perhaps "Tell me a story of the craziest rider you've had." Over my time as a driver, this list has grown and grown and grown, and I'd often joke that one day I'd make a book of these stories to which the response usually consisted of a gasp and a "You should!"

So here are some of my stories. Some are sad. Most are funny. Some show how passengers can be some of the best customers and some show how they can be the worst. Some may make you laugh and others may make you shake your head. All are true and from my personal experience. However, location and names have been altered for privacy (and because I can't remember that many people's names all the time).

Don't Bring Home Any Whores!

It was late night on a weekend, and most of my passengers at that time were of varying stages of drunkenness. They ranged from the tipsy females giggling and laughing in the back while gushing about hot guys they'd met to the bent in half "I hate my life and my job" middle-aged person who drank too much to the snoring men smelling of beer who passed out in my car on the way home.

I was in Rich People City at the time when I got a call, eventually finding myself in one of those neighborhoods where everybody has a three-story house and five cars. There's obviously some sort of event going on for very expensive cars lined the entire street, making it a bit difficult to find a spot to park my little Ford. I finally make my way and let my passenger know that I've arrived.

A few minutes later, a whole group of people in their late teens approach, some of them appearing quite drunk and all of them dressed very nicely in lovely dresses for the ladies and fresh suits for the men. I hope they didn't all think that they were getting into the car for there were about seven of them. They approach, joking and talking amongst themselves, and a girl opens up the back door as they help one of their friends, Chris we'll say, into the car. Chris is very drunk. Chris falls down onto my back seat sideways and sort of just plops down. I'm not sure Chris even knows he's in a car. Meanwhile, another of the girls knocks on my window so I roll it down for her to see what she has to say.

"Can you make sure he gets home safe?" she asks kindly as she holds out a $20 towards me, a smile on her face, "He's had a bit to drink. This is for your troubles. We're really sorry about that." "Sure, no problem, I'll take care of it," I smile as I take the money. I figured it was there way of apologizing for the drunk in my back seat by giving me a cash tip at the start, and I was okay with that.

As a passenger, Chris actually really wasn't a problem, at least at first. He was passed out drunk in my back seat so he didn't make any noise and just sort of slept there. It was a bit of a drive, moving from Rich People City down to the outskirts of Not Safe City. I finally find the house and pull over to the curb, putting on my four-ways since it's on the edge of the street.

Glancing into the back seat, I let Chris know we've arrived. He just sort of grunts in return, having managed to sit up sometime turn the ride but his head to the side. I call his name again, telling him that he's made it home. "Okay..." he said slowly but makes no attempt to move, falling back asleep. I unbuckle my seat belt and turn around some, gently tapping him on the leg and hoping that I don't get reported for sexual harassment or something like that for touching a passenger. "Hey, Chris," I say a bit more loudly, "You're home but you have to actually get out of the car and into your house." "Okay..." he says again but doesn't move once more.

Sighing and realizing what the $20 tip was for, I get out of the car and open up the back seat door, crouching down some by the side of the road so that I don't look intimidating even though I am a female, and he's not a particularly petite man. I put my hand on his leg some to shake it, hoping again that I don't get reported as I know that people really love to point fingers at situations and blow it out of proportion just so that they have somebody to sue.

"Chris," I said louder, "Chris, you're home." "Huh?" he asks as he looks at me, "Did you drive?" "Yes," I reply, "I'm your Uber driver. I drove you home. Your friends paid for it. You're home now but now you have to get out of the car and into your house where you can sleep there." "Okay," he says immediately before shutting his eyes once more.

I sigh a bit before I put my hand on his shoulder instead, shaking some, "Chris? Chris, do you need some help? Can you get out of the car?" "What?" he opens his eyes again. "You're home, Chris. I drove you home. But you have to get out of the car now." "Okay..." his eyes close again.

After about fifteen more minutes of this, I finally get Chris out of the car but not so easily. He couldn't seem to move very well and kept reaching for me. I felt really awkward about the entire situation as he tried to grab at me. He wasn't trying to be sexual about it at all but seemed to really need support, making me remember that two girls had actually supported him as they walked him to my car in the first place. Trying to be the nice person, and really needing him out of my car, I let him put an arm around my shoulder as I hold onto his wrist and put an arm around his waist like I see them do in the movies (after all, I'm really not experienced in the topic myself). Finally, I do get him out of my car as he stumbles some, leaning on me a bit as we slowly shuffle over to the curb and across the small lawn to the door. I help him slowly shuffle up the small walkway and up the two steps to the front door which was a real challenge as he almost brought us both down in his drunkenness.

Chris slowly pulled out a massive key ring from his pocket. This key ring must have almost twenty keys on it as he tries to stare at them in the near dark, the porch light doing very little to help him. I'm still holding him up as he leans on me a bit, his body swaying back and forth as he tries to remain steady, slowly flipping through the keys as he tries to figure out which one is his.

Suddenly, a woman's voice, "Chris! Chris, who is that?!"

I glance around a moment, not sure where the voice came from. "It's me, mama," Chris slurs some as he nearly falls forth into the door, still looking at his keys. I notice then that there's one of those camera doorbells or whatever they are, the little light blinking over it to indicate that it was turned on. His mother must have been watching through the camera and could hear us.

"Oh, can your mom come down and help to open the door?" I try to offer politely since he can't seem to find the key. "No, she's at work," Chris slurs as he attempts to put a key into the lock, missing it several times as he attempts to shove it in there. "Chris, who is that girl?!" his mother snaps rudely and in a shrill voice over the camera, "Why are you bringing a girl home?!" "She drove me," Chris said slowly as he decided to switch keys, apparently not having the right one. "Are you DRUNK?!" his mother screeches. "Yes mama," Chris admits as he continues to switch keys, making me wonder just why he has that many keys on him in the first place.

"Who is that girl?!" she demands through the camera, "Why did she drive you? Where's the car? Why are you drunk? Why is she here? Who is is she?" Chris can't handle all of the questions as he continues with his keys, "She drove me." At this point, I'm feel quite awkward about the situation. I'm just the driver and was trying to be a nice person by helping this guy into his house since he couldn't stand up straight. All in all, despite being drunk, he was trying to be polite and had been far more respectful of me than most drunk men were when I picked them up. His mother, however, was a different story.

"Did this BITCH drive MY CAR?" she demanded angrily, "Chris, did you let this BITCH drive my car? I don't want this BITCH driving my car!" she screamed as Chris continued to try key after key, each time letting them all go so that he couldn't keep track of which keys he'd already tried. "Um..." I said, feeling the need to defend myself against this extremely rude lady and yet feeling awkward that I was talking to a door, "I just work for Uber. I picked up your son from his friends' place and drove him home. I didn't drive your car." The woman utterly ignored me, "Chris, where is my car? Did you let this WHORE drive my car?" "No, mama," he said as he continued with the keys.

By this point, I was getting quite upset. I was just trying to help this guy get inside so he didn't pass out on the porch of Not Safe City in the middle of the night and this woman who didn't even know me continually kept calling me a bitch and a whore. "Where's my car?!" she demanded at him, "I need that car in the morning!" "I don't know," Chris muttered. "Then whose car is that out front I saw?!" she demanded, "Is that my car? Did you let this WHORE drive my car?" By that point, Chris just grunted in reply, trying to focus on his keys. "Um...that's my car," I said slowly, trying to not bitch right back at the woman for her extreme rudeness, "I don't know where your car is. I work for Uber. That's my car. I drove your son home because he's drunk so that he wasn't driving your car while drunk," I pointed out specifically since she seemed to care more about her car than her son.

"Chris, don't you DARE let that WHORE inside of my house!" she screeched, "I have Amazon packages! Why did you bring this WHORE home? This WHORE is going to steal my packages!" "No, mama, she's not stealing your packages," Chris muttered, dropping his keys and looking at them as though they'd fallen upon another planet.

I sighed some, shifting Chris a bit and seeing if he could stand on his own. I got him leaning against the open screen door a bit until I was free of holding him up. I bent down to get his keys, offering to help him out since, even though I didn't know which key it was, at least I could keep track of which ones I'd already tried. Chris nodded, thanking me and telling me it was the bronze one. Unfortunately, almost all of them were bronze.

"Don't you let that WHORE inside my house!" the woman screamed, "She's going to steal all of my Amazon packages! Get my packages! That WHORE is going to take them! Don't let her touch the keys! Why did you bring a WHORE home, Chris? Where is my car? Is that my car out front?!" Chris muttered something, taking his keys back and trying once more to fiddle with them, muttering how he couldn't see in the dark as his mother continued to scream about the whore stealing her packages. If she were there in person, I'm not sure I could have finished the night without punching her in the face...repeatedly.

Chris was getting quite frustrated, continually telling his mother "No, mama," with every accusation as she continued to scream about the whore and the car. I really wanted to help the man, though, and didn't want him to be locked out of his own house. I went back to my car to grab a light so that we could see the keys better, working with Chris to help him not use the same key repeatedly when it didn't work, ignoring his mother who kept yelling about her packages. Finally, we get the door open.

"Don't let that WHORE into my house, not even to use the bathroom!" the mother screams at the top of her lungs, "Don't bring home WHORES, Chris!" Chris ignores her as well, literally stumbling into the house as he trips over about a dozen Amazon packages right inside the doorway. He falls flat on his face right in the doorway at the bottom of the steps, most likely passing out as his mother continues to scream and screech about that whore I supposedly was. I've never been called a whore so many times in one night.

Sighing, I reach in, kick a few packages a bit away since they'd sort of skidded across the floor when Chris tripped over them and were then in the way of the door, and I close the door. The entire way back to my car, she was still screaming about her packages and the whore.

So my passenger, other than being extremely drunk and having a real issue getting him out of my car and into his house, wasn't awful. I felt really bad for him, though, having a mother like that and ended up blocking him on the app not because I didn't care to give him any more rides ever again but because I never wanted to deal with that crazy woman again who went around calling women whores and bitches when they were just trying to help her drunk son get into his house instead of leaving him on the side of of the road.

I don't think $20 was enough.

Workplace

About the author

L A

In 2nd grade, my teacher kept me after class. I thought I was in trouble. Rather, she told me that she wanted to publish my class assignment which was a 30 page short story. The assignment was one page. I have been writing ever since.

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