The Uber of a Lifetime

It was one o'clock in the morning, and John considered logging offline. At this point, it would just be drunk assholes wandering out of bars and potentially throwing up in his car. Before he could, the calls started coming, and now it was three in the morning, and he was on his way back to the bar for another sloshed individual.

It was the bar on Third Street, the bar you end up at when you've been kicked out of every other dive. It was less of a bar and more of a house that had been turned into a place to get so drunk you forget you're not at an authentic joint.

As soon as this passenger got into his car, John knew he would throw up. The person was green and ripe as a banana, but he confirmed the ride anyway. The passenger, Richard F., was so inebriated that John gave him a throw-up bag that he kept for times like these. He thought he recognized the face of the passenger, but it was dark, and John didn't want to stare. As they drove away, Richard asked for the window to be rolled down, even though it was thirty-seven degrees outside.

The cold ride to Richard's destination wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for his moaning and groaning. He was so intoxicated that he couldn't keep his eyes open most of the time. Halfway there, it happened. His eyes shot open, and the puke jetted out like hot lava. It got all over everything in the back seat. There was no escaping it.

By the time John reached the destination, Richard had finally stopped throwing up. He got a lot into the bag, to be fair, but he got a lot out of it too.

"I'm so sorry," Richard said as he got out of the car.

"It'll be fine. Uber will pay me for this."

"I still feel terrible."

"I mean, it's not the first time someone has thrown up in my car, and it won't be the last."

"I'll tip you some money. Is a hundred enough to clean up? No, two hundred."

John watched as the passenger showed him putting in the two hundred dollar tip and going on his way to his apartment. He logged offline, wrote his time and mileage in his little black book, and drove off. He was halfway home when he got the notification for the tip. It would only cost thirty bucks and some hard work to clean out his car, so that was one hundred and seventy bucks of profit. Maybe if everyone tipped like this guy, it'd be worth hauling around people under the influence every night.

As he pulled into the driveway, John looked at his phone and nearly had a heart attack. Instead of saying $200.00, it said $20,000. The drunk man must've made a mistake and given John way more money than he meant. So John decided to see if he could even cash out a tip that size.

Of course, there was a security check. John needed to call Driver Support before he could cash out his earnings because of irregular activity. So John waited until the morning and called the hotline.

"Thank you for calling Uber; my name is Rachel. How may I help you today?"

"I'm trying to cash out my earnings from last night, but an unusually large tip is causing me not to be able to cash out."

"I see. May I put you on a brief hold while I attempt to contact the rider?"

"Sure."

The hold lasted for ten minutes, and John wondered what he would do if he were actually allowed to keep the money. When he got off hold, he was told the money was cleared for withdrawal. John jumped with joy. Twenty thousand dollars would allow him to get an electric vehicle and put down a deposit on a good place to rent, as well as leave some savings in the bank.

John wondered why the man left him the big tip and why he was allowed to keep it. He considered giving it back, but he also knew the money would change his life. He decided to retrace his path from last night and see if he could talk to the man. John borrowed his boyfriend's car and went to Richard's house.

He knocked on the door, and Richard answered.

"Why did you tip me so much money?"

"Well, there's so many reasons. I appreciate you being a gracious driver, and I was sorry for messing up your car. Also, I know you'll be discreet about where you picked me up. I'd hate if anyone found out."

"Wait, You're that politician that cheated on his wife with the male prostitute that turned out to be a cop!"

"Yeah, if we could not talk about that."

"So you want me to be quiet about everything that happened last night?"

"Exactly."

"For enough money to turn my life around, I think I can do that."

So John left and drove home. It wasn't how he had thought to get twenty thousand dollars, but money was money. Even if it felt like dirty money. Uber paid him to have his car cleaned out, and he traded it in. Then he put a down payment on an affordable apartment for himself and his boyfriend. He put the rest in savings like he promised himself he would do and even wrote a living will.

The next day he went back to work driving for Uber, but he logged off at midnight this time. John wouldn't be giving any rides to inebriated passengers tonight. John wrote his time and mileage in his little black book again and went home. From now on, he told himself, no more drunk people throwing up in his car.