The big game is today, I know the night is going to be crazy and incredibly stressful. But think of the money. The streets are going to be filled. Thousands of people need me tonight, and I need their cash! Downtown is going to be madness, so my thought process is that maybe if I stay in the outlying cities, it won’t be as bad. I don’t do well in a crowd. So, my poverty, not my will, consents. I think that’s from Shakespeare.
I stand in my bathroom mirror trying to mentally prepare for the night. I showered, dressed comfortably, masturbated and did my hair. Not in that order. I was ready to go. I knew I could do pretty well tonight in my city because of the game, but the greedy part of me wanted more. I wanted the big paycheck. So I slowly descend from my Hobbit Hole and hit the road. The worry and negativity is already starting to run through my head. But I can’t listen to that. Positive attracts positive and I am determined to have a good night. If all goes well, the biggest night of my relatively short career. Like a shot, I’m out the door and ready to hit the road, dodging sprinklers as I bolt to my car. In a sudden burst of prophetic foreshadowing, I slip in the grass and land right on my ass in a soupy puddle. With my tail between my legs, I turn around and go back inside, now damp from below my shoulders to behind my knees. I could have just risked it and got on the road, but I doubt I could of pulled off 10-12 hours with a raging case of swamp-ass. How would I respond if a client asked me why I keep fidgeting in my chair? “Oh, I fell in some dirty mud-water earlier and didn’t feel like changing so I just let it all dry up naturally, so that it all gathered in the crack of my ass, combining with every thing else going on down there to form a warm, moist environment suitable for growing mold and certain types of moss. So it’s really itchy. Like, worse than ass crabs itchy.”
Back in the house I go. I stripped down, showered again, considered masturbating again but opted not to because of time constraints; immediately began regretting it. When I comb through my closet this time, I say fuck it and decide to go all out. I mean, I am going to the biggest party of the year. Although I wasn’t invited, don’t know anyone who will be there, don’t even support the cause, and am just there to take money from people. So it’s just like any other party I’ve ever been to. I don the nicest outfit I own and even cap it off with a sleek black sport coat. Fancy, I know. But, we all know that it doesn’t matter how much you polish a hunk of shit, it’s still a hunk of shit. Out of the house I go again, only this time I take the sidewalk. I’m dressed slick, feeling good, and even strutting. Like a fucking John Woo movie: there should be an explosion and doves should be being released when I walk down my driveway. But, no. Not this guy. This guy has neighbors staring at him because he is talking shit and screaming at the damn sprinklers, daring them to fuck with him again. Seriously, I was ready to fuck up some damn sprinklers. It’s fucking cold out, the damn things shouldn’t have been on anyway. I continue to curse the sprinklers as I crank up my car and head towards the big city.
I left later than I wanted to so I ended up running in to my favorite part of the journey to the big city. The part where the interstate goes from a four lane road to a two, and then goes into curves and hills. And no one in this state can drive worth a fuck so there’s always a wreck. It typically adds about an hour onto my trip, Easily. A few miles out from the actual city limits I start getting rides. It is constant; as soon as one ride ends, I’m catching another. Every ride is either from a house to a bar or from a bar to a different bar. It is maddeningly busy. I’m not on the road long before I surpass the $100 mark, in fact I hit it before the game even started.
Once the game is underway, things slow down a little. I would still get calls with people running late and heading to house parties. I picked up a nice couple from a wine tasting at a local dive that were headed to a house party who tipped me with a bottle of wine. I still have it. Still haven’t opened it. The work is still steady, but no where near as chaotic as it was. Most people are watching the game so most of my calls consist of the phrase: “Step on it, I’m missing the game.” Then, as fate would have it I went on a series of excellently timed rides.
I’m about fifteen minutes south of the big city when I get a call to a rather swanky neighborhood; a gated community with massive houses. The newer, modern ones with the two-story columns out front and high vaulted ceilings. The kinds of houses I’ve always been jealous of. You know the ones that have the fancy extra counter in the kitchen they call an “island” and the stainless steel appliances and the kids that behave. I get to address and there is a pile of luggage sitting in the driveway. I’m hoping for an airport run and not another “I got kicked out of my rich parents house.” A gentlemen probably in his early 40’s waves me down and tips me in advance. It was indeed an airport run, that he was running late for. So I got an extra fiver for loading the bags for him. Him and his wife get into the back and have to say their goodbyes to everyone at the house at least four times before we get on the road.
“Why do I get excited about airport runs?” you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. The airport in the big city is in the middle of fucking nowhere and takes at least a half hour from anywhere to get to. So every airport run is a money maker. Sometimes, you’ll get lucky enough to drop someone off at the airport then immediately receive a request from the airport back to the city. The potential for massive income is there, if it’s a good night. And tonight was a good night for me. The couple in the back watched the game from their phone the entire trip and barely spoke to me. We arrived at the airport and I helped them with their luggage again, for which there was another five in my hand. By the time I’m sitting down in my car I have another request coming in. Jackpot! I put the car in gear and circle around the terminal from the departures gate to the arrivals gate. I pick up another man staring at the game on his phone and take him southeast of the big city. A busy start to the night followed by two forty-some-odd dollar rides in a row, things are turning out pretty good so far.
Other than yelling at his phone and disagreeing with the ref’s calls, this ride too was fairly quiet and uneventful. I get to the drop off point and he gets out of the car without a word. Oh, well. I’m not going to even give it a second thought, if this trend continued it was going to be a great night. And continue the trend did. I haven’t made it out of the guy’s housing development yet when a new request comes in, a mere three minutes away. A rare event, a call from the same neighborhood. Even rarer, the same street. Three houses down to be specific. Score. I slowly coast towards the house when a young couple, staring at their phones, come strolling down their driveway; slightly blocked by an SUV. As I pull past the vehicle I see something that makes me smile inside. They are dragging luggage behind them! A third airport run in a row with a quick turnaround. Either the Gods are smiling down on my plight or they are setting me up for something disastrous. The young couple gets in the car and we head towards the airport. The game is obviously more important than me, because they barely speak a word to me as well. They seem nice enough, but every couple has something extremely annoying about them. This couple insisted on kissing after every decent play. Not huge play, not scoring, but every positive play. Like they fucking had anything to do with it whatsoever. Cunts. The airport can’t get to me soon enough.
Another drop off, another wordless ride. I’m doing well and making decent money; but come on, interact a little bit. I’m getting bored. They clammier out of the car and I’m just about to end the ride when another request comes in. That’s right, bow down, four airport runs in a row! So I wheel around to the arrivals gate once again and am greeted by an older woman with a few bags. Older women usually tip more than others so I help her with her bags, giving a little extra in hopes of more money like the corporate whore that I am. She is a lovely woman with an incessant smile, beaming and disgustingly happy. She gets in and is super bubbly. You know, for an older lady. There’s no destination loaded so I ask for the address, which I don’t recognize and then she clarifies what city it’s in. Which is about 45 minutes away. Fucking score. We hit the road and the phrase “be careful what you wish for” pops in my repeatedly. I was complaining the past few rides about no one talking, but this woman won’t stop. By the time we get off the interstate and start trying to find her neighborhood, I know her life story from the past fifteen years at least. She kept telling me that her place was right off the interstate, so it gave me the impression that this trip was almost over, but my GPS was telling me that I had another twenty minutes.
We get off the interstate and down a highway, then a couple of side roads, then another highway. Then we passed a brewery that smelled like a yeast infection, pancakes and gym socks. Then a couple of more side roads, then we finally passed the city limits. This shit is not “right off the interstate,” woman. We finally arrive at her place and I think I might be able to justify what she meant. She lived towards the top of a rather large hill, across the street from a gas station. After dropping her off, I needed to top off so I went to said gas station. From the pumps, if you stood on your toes and squinted a bit, you could see the interstate. I think that’s what she meant.
As I begin to leave the area I tell myself “you should turn the app off before you get stuck out here.” Which tends to happen, especially when I don’t know where the fuck I am and I keep getting calls. But no, I didn’t turn the app off and I get a request within a few minutes. Someone was reaching for this one because the request I got was from twenty minutes away, west of where I was. I think. Anywho, I accepted the request and began to head that way. I ended up in another swanky, column-filled neighborhood like earlier, but in a different city. An older, frumpy lady gets in the car and I pull up the destination. It’s a hotel in the middle of downtown in the big city. Fifty minutes away. For those counting, that’s five big trips in a row. As she sits, she hits me with a “You better hurry, there’s three minutes left in the game and I want to be in my hotel before things get too crazy down there. I get antsy in traffic.” Well, good fucking luck, lady. With traffic, we’ll be lucky to make it there in an hour and knowing things the way I know them, they’re probably going to start closing roads. But fuck it, here goes everything.
I get lucky in the fact that this woman actually was right off the interstate. I feel I’m doing a safe speed, but she keeps edging me to go faster, insisting even. Insisting to the point where she tells me that she would pay me extra to speed, swerve, and run red lights. I’m sorry, officer, she basically forced me. We make it off the interstate towards downtown fairly quickly. I made uncharacteristically good time. Like the party was just starting as I got towards downtown. As we weave our way towards the hotel, people are starting to leave the bars and the streets are getting pretty full. The client, is freaking out. I’m being harassed into hurrying and she is shouting at me to run red lights. This lady is about to get me killed. Luckily, we get to the hotel pretty quickly and she is out of the car like a shot. It didn’t really occur to me until about this time, I heard the lady say it it just didn’t register in my head. She wanted desperately to get out of the car. People are crowding the streets and celebrating. They won. The team from the city I’m currently in just won the biggest game of the year. There’s about to be pandemonium. The chaos is growing by the second. And I am stuck in the middle of it.
Had they had lost, people would have had another drink or two, been dejected, and quietly went home. You would have had a few stragglers that might have gotten pissed off and done some stupid shit; but nothing the local PD couldn’t handle quickly and quietly. But there’s about to be thousands of excited, intoxicated people filling the crowded streets, all capable of doing something stupid, and then mob mentality will kick in. They’re excited, I’m anxious, and somewhere a few blocks away the boys in blue are strapping on riot gear.
It’s getting rough, but as of right now it’s still manageable. I don’t think too much of it. I think I’ll catch another ride out of downtown and avoid most of the festivities. So I accept the next request that comes in and head to a high-rise apartment a couple of blocks away. I find an open spot out front and wait. And wait. I can hear cheers and yelling, but I don’t really see anything, so I’m assuming that most of the crowd are still enjoying their drinks indoors. Still nothing from the client, so I decide to call them. Nothing. Straight to voicemail. I let another minute or two pass and try to call again, but I am interrupted by them calling me. Apparently they didn’t have service in the elevator, but she had to put some stuff away and then she would be back down. Eh, screw it, I’ll wait. She comes down a few minutes later and wants to get to a bar seven blocks away and is super excited. She is looking forward to the chaos and wants to make sure she looks good (I’m assuming for her mug shot) baecuase she keeps adjusting her outfit and looking at her hair and makeup in my visor mirror. She was a young, rather attractive brunette in a tight red miniskirt, so I felt like it was my responsibility, nay, my duty to make sure her outfit looked nice as well. “Did it” you ask? It did indeed, my friends. It did indeed.
The street in front of her apartment is clear so we head out, I make a left at the next intersection and go up about 100 feet before coming to a dead stop. It is bumper to bumper and the street is filled with people. There’s people hanging from light poles, guys with their shirts off swinging them around their heads. A ludicrous amount of citizens crowding the street, clad in their team’s colors, meandering between cars. I’m kinda hoping one of them gets hit. The sweet, innocent girl in the seat next to me with the awesome cleavage goes from Bruce Banner to the Hulk might quick and is instantly pissed off at the spectacle at hand.
Miniskirt: “This is fucking stupid. People are idiots. I seriously wouldn’t say a word if you hit one of them. I’ll tell the cops that he jumped under your wheels.”
Me: “I’ll keep that in mind.”
People are now screaming into my vehicle, pressing their faces against my window. I can feel my anxiety brewing but I don’t want to lose my shit in front of a client. It had been quite some time since I had an anxiety attack but I feel one coming on. I lose control for a split second when someone starts slapping the roof of my car. If you fuckers want to flip cars and shit, it is not going to be this one, I just washed it. Slap-happy McRoofSlapper is staring me in the face and banging on my ride. I let out a quick “Fuck off!” before calming slightly and apologizing to the client.
MS: “Fuck that, you don’t need to apologize for shit. Fuck these fucking assholes!”
Next thing I know, I have her ass basically in my face. Not complaining, just wanting to make sure y’all get the proper visual. She has rolled down her window and is hanging half way out of the car, screaming at the crowd. Naturally, the man instinct kicks in that kicks in when a pretty, young woman that he doesn’t know is doing something that could put herself (not to mention me and my car) in danger and I spring into action. I sink down in my seat, hide my face and pretend I’m not with her while sneaking peeks at her bouncy ass.
She finally sits down and rolls up the window with a soft “Please, just get me out of here.” I am trying the best that I can. I’m inching up more and more until I am millimeters from the bumper in front of me. Which was good, because then no idiot could jump in front of my car, but it sucked because then I couldn’t see shit in front of me. If the crowd was getting worse or dispersing, I didn’t know. I’m about to roll down my window to peer around the vehicle in front of me when I notice a young blonde woman running towards my car. She was a beer in one hand and a team pennant in the other, coupled with a strikingly crazy ass look in her eyes. My mind immediately went 28 Days Later and I lock the doors and windows. She stops beside my door, pulls up her shirt and presses her bear breasts against the glass with a shrill “Woo!” She backs up, bounces a couple of times and then lowers her shirt before running away. Don’t get me wrong, they were nice. But that was awkward as fuck. I slowly turned to look at the passenger next to me with a confused look on my face, not sure how to react.
Me: “Meh. Not bad.”
MS: “My tits are better.”
My head: [Say “Prove it.” Say “Prove it!!”]
Me: “She was really pale.” (Good save, you awkward dumbass.)
MS: “Mine are tanned, and pierced.”
My head: [You know good and damn well that piercings are your Kyrptonite. Fucking say “Prove it!”]
Me: “Oh, look. The Police are out directing traffic. We should be moving soon.”
We start to move at a slow crawl. Of course I wanted to see her tits. But I’m not that creepy driver. Ok, I am a little, but still. I’m married and she seemed a bit high-maintenance. And crazy. But now we’re moving and the subject is changing. In 20 minutes on the ride, we had moved four blocks. It was getting ridiculous. Then, we were stopped again. The intersection up ahead was filled with people and the police were trying to move the crowd along so cars could get through. MiniSkirt had had enough and decided to walk the rest of the way, which was only about three blocks. For those keeping count: she had requested a ride, sat in here for about 30 minutes, and was only going eight blocks. She could have walked and got there quicker. But she was in heels, so I understand.