“Who is singing?” he asks her in the back seat.
Until I was a rideshare driver, I never noticed how common this game is, always with men quizzing women, and rarely with the women seeming interested in the least. “Who produced this record?” “Who is playing the drums?” It’s never just a statement of fact—never a casual, “Oh, here’s something interesting you might not be aware of…” It always sounds more like a power play. “I know who’s playing the keyboard. I bet you don’t!”
Half the time these guys aren’t even fucking right. One guy told his girlfriend that “Stuck in the Middle with You” was The Beatles and carried on about it for a solid two minutes, ignoring me as I interrupted multiple times to let him know that it’s actually Stealers Wheel, as long as we’re playing trivia.
On this night, the woman answers, “Bad Company.”
“Yeah, but who is the vocalist?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on… Come on…”
I don’t know either, but he doesn’t ask me. They usually don’t. I’m not clear on the rules of this game, but seemingly it’s required to go in the direction of man-to-woman. Even though I’ve seen it play out a dozen times, I’ve yet to see a woman quiz another woman like this, or a woman quiz a man, or a man quiz another man. There’s probably a whole course to be taught in the social sciences about it. I haven’t taken that course, but if a politician ever puts forward a bill that involves forcing these guys to do naked squats over a table of rat traps, I’ll vote for it.
“Come on, you know this.”
“I don’t. Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Just listen to his voice. He’s been in a bunch of bands. Who is it?”
I mean, it’s not that I don’t know music. I don’t, but that’s not it. I know movies, but I’m not gonna sit there while we’re trying to watch one and go, “The DP who shot this did a movie for Spielberg. What movie was it?” Oh, I might do other obnoxious shit. I might go off on some tangent about how a line in Django Unchained relates to a story about the making of Inglourious Basterds and might be an inside joke, and did you know DiCaprio almost played Hans Landa in Inglourious Basterds, and isn’t it hard to imagine he would have done it as well as Chrisoph Waltz—but it’ll at least be born out of excitement for the movie and wanting to share it, not just a game of “look how much more I know than you do”.
“I don’t know,” she says again. “But I bet you don’t know what Anna Karenina is about.”
I grin as the conversation goes quiet, because if this guy rattles off a competent synopsis of Anna Karenina, I’ll do the rat trap squats myself.
“Come on,” he says, ignoring the question. “How can you not know who’s singing?”
“How can you not know what Anna Karenina is about?”
“What does that have to do with—”
“Name a character in Anna Karenina besides Anna Karenina.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Who wrote Anna Karenina?”
The car ride becomes awkwardly quiet, with nothing but the sound of Bad Company in our ears. Nothing but the soothing voice of… um… okay, annoying guy, just tell us who it is.
“Paul Rogers!” he finally shouts.
She just shrugs.
“Come on. Paul Rogers?”
I jump in. “Fun fact: Paul Rogers narrated the audiobook of Anna Karenina.”
The guy asks, “Really?” at the same time that the girl bursts out laughing.
I can’t say I’m surprised that she picks up on my sarcasm and he doesn’t, but it makes it that much sweeter.
Memoirs of a Rideshare Driver is a series that tells true stories of my 10,000+ trips as a rideshare driver. I will post them every Monday.
I burst out laughing at the end of this story!