Memoirs of a Rideshare Driver: Normally I'd Never Do This
Episode 19 in a series of true rideshare stories
There are two of them, both in suits, both in their forties, chatting about mergers and quotas and circling back to putting a pin in the synergy idea, or whatever people talk about in the corporate world. I’m not really listening. It’s getting late and I’m ready to call it a night.
The ride has two stops. I drop the first guy off at his hotel and then start taking the other guy to his. Or at least I thought that was the plan.
“So, uh, here’s the thing…” he says, as soon as we’re alone, leaning forward and adopting a conspiratorial tone. “That guy, he’s my employee. When I booked the ride, I put in the address of my hotel, because I wanted him to think that’s where I was going, but that’s not where I want to go.”
“Okay…?” I say. I’ve had people change their destinations hundreds of times, but this guy sounds like he’s about to ask me to help him rob a bank.
He clears his throat. “There’s a, uh… strip club? Right by my hotel?”
“Oh. Yeah, I know the one you mean,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I, uh…” he scratches behind his ear. “I kind of wanted to… check that out…”
“Okay.”
There is a long silence.
“…Is that bad?” he asks.
“The strip club? I’ve never been in there. It’s popular though.”
“No, I mean, like… going there.”
I’m not really sure what he’s trying to ask. Is he looking for a stranger’s opinion on the morality of strip clubs in general? Or whether it’s bad etiquette during a business trip? I hesitate for a long, awkward moment.
“Uh… It’s fine. I can drop you off there,” I tell him. “That’s no problem.”
“My divorce just got finalized this week,” he says.
Now he’s beyond probing for my opinion on strip clubs. It seems at this point he’s trying to validate his decision to me just in case I don’t approve.
“Well, there ya go,” I say.
“Nothing creepy,” he says. “Just, you know… Single again. Could be nice to be… you know… treated nicely, for a change.”
“Okay. Well, I can drop you there,” I tell him, not really sure what I’m supposed to be contributing to this conversation unless he’s hoping I’ll play the role of therapist (“How does your decision to go to a strip club make you feel?”).
“It wasn’t a good marriage at the end,” he explains, as if reading my mind about the therapist thing. “I mean, she wasn’t happy, I wasn’t happy, she was at my throat all the time, I was trying to stay out
a lot—not going out to strip clubs or anything, just bars, or staying at the office, you know?”
I nod as he continues to describe his bad marriage, always coming back to the strip club idea and how that's why he's thinking of going there, even though he’d normally never go to one, but he saw this one and he thought maybe he should go there, and he's divorced now anyway so it’s not like it’s hurting anyone...
What I want to say is something like, “Dude, you sound like a sixteen-year-old trying to buy your first pack of condoms! You’re in your forties! If you want to go to the strip club, go to the strip club. If it would make you feel gross, go to your hotel instead. I don’t know what you want from me! I’m a rideshare driver, not a priest or a clinical psychologist! Stay there all night for all I care! Move in with one of the dancers! Join a biker gang! Start doing meth! Become a born again Christian! Give up all your possession! None of it makes a lick of difference to me! But please, for the love of God, make a decision!"
That’s what I want to say. What I do say is, “Uh… Okay.”
A few minutes later, I drop him off at the strip club.
“I’ll probably just go in for a minute,” he assures me. “Have one drink, you know? I’m not gonna go crazy.”
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.