They are the prototypical shitfaced couple, roughly in their forties, slurring their words and wobbling in their seats. They are a fixture of every Friday night, and make no impression until I pull up to their destination.
“This isn’t our house,” says the man.
I groan. I read them the address that I have listed in the app.
“That’s our address, but this isn’t our house,” slurs the woman.
I’m confused. I can see the street number on the side of the house and I know what street we’re on. We are clearly at the address that is listed in the app.
“Is it East, or West, or something? Street, Lane, Boulevard? We seem to be at the address.”
“No, it’s behind Burger & Brew.”
“Okay… Well, that’s awfully close to here, isn’t it?”
“No.”
I open the map and look up Burger & Brew. Not only is it awfully close, we are literally behind it right now.
“Wait,” I say. “We are behind Burger & Brew.”
“No,” says the woman. “It’s on State Street. It’s nowhere near here.”
“We’re right next to State Street. It’s right over there. That’s where Burger & Brew is.”
“No, it’s all the way on the other side of town.”
I roll my eyes. This conversation is going nowhere.
“Tell you what. I’ll drive you to Burger & Brew.”
I put the car in gear, drive fifty feet, take a single right turn, and arrive ten seconds later in the parking lot of Burger & Brew.
“There’s Burger & Brew! Where’s your house?”
“Whoa! What the hell?” says the guy. “Oh. Okay, so go down this road and take a left…”
He guides me down the same ten-second path I took to get to Burger & Brew until we arrive right back in front of the exact same house.
“That’s the one,” he says. “This is it.”
As the two of them stumble across the lawn, I think of the cliché of the drinker who can’t remember how he got home last night, and I think, Goddamn, at least when you got there, you knew you were there.
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.