Memoirs of a Rideshare Driver: The Tour Bus Driver
Episode 30 in a series of true rideshare stories
He gets in confused about which hotel he’s supposed to be going to and I help him sort it out and get on the way. He says hotel chains with multiple locations make it confusing in some cities, even for someone like him who travels for living.
“What do you do for work?” I ask him.
“I’m an entertainment driver,” he says, with a thick southern accent. “Driving the tour bus for Guns ’n’ Roses at the moment.”
“That’s cool. How long have you been doing that?”
“Well, I’ve been driving bands pretty much my whole life, but I’m not a regular for these guys. I’ve just done a couple of trips for them recently. They wanted me to do last weekend too, but I said, ‘No can do. It’s my 50-year high school reunion and I wouldn’t miss that for the world.’”
“How was that?”
“It was the best. I saw folks I hadn’t seen in 50 years. I’m 68, but hanging out with all those old friends… I felt 58 again, if not younger.”
That makes me laugh. I fully expected him to say he felt 18 again, but nah, he’s not going crazy.
“Ran into a couple gals I fooled around with back when we were in school. The best-lookin’ one, I gave her my phone and said, ‘Put your number in. We gotta reconnect.’”
“Did she give you her number?”
“Oh yeah. She’s divorced now, so hopefully we’ll get to hang out again next time I’m back in town. And another gal, she grabbed me from behind when I was talking to some people and dragged me away. I said, ‘What are we doing?’ She said, ‘We’re gonna dance!’ I half-thought she was gonna rape me the way she grabbed me. Not that I’d have complained.”
I laugh. He may have felt 58, but he sounds 18. That rock and roll lifestyle, man.
“Did you get her number, too?”
“Yeah, but she lives up north, taking care of her mom. I said, ‘Sweetheart, you gotta get back down to Mississippi.’”
“That’s where you’re from? Mississippi?”
“That’s right. Tupelo, Mississippi. Birthplace of Elvis Presley.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Did he keep roots there at all, or just took off and never looked back?”
“Well, at one point they were gonna build a resort there in his honor, but what happened was Elvis said he wanted the pool to be shaped like a guitar, and they didn’t do it. They just put it in a regular square pool, and Elvis said, ‘Well, hell with all of you. I’ll never come back to Tupelo again.’”
“That’s a shame.”
“It’s a damn shame. Elvis could’ve done a lot for Tupelo. All they had to do was treat him right. But that mayor was a crooked son of a bitch. Probably just pocketed the extra money.”
“Did you ever see Elvis play?”
“I never did. My dad was born the same year as him though, and they went to the same school.”
“That’s cool. Did they know each other?”
“Yeah, they were friendly. Not enough to keep in touch, but they liked each other.”
“That’s fun. Too bad they didn’t keep in touch. He would’ve been quite a guy to know.”
“Funny enough, when he was first blowing up, he came through town at one point. My dad and my grandma were out on the street and he drove by in his convertible. So they both threw their arms up and waved. That’s how it was back then, everybody waved to everybody whether they knew each other or not. But Elvis didn’t wave back. My grandma turned to my dad and said, ‘That’s how people are when they become uppity.’ That’s a word you don’t hear much anymore. Uppity. But he told me that story and then another time she told me the same story unprompted, and neither of ‘em could lie for shit, so I think it must’ve happened.”
He tells me a little more about Elvis and Tupelo, but pretty soon we arrive at his hotel and he thanks me for the ride and heads in. Normally, when a ride ends, I’m glad to close it out and keep making money. But with him, as I drive off, I think I should’ve offered to buy him a drink at the hotel bar and keep chatting. I would’ve liked to ask him what other bands he’s driven, what other stories he’s got. I’m not even that much of a music guy, but I could listen to him tell stories in that baritone drawl for another hour easy. Alas, ten minutes is all I get.
If he ever writes Memoirs of a Tour Bus Driver, I’ll be sure to pick up a copy, but for now, I’m glad we got a crossover episode.
Next time he’s in Mississippi, I hope that lady-friend of his picks up the phone.
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.
Too bad, missed opportunity, he probably had endless stories.