Stinky
The first ride in my new incarnation as Best Uber Driver Ever was for a lady with a pre-school boy. Grandma, it turns out was going to Walmart with a puppy-dog-tail little guy. All wiggles and giggles and smiles as he slid into the back seat. He was making funny noises with his lips and Grandma wanted him to stop. He didn’t stop. He continued to make funny noises out the other end.
Grandma didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. The little boy sang his happy song, “pooopie poopitity poop da-poop da-poop poop.” It is a happy thing worth celebrating with song, but not normally in the back of an Uber.
We drove in silence. The front passenger window was down so I didn’t need to draw attention to anything. He was all smiles as he got out of the car and I was able to determine that his diapers were fine. He was just a gassy little guy. All smiles and gas.
A request came in from the Ritz-Carlton. I declined it. Those folks have standards. The ride I did accept was a long ways away. I drove with all windows down. It wasn’t bad. It smelled like a pre-school in my car.
The next passengers were two gentlemen at a country club. They are the sort that my community might affectionately call A-Gays. Very well dressed, way too much cologne. It covered up the pre-school residue just fine, but my eyes were watering. As we drove I was able to determine that they work in The Industry in Los Angeles. Television broadcast, methinks. I shouldn’t listen to my passengers talk amongst themselves, but I couldn’t help. They live in a very different world than my previous passengers.
I’m not sure which stench was worse: Grandma and the gassy boy or A-Gays and their conflicting colognes? Grandma gave me a very large tip, Television Industry guys did not. I’ll take Grandma and stinky boy anywhere they want.
