Uber Coachella Personalities 2015
I’m reviving stories from 2015 during the spectacle that is Coachella 2016. Just for old times sake.
Without a doubt, my biggest motivation in driving for Uber is the variety of people I meet. I’m not making a ton of vacation money with this gig anymore, the Uber gold rush seems to be over. But I still have fun meeting people. Does this define me as an extrovert? Would I rather drive strangers around town for little pay than sit on the couch? Yep. I’m an extrovert.
The two weekends of the Coachella Music and Arts Festival are the most fun for this reason. One ride request after another all day long, and late into the night if Red Bull does it’s job. The personalities I see, and watch and listen to! People, don’t you realize your Uber driver is listening to you? I list a few of the most outstanding personality types I saw this year. This year I include photos.
In the interest of protecting the guilty, photos and stories do not necessarily match. But they might. And yes, I asked permission to take and publish the photos. Chill out.
Coachella brings out the happy-giddy kid in just about everyone. A car full of young girls, flower garlands in their hair, texting and laughing non-stop in my car? Nothing could be more enjoyable. I feel like the favorite uncle taking the kids to a show. The only downside is that they can’t agree on what music to listen to, and it’s always a bit too loud. But I smile with them as they sing. You can’t go wrong with this group.
Perhaps a more correct term would be the hung-over people. This group is common on the second night of the festival. They didn’t take advice to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. They stayed up too late. They aren’t 21 anymore, and they refuse to admit it. They suffer. They complain. They are mostly quiet in the car. Not my favorite group. They make me nervous. I’m afraid they will get sick in my new car.
Ride requests from The Parker Hotel during Coachella are usually for people in “the industry”. One group was led by a British manager for a performing act (he wouldn’t tell me which one so I’m guessing it was someone major). His three LA friends were along for the ride.
The manager had an artist vip car pass and wrist band. He put the band on me so I could sneak him and his entourage close to the back stage. He didn’t ask me if I would do this for him, he told me to put the wrist band on. Yes sir. Â
The friends that were with him, how do I describe them? They impressed me in the worst possible way. So bad that I felt compelled to make a Facebook post commenting about the rudeness of some (many?) Los Angeles residents. I regret that post, it’s wrong to paint an entire region of millions of people with one bad characteristic. But these three entourage members from LA were absolutely horrible. Demanding. Dismissive. Privileged. Rude. I didn’t converse with them much to avoid possible confrontation. I was probably hungry.
I found some schadenfreude joy when I reached our destination. The manager could not remove the artist wrist band pass from my overly large hands. He was visibly nervous as he struggled, but he eventually succeeded. I had broken several rules and given great service to these people. I don’t expect a tip, but I do expect a simple “thank you.” Not from this group.
Later the next day, I reflected on why I disliked this group so much. I felt bad for my harsh judgement. Then I recalled a comment from one of the most exceptionally rude women. It shed some light on the situation for me.
“Remember when you were a kid and your parents were taking you to Disneyland for the first time? You were so excited, but you didn’t know what you were excited about. You knew something amazing was waiting for you, but it was a complete unknown. I’m feeling like that kid right now. I don’t know what I’m going to see, but I know it’s going to be freaking awesome!”
These folks weren’t being rude to me. They were in that hyper excited kid mode. Their minds were racing. The only thing that mattered at that moment was getting to the festival asap. I can relate to that feeling. The drive to Disneyland is absolute torture for me, even as an adult.
I need to cut people more slack.
A group of three massively muscular young guys jumped into my car. They were in their mid-20’s, but with the excessive steroid use it was hard to be sure.
They each carried a half gallon jug of water. I thought that odd. Then the guy in the front seat made an announcement that helped it make sense:
“Okay, we all just popped our ecstasy. We should be rolling by the time we get there so let’s hit the road now!”
Uber drivers have become the new bartenders. People tell us the most intimate details. I took his comment as an opening to my favorite Coachella joke:
“The Altoids in the blue tin are mollies. They cost $20 each and will be billed to your Uber account.”
It was impossible to convince these jug-heads that I was joking. They were reaching for their wallets. Seriously guys, I’m not that kind of Uber driver.
My joke opened the door for extended personal revelations. They started to detail their previous night’s activity. The guy in front was exceptionally proud of his sexual exploits. He delivered details about the girl he picked up, what he did, how she responded, how many times they repeated. Graphic details of body parts, body fluids, and pubic hair in unexpected locations. I didn’t need to hear it all, but he was convinced that I was enthralled.
I considered revealing to him that I bat for the other team as a way to shut him up. But I was afraid this would only encourage more graphic discussion, so I kept quiet.
When we arrived at the Uber Coachella lot, I maintained the theme of the drive. I asked them all to look me in the eyes for a dilated pupil check. They took me seriously and each stared at me. I told them they were all good. The police won’t be spotting them. They thought I was serious.
The Uber driver app said my rider’s name was Dre. I called out “Uber for Dre” to the two men walking my way. I pronounced the name “dree.” One of the men corrected me, “It’s Doctor Dre” and he pronounced it “dray.” The name sounded familiar to me, but I didn’t think much of it. I smiled as I held the door open for them.
It was a long ride from Palm Springs to a rented home at PGA West. The man going by Dr Dre asked for my auxiliary audio cable so he could practice his set.
“Are you preforming at Coachella?” I asked him.
“No, a friend is having a private party. It’s a last minute thing that I’m going to perform tomorrow night. My photographer is with me”
The photographer-dude waved, but I didn’t want to get into the discussion of “hey, I’m a photographer as well!” These two guys seemed tired. Later I realized they were just stoned.
The Dr. Dre dude played his set, asking his photographer friend what he thought at each song. I’m glad he didn’t ask me. I’ve never listened to rap music before. I could hear it all too well thanks to my awesome car stereo. It’s nasty stuff. Foul language, misogynistic lyrics, just plain nasty! But after a while I found myself wanting to giggle. The lyrics were so clever in their nastiness. I felt bad giggling. It was like laughing at a dirty joke in Sunday School.
It took quite a while to find the rented home. The guys were confused. Conversation with a stoned person is difficult, even more so if they are trying to give directions. I think their fare grew by about $20 from all the wrong turns.
I dropped them off a few minutes before midnight. It was the magic moment when the Apple Watch was going on sale. I had promised my partner David that he would get an Apple Watch for his birthday. So, I sat in my car waiting to place my order at the stroke of midnight. Perfect time to google this Dr. Dre dude.
The photos looked like him, at least I think so. It was dark so couldn’t really see his face and if I say more I will sound racist. Then I read about him. Holy smokes! That’s the guy who sold Beats to Apple for 3 billion! What the heck is he doing taking an UberX to Coachella? He did say it was a last minute trip, but wouldn’t he have an entire entourage of people managing his personal details?
I began to doubt myself. Did he say “My name is Dr Dre, or my name is like Dr Dre?” I’m not sure. But my alarm clock said it was time to order the Apple Watch and that’s all that mattered.
That, and airing the pot stench out of my car.
I’m not much for reality TV shows, that’s more of my partner David’s thing. When he heard that I would have a pre-arranged Uber ride for Collins Key, he almost fainted. Collins was in America’s Got Talent as a magician. I try to play cool when rubbing elbows with celebrities. Besides, who could compare with Dr Dre, even if it was an imposter?
The ride with Collins and his younger brother Devan was completely ordinary. Except for one thing: listening to one side of Collins’ phone call with his father. (Sorry Collins, I didn’t intend to eavesdrop. It’s an occupational hazard as an Uber driver).
“Yes, we saw AC/DC last night…. no, we stayed away from the crowd…… the crowd got crazy a few times…. don’t worry, we stayed clear of that…”
It sounded like a father, probably my age, had a vision of a concert by AC/DC as being less than appropriate for his sons. When AC/DC was first big, they were the subject of many warnings by my church youth pastor. Satan influenced this group, and we needed to avoid them. Now, I think of them as aging rockers. I think they are ridiculous. But I could imagine their fans continuing in their hedonistic ways. I could also understand this father’s concern.
“Don’t worry Dad, we are being careful…..”
“I know, we are being careful….”
“Yes, Devan is staying with me. We are being careful…”
How many times did he say “we are being careful”?
Coachella is not Woodstock. The event is held in a beautiful venue attended by upper-class people from all over the world. A father my age could easily imagine the rock concerts from our era. Those concerts were not family friendly. I don’t know if Coachella is considered family friendly, but it’s certainly not Burning Man. And even that event is more family friendly than the rock concerts of my youth.
Why does this ride stand out to me? Why was it my favorite ride of the two weekends? Because I found it comforting. I could imagine the concern of a father for his two sons. These two young guys were exploring the world of a massive music festival all on their own. As in much of life, there are dangers lurking in corners, and their father needed to warn them.
Is there anything more wonderful than the concern of a father for his sons? I think not. I wanted to grab the phone and tell Collins’ father “good for you dad, you’re doing a great job!”
I didn’t. But I did drive with a nice big smile and a happy heart.
