Sometimes it seems like more people used to agree on the simple things in life…
Y’know, like not being an asshole.
We’ve all probably noticed the increase in “go back to your
country” talk lately. And, man, do those words take me back (pun intended).
Growing up, it was confusing…
I’d be in the middle of American kid stuff…eating Fruit Loops,
going to the arcade, and watching Knight Rider. A goofy citizen of the only
home I’d ever known. And then, every so often, I’d hear those words again…
Go back to your country.
Let’s be real…India would have eaten me alive. I’ve got the most sensitive stomach west of the Mississippi, can’t speak Hindi well, and don’t like 3-hour movies that break into song and dance numbers.
But every few years, someone would tell me to go back (to a place I hadn’t even visited).
Crazy how clearly we remember certain moments…
For me (and probably you too), turning 16 years old was a milestone.
It felt like an exciting first step into adulthood. I remember getting that
driver’s license and wanting to be on the road all the time. Even volunteering
to run errands for my parents just so I could get behind the wheel.
I was 16, independent, and ready to buy eggs on my own.
One particular day, I arrived at our neighborhood Kroger and
hopped out of the car with my new I’m-becoming-a-man strut. A sense of pride that
only an 11th grader with his own keys can feel.
As I reached the entrance, an older gentleman stepped into my
path. I thought he might have needed some help for a second. But he looked at
me with disgust and said, “Damn foreigners taking all our jobs. Go back to your
own fucking country.”
Jobs? I was a kid in a Bart Simpson shirt.
Ow.
A couple of years later, college house parties were the main
source of weekend fun. But on this very special Friday, my attention was focused
on a girl named Lisa. She was so absurdly beautiful that she didn’t even bother
wearing makeup. Didn’t need it. She was so fun and so effortlessly sexy that I
couldn’t believe my luck. Why would she want to hang out with me? I mean, it
was genuinely confusing. I couldn’t even talk to her without my palms getting sweaty.
She was clearly out of my league and I really wanted to make sure the night
went perfectly. My wingman David “Toes” Miller was there too (his nickname had
to do with an unfortunate lawnmower incident). He and his girlfriend joined in
the fun as we jumped from one party to another. A very collegiate type of
double date. Somehow, it was actually going well. Lisa was giggling at my lame Adam
Sandler imitations and, wait, what was this? She was suddenly touching my arm as
she spoke too?
Alright, no sudden movements.
Don’t blow this, nerd.
Right then, I heard a basketball debate starting up with a
group of guys at the party. What a perfect opportunity. See, I’d been encouraged
a few times to do a sports talk radio show (and knew more about basketball than
any subject I was studying in school). It wasn’t like I could show off my knowledge
of Michelangelo. But Michael Jordan? Very different story. And it was time to
impress Lisa…
The main debater guy and I started going back and forth
about Magic versus Bird. It was very lighthearted and I was pulling out all kinds
of stats. Going great. Suddenly, for some unknown reason, the guy didn’t find
it fun anymore. He’d had enough of the debate and sneered, “Why don’t you go
back to your country, you fucking camel jockey.”
Everything stopped for a second…
Well, until the group of guys started cracking up.
(I guess “cackling” would be the appropriate word)
It’s amazing how you can be an American but still be made to
feel like a total foreigner in the blink of an eye. I decided to go outside and
“get some air.” The truth is, I was humiliated. And I couldn’t understand why I
was so hurt. But I really didn’t want Lisa to see me this way. Apparently, it
was pretty obvious. She told Toes Miller what happened and he stormed out of
there. Dude looked like steam was coming out of his head. I’d love to say I
handled myself in a more manly way that night, but it totally caught me off-guard.
I was just a young guy trying to impress a girl. And I think she probably noticed
when I started to tear up for a second. Not very impressive at all. I just
wanted to go home and forget the night.
So I did.
I don’t know what happened to Lisa, but hopefully she’s had
a great life. She seemed to lose interest in hanging out with my group after
Toes Miller threw a beer bottle through the window of that party. Go figure.
But, all these years later, I never really thought about the times people told
me to go back to “my country.” Just part of life, right? Well, for some reason,
it was on my mind this week.
And I think something (finally) hit me…
I heard “go back to your country” enough times that I
actually started believing I’m not as American as they are.
Deep down, they really think that’s true.
And, somewhere along the line, they convinced me of it too.
But, hey, these are weird and confusing times.
At least I’m more clear about one thing now:
If you feel comfortable telling another citizen to go back
to “their” country…
Or if you think of yourself as more American than another American…
I love game shows. Always have. Probably always will.
Maybe it’s my gambling nature, but something about showing
up empty-handed in the morning and leaving with a car at the end of the day always
seemed incredible. During my last year of college, a group of friends went to
Florida for spring break. Me? I decided to check out The Price Is Right instead.
Alone.
Was that weird? Probably.
But, hey, I never pretended to be normal. Over the years, I’ve
had a few people ask for advice on how to win stuff on game shows. It’s been a
while and I’m no expert…but here’s what my experiences have been…
That first trip in college 20 years ago was pretty
depressing. I won a bed and a desk…but lost the game that would have gotten me
a car. A dagger through my young heart. Almost immediately, the thought popped
into my head – “Wait, I gave up my last spring break to win a car? On a game
show? What the hell is wrong with me?”
They tape 2 shows a day. So when I was done losing in the
morning, I walked by a few hundred people who were lined up for the afternoon
show. They were yelling out to everyone –
“How did it go??”
“What happened in there??”
“Did you win??”
I remember finding it a bit odd that nobody stopped to
answer their questions. So, I stood there for a minute and described my depressing
experience. I guess they felt bad for the sad young college kid…because all of
those people started clapping when I finished the story. It was incredibly sweet
and actually got me out of my funk for a few minutes. But the mission remained.
One day, I needed to win a car on a game show.
Ten years later, I was allowed to go back. Considering I was
a grown man who’d dealt with the real world by then, there wouldn’t be any
heartbreak. Again, I won prizes…a living room set (they gave me $4,000 instead)
and a fancy coffee machine. But still no car. The mission remained.
2 or 3 years later, I decided to try Let’s Make A Deal. If
you’ve never seen it, the show requires people to wear costumes. It was early November,
so I headed to a clearance Halloween store. Can’t say I spent more than 30 seconds
throwing together a referee’s uniform and a big, shiny dollar sign necklace. I didn’t
even know what it was supposed to be, so I just said I was a referee who takes
bribes.
Waiting in line for a game show isn’t exactly fun. It’s a
long day. And you’re surrounded by the kinds of people who…well, stand in line
for game shows. After a few hours of waiting, you finally get to the short
interview (which I’ll describe later) and then you know the taping is getting
close. I had zero plans that particular day and my thinking was, “Shit, I can either
eat pizza and watch TV…or I can try to win a car.” So I waited a few hours in
line, talked to some weirdos, did the interview, and entered the studio.
On The Price Is Right, you just grab a seat. Let’s Make A
Deal was different. I saw producers telling assistants (through their
earpieces) to sit certain people in aisle seats. Clearly, those were the ones
who would be contestants.
I reach the front of the line and excitedly ask, “Is there anywhere
specific you want me to sit?”
The assistant replies, “Nah, anywhere you want. Just not in
an aisle seat.”
Damn.
Not a good sign.
They start the show and begin, almost exclusively, picking
the most attractive girls in the room. That (clearly) doesn’t include me. I
also happen to be sitting next to the geekiest guy on planet earth. During commercial
breaks, he’s dancing nonstop to the music. And by “dancing,” I mean he’s miming,
doing the robot, and attempting something best described as a clumsy macarena. He
even tries to start a wave at one point. He sees me sulking in my seat and asks
(mid-robot), “Why aren’t you dancing, Edgar Allen Bro?”
Man, if looks could kill.
I should have been at home eating pizza and watching Indiana
Jones movies…but I’m sitting here with a bunch of weirdos trying to win a car. A
familiar thought enters my brain – “What the hell is wrong with me?”
They move on to another game and select…yup, another sexy girl.
But the host adds, “We need someone for her to play against.” He starts climbing
the stairs to Loserville. Hmm…he’s getting pretty close to me. And then I hear:
“You, the referee!”
In a millisecond, my bad mood flies out the window. It’s time
to play!
The game is basically just guessing if certain items are in her
purse – a book, a deck of cards, and a pair of sunglasses. I guess all of them
correctly, win the game, and pick up $1,500. He asks if I want to trade the
money for a chance at what’s behind the curtain. I say, “Of course. I’m here to
win a car” and they reveal…a motorcycle. Hard to feel bad about that. And, hey,
at least it’s something motorized on wheels. Getting closer to the mission.
The show continues on and, with a few minutes to go, I’m
asked if I want to trade the motorcycle for a chance at the “big deal of the
day.” It’s their version of a showcase showdown…but with just one player. And,
of course, with the risk of going home empty-handed.
“Let’s do it. I’m here to win a car.”
Grand finale time. The show all comes down to which of the 3
doors I’ll pick. During the commercial break, Loserville quickly becomes the
coolest place in the studio. Suddenly, I’m like George Clooney in this roomful
of weirdos. SuperGeek in the next seat thanks me for giving him a high-five,
the hot girls in their skimpy costumes want to touch my dollar sign necklace,
and everyone is trying to give me their pick. I notice one guy behind me who
isn’t saying a word. In fact, he hasn’t made a sound the entire show. He looks
almost like a medicine man with his long dreadlocks and ultra-serious expression.
I turn around and ask, “What door do you think, man? One, two, or three?”
He looks at me as if there’s nobody else in the room.
Is it possible that all the secrets of the universe are behind
his eyes?
He clears his throat.
With a James Earl Jones level of bass in his voice, he calmly
says:
“One.”
The lights come up and it’s time for my pick. Of course, I
go with the medicine man…and choose door number 1. For drama, they open up the
other doors first…
Door number 3 is a big vault. Oh shit. This could be bad. They
reveal the amount…
$2,500.
Ok, I survived that one. The big deal has to be worth more
than that.
Door number 2 is…
A weeklong trip to San Antonio in a presidential suite with
all the works.
Nice, but not enough to be the big deal.
Wait, does that mean…could the mission be accomplished?
(Door number 1 opens to reveal a Kia Forte)
WHAT??
I finally got my car.
Honestly, I didn’t care what make or model it was. I just wanted
to win a car on a game show. And now I had. They said I also won the other two
door items as well (the cash and trip). Obviously…it was a hell of a day.
Significantly better than staying home to eat pizza and watch Raiders of the
Lost Ark. The section previously known as Loserville was now officially a
party. Those weirdos turned out to be very sweet. They were incredibly
supportive and happy for me. I turned around to thank the medicine man, but he
had vanished completely. Did he even exist? Had I imagined him the entire time?
That’s my experience. But what’s the answer to, “How do you
win on a game show?” Well, obviously, there’s a lot of luck involved. I wasn’t
exactly playing Jeopardy or anything that required me to have any brainpower.
All I know is that, before you can win, you need to get on stage…
What that really comes down to is the 10 second
“interview.” That’s where they make their contestant choices. 2 or 3
producers will sit down and say, “tell me about yourself” in a very
calm tone of voice. Almost as if it’s a job interview. Businesslike. They’ll go
down the line doing that with groups of 10 people at a time.
Naturally, we humans respond with a similar tone as the way we’re
being spoken to.
A producer says, “Tell me about yourself.”
Most people answer, “Well I’m from Kansas. I teach
second grade. And I hope to win a prize today.”
Next.
(If you do it like that, you’ll definitely be sitting in
line to watch other weirdos play games)
What I do differently is this…
Producer: “Tell me about yourself.”
I yell, “I’M REALLY EXCITED TO BE HERE!!! WOO!!!”
and immediately high-five the nearest person in line next to me. Then I answer the
question.
That might seem simple and dumb. But pretty much everyone
who’s listened to me has won a prize on a game show. Obviously, calm and
collected isn’t the goal of those interviews. Producers should be wondering:
“If this dude gets that
excited about ‘Tell me your name,’ what the hell will he do when he wins a car?”
Last person I told this to won a motorcycle. Others have won trips and other stuff. Anyway, that’s my game show story. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back now that the mission has been accomplished. But, hey, you never know…
You trust complete strangers to drive you around, right?
Actually, that’s probably not the best way
to advertise Uber…
“Get
into some dude’s car and hope you’re not meeting a lunatic”
I mean, what if we showed up here in a time machine from 20 years ago? We’d see a bunch of people getting into the back of random Honda Civics and wonder what the hell is going on in the world.
The whole thing is fascinating. At least to me. So, for the past week, I went on an Undercover Nerd mission. For years, I’ve been curious to see what it’s like. So I signed up, downloaded the app, and drove strangers around for an hour or two per night. I took notes to share my experience with you here…
Night
1
(There’s no instruction other than a quick video. And, weirdly, there’s no picture of the rider. Just a name and address. Traffic isn’t a factor at 9 PM, so that seems like a good time of night to head out)
I get to a big house in a nice neighborhood. An older Israeli man opens the passenger door, smiles, and sits down right next to me. The app shows where he’s going but I want to make conversation and ask, “Where are we off to?” That’s pretty much all it takes for him to talk the entire ride. The guy is very friendly. He’s visiting America for the first time (a 4-month vacation from Los Angeles to Miami to New York to Hawaii). He sounds a little homesick already. I ask if he likes LA and he says, “No. The whole city goes to sleep at 10 PM.” That’s kind of true. He’s used to more lively nights. I drop him off at Coffee Bean, he apologizes for his poor English (which was actually pretty good), shakes my hand, and walks into the night to meet his buddy. I hope he’ll enjoy the other cities more.
The app beeps again. I’m off to pick up 2 ladies at Sushi Spot. It’s my first Uber encounter with something I’ll see a lot of over the next few nights…drunk people. A pair of mid-40’s blonde women get in and fill the car with the smell of perfume and sake. They’re laughing like old friends who are tickled to get a night out together. The lady next to me (Sarah) asks if I’m Indian. Then she starts talking about her buddy in India. I say we don’t actually all know each other and she laughs as if I’ve told the world’s funniest joke. We talk about sushi for a few minutes, they crack up at a lot of semi-funny jokes, and I get them to an impressive-looking home safely.
Next stop is Ralphs (the California version of Kroger). A shy, fairly awkward Asian girl in her 20’s sits down next to me. She seems lonely. Usually takes the bus home from her job at the service deli. It’s a 90-minute ride each way and she’s too exhausted for that today. Felt like splurging. I ask how long she’s lived in the area and she whispers that she just moved from Las Vegas. Has yet to make any friends in town. Turns out that Vegas is the only other city she’s been to in America. I say a couple of travel-related things and she’s unusually excited about every little tidbit. Even just talking about New York pizza…she had no idea that they’re known for it. And she seems very interested in hearing about San Francisco. Asks me how much a bus trip there would cost. I have no clue. After talking to her for a few minutes, I start feeling very lucky to have traveled so much. I really hope she’ll be ok here. She reminds me of a little mouse who peeks into the world and then scurries back into a safe hiding place. I really find myself rooting for her. Seconds after dropping her off at a fairly scary apartment building, the app beeps to let me know I have a “New Compliment,” whatever that means. I look at the screen which reads, “Great Conversationalist.” It’s surprisingly touching.
Night
2
I get a beep from a mansion in the hills. The passenger gets in…white, late 20’s, absurd amount of perfume. Her name is Jennifer. She has a little girl voice. Turns out they’re filming a Lifetime movie in the house and she’s been doing background extra work. As with some other people I’ve met who do background work, she’s…a bit strange. Keeps saying she can one day get acting work…and that she’ll be “the hot girl” in movies. Keeps talking about how Matt McCoy was the lead of the Lifetime movie. Who the fuck is Matt McCoy? I have no idea. All in all, she’s extremely entertaining and talks for 20 minutes straight. She reveals that she’d like to be “the hot girl” in an episode of Ballers with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. I drop her off at a small apartment in Hollywood and she skips away into the night.
The last beep took me to a mansion in the hills. This one takes me to McDonald’s. A young Hispanic man is just getting off work. Since I’m abnormally passionate about two things…deals and food…I ask if the grub is free for employees there. He laughs at the nerdiness of my question and says they only get a 50% discount. We stay on the subject of food. He’s always wanted to try sushi but hasn’t had it yet. I give a couple of recommendations with good lunch specials and he tells me about some hidden gems for tacos. Great kid. I drop him off in a rough area of town.
The next beep comes with a note. Looks like I’m headed to a hospital down the street. A lady needs a ride for her elderly Hispanic mom (who I pick up from the emergency room). A question or two is all it takes for the mom to open up about her life. Her husband keeps cancelling appointments to get hip replacement surgery done. She doesn’t understand it. Their life would be much better if he’d just do it already. I hear the huge amount of stress this causes her and, obviously, the dude needs to get it done. As we pull up to her apartment, I try to express that he sounds scared because he never had to go through anything like that before. She thanks me for talking to her and says it helped. She gets out slowly and says, “You have a nice car.” Honestly, I really don’t (it’s a Buick Encore that I lease for 99 bucks a month). But it was a sweet moment from a sweet lady. A few minutes later, the app beeps and says I have a $3 tip. Again, it’s surprisingly satisfying.
Night
3
I pick up a young guy who recently moved from Arkansas. Clearly gay. And it sure as hell seems like he went through some stuff growing up there. He has a defensive kind of energy. Almost like he’s bracing for trouble. I’m taking him to a bar in West Hollywood. It’s a pretty long ride. We talk about stuff that’s pretty surface level. He has such sad kind of energy and doesn’t open up like the other people did. I hope he’s able to find some supportive friends here.
Around the corner, I pick up a young girl (early 30’s) at the Troubadour – a popular nightclub for live music. She can be best described as bubbly. I don’t need to ask a single question to get her talking. Apparently, she eats a lot of food all the time in an attempt to put on weight. That’s a pretty unusual thing to hear from a girl. Why all the food? “Guys like booties these days and mine is too skinny.” I calculate how to respond in the most un-pervy way possible and just end up nodding. She mentions that she’s always single and doesn’t know how to act with guys. Things like expressing affection – “They end up with hurt feelings because I never say romantic kind of stuff.” She sounds genuinely confused about it. All in all, it’s a very entertaining 20 minutes. As she walks into her apartment, I get a beep that I’ve been tipped $5.
Ok, this is a weird situation. I get another ding and go around the
corner in West Hollywood to pick up Julie. I reach the location and see a young
lady waiting – late 20’s, serious looking. Remember how I mentioned the app not
showing a picture of the rider? So, I ask if she’s Julie. She says yes, jumps
in, and we’re off. Apparently, she’s a stand-up comedian. I ask how the show
went and she says, “It’s a bad venue.” So, what’s the best venue? “Good
question. Uh…they’re all bad.” Like many comedians, she’s not exactly a ray of
sunshine. We drive 10 minutes and then I get a beep that says, “Ride
Cancelled.” What the hell? I look back and she’s not using her phone at all. What
is this? I ask again if she’s Julie and tell her about the Uber messages. She
says, “Uber? I called for a Lyft.” And then we figure it out together. There
was a Julie who called Lyft and a Julie who called Uber. At the same time. From
the same bar. And I picked up the wrong one. Man, what are the odds? I can’t
just leave her on the side of the road so I say, “Well, I guess you’re getting
a free ride home tonight.” She has no visible reaction. I take her home, call
it a night, and drive away wondering if she’s some kind of zombie.
Night 4
I pick up a quirky-looking couple, Matt and
Jenny. Mid 30’s, white, wearing rock and roll t-shirts. Turns out they’re from
Pittsburgh…a city I know well. We share our tales of Ben Roethlisberger’s douchebaggery.
From walking out of restaurants without paying…to general rudeness…to damn-that-dude-is-lucky-to-be-walking-the-streets
kind of stuff. We agree that it’s hard to root for the Steelers as long as he’s
around. On the subject of sexual harassment, Jenny tells an interesting story
of another gross powerful guy (her current employer). He’s a CEO who crossed a
line at a bar and ended up giving her a job as a sort of settlement. Crazy
stuff. I drop them at their live music show and head to the next stop.
As I pull up, I run over something clunky.
It’s late and dark so I have no idea what it could be. The passengers get in –
a couple, 40’s, black. They’re pretty emotional about something. I find out
that they’ve been in a car wreck and their SUV was just towed away. Apparently,
I drove over a piece of the wreckage. Very serious and emotional ride – he’s looking
at the burn on his arm from the air bag and she keeps saying they’re lucky to
be going home instead of the hospital. It’s their son’s 16th birthday
and they were supposed to take him out for dinner. The dad is more worried
about letting down his kid than he is about his arm. Clearly a hell of a day
for this loving family.
I pick up a guy from his fancy hotel in
Beverly Hills. He speaks with an indistinguishable accent and stares at me like
he’s trying to decide if I’m an FBI agent. His scent is a mixture of cigarette
smoke and cologne. His wardrobe is, of course, a gold chain and a shirt that’s
a size too small. He talks about how successful he is in life. His most recent
trip was to Las Vegas (staying in “only the best suites”) and he used Uber to
get around there. The most memorable line? “I told one Uber driver in Vegas that I
was looking for a massage. She said that’s what she does as her full-time job,
so I said screw it and she came back to the suite. The massage was ok and I got
a happy ending. I could have done better. She wasn’t that great looking, but I
already had my clothes off.”
I think that sums up the dude pretty well.
I drop him off at a cheesy nightclub and immediately roll the windows down to
air things out.
Night
5
I pick up a custodian from a nearby high school. Mid-30’s, Hispanic. I’m taking
him to a part of town I’ve never seen before. He seems lonely and says that he
usually stays up until 5 AM. I ask what he does that late – big party guy? But he
doesn’t have any vices – no drinking, no weed, no gambling. He just loves video
games. Well, he might get a tattoo one day – but it’s going to be the logo of his
favorite game. I drop him at a small apartment and find myself hoping he can meet
a nice, nerdy video game girl one day. Or maybe the shy mouse from Ralphs service
deli.
No other dings in the area, so I start to
head home. But I get a beep on the way and follow it to a fancy bar. A couple
of drunk guys in their 30’s get in. White, super friendly, seemingly successful
in their careers. I notice the nerdier one is really enjoying when I pick on
the cooler guy with some jokes. They’d been out trying to “meet chicks” but neither
had any luck. I keep blaming the cool guy and they both enjoy the gag. They’re fascinated
by the fact that I’m an Indian guy who grew up in West Virginia. It’s most
likely the alcohol, but they love every single story and joke for 30 straight minutes.
We laugh a lot and I drop them off at a very big house in the hills. One of
them will probably be our next President.
I pick up a stylishly dressed blonde lady who’d been having dinner and
drinks with friends. The last two guys would have gone crazy for her. She gets
in and I ask if she had a fun night. She says, “Yeah it was a fun night…for a
Monday or Tuesday…or is it Wednesday?” I tell her it’s still Monday for 20 more
minutes and she laughs as if Chris Rock just delivered the funniest joke of his
career. I realize just how drunk she is. She’s lived in Burbank her entire life
and works as a fashion designer. She’s employed by a well-known guy but does
her own thing on the side (very carefully). She’s unable to think of the phrase,
“conflict of interest.” When I fill in the blank, she cracks up and yells “BANG!!!”
And then slurs, “I’ve had…a few…drinks. So I couldn’t think of it.” I tell her
about this post and she asks if I wanted to take a selfie. I decide against it.
As I drop her off, I say, “You should design some clothes for dudes since all
these guys are looking like schlubs lately.” And then I look down to notice my old
t-shirt and Adidas track pants. Oh well. I get her home and she takes an
exceptionally long time getting out of the car. Almost as if she doesn’t want
to leave. Finally she says, “That was fun” and stumbles into her very nice
house.
Night 6
A young-looking guy sits down in the back.
Turns out he’s a high school junior named Yarden (who goes by “Jordan”). He’s clearly
the “cool kid” at school and carries himself with unusual confidence. We talk
about basketball for a while. He mildly annoys me by being a major Lebron James
apologist. I’m driving him to a birthday party at his buddy’s house in Hidden
Hills. We check in at the gate and I realize why the security guard is being so
careful. I’ve been here one time before. This is the neighborhood where those
renowned scholars known as the Kardashians live. Absolutely gigantic houses
here. Actually, at this price range, they’re probably called “estates.” Whatever.
Beautiful to look at, though. Lots of horse stables, tennis courts, swimming
pools, etc. I get cool kid Yarden to his fancy party and…
…the app starts beeping instantly. Right as
the cool kid gets out, another high schooler jumps in. He’s leaving the same
party and called for a ride exactly as I showed up. This particular kid is
definitely not considered cool at school. But I like him. He says, “I didn’t know
anyone at the party and it was really awkward. I just wanted to go home.” He examines
my face for a few seconds and asks, “Haven’t I seen you on TV?” Apparently, this
not-so-cool-kid watches an incredible amount of television in his room. He asks
some TV stuff for a few minutes and seems genuinely interested in my answers.
This little dude is kind of like I was in high school – nerdy, curious, and very
single. I ask if he drives. His face lights up (in a charmingly awkward way)
and he says it’s his favorite thing to do. When we get to his house, he points
to his car – a shiny, brand new BMW. Hmm…maybe our high school experiences weren’t
so similar after all.
The app beeps and I pick up an old lady around
the corner. When I say old, I believe she’s at least 90…and possibly closer to
290. She has 6 great-grandchildren who all live within 20 miles of each other.
So, she spends a lot of her time taking Ubers around the city to visit them. Really
impressive at her age.
Me: “Wow, you’re such a modern great-grandmother
to use Uber like that.”
Her: “What??”
Me: “You’re such a modern great-grandmother.”
Her: “What??”
Me: “YOU”RE SUCH A MODERN PERSON.”
Her (smiling): Oh, yes. I am.
She moved full-time from Argentina 4 years
ago and still seems very excited about life. She gets out of the car and I hear,
“Take this.” I look back to find $4 carefully folded in her hand. I open her door
and she walks away slowly with the help of her cane. Before she enters her
apartment building, she turns around and says, “I’m modern.” I look down at the
4 bucks and smile.
Night
7 (final night)
A ridiculously friendly woman gets in the
car from her shift at Petco. She has 2 little succulent plants (I think that’s
the correct name) with her. She places them carefully into the cupholders and
talks about how much she enjoys her job, animals, and the people she works
with. She seems at peace and just…happy. Really nice to meet people like that. Such
a pleasure. I mention that I don’t understand cats and she finds that hilarious
(even though I was being serious). I drop her off at the modest home she shares
with her girlfriend. Easily one of my favorite people from the week.
I pick up 4 young girls from Malibu. Early
20’s, different ethnicities. They’ve clearly been smoking some weed and keep me
waiting a long time. This is the first ride that feels pretty miserable. It’s
basically a walking, talking stereotype of young girls from Los Angeles. Such
loud, annoying, mind-numbing conversation between them. It’s very Kardashian-ish.
They talk total nonsense for 10 straight minutes until I happily get them out
of the car. I drop them off in Venice and drive away like I’m Andy Dufresne leaving
Shawshank.
The last beep of my weeklong journey takes me down the street in Venice. I see 2 young girls and cringe. Is this going to be more of the same? Not at all. These girls are totally charming. Whew. They get in and ask, “Want to hear our story of the worst Uber experience ever?” I say, “You mean the 4 people I just dropped off?” But their story is worse. Earlier in the day, they’d taken an Uber from Santa Monica to the Dodgers game. That’s a 2-hour drive at 5:00. Apparently, their driver really had to use the bathroom and…for some strange reason…dropped them off on the side of the freeway. He handed them a few bucks and just took off. Why didn’t he just take the next exit with them? I have no clue. But, yeah, that’s a crazy story. We share weird Uber experiences for the next 15 minutes and I drop them off at a nice beachfront condo.
So, what are my takeaways after driving for
Uber for a week?
Driving all over the city each night was tough on my body. Not to sound like a broken down old man…but that’s kind of what I am. I’m certainly feeling it physically.
The money is awful. After gas and expenses, I would have pocketed more working at Walmart. No exaggeration. Sure, driving for Uber is entry-level work, but I don’t think minimum wage is unreasonable for people who jump from ride to ride. After seeing the numbers, I totally understand why Uber drivers have been striking (I saw something about it on the news). After this experiment, I’ll definitely be a more generous tipper when I get into someone’s car. I really had no idea they were only making 2 or 3 bucks for a lot of these rides…and that doesn’t take gas usage into effect.
Another thing I never thought about…man, a lot of drunk single women are getting into cars with strangers. One night, the thought really started going through my head. Like, is it safe? I mean, it’s pretty weird having a drunk stranger in your car like that. I have to say…you really do feel the responsibility of getting people home safely when they’re in that condition.
The main takeaway was that I really enjoyed the experience. Honestly, I loved it. Meeting such different people in this way was pretty exciting. I picked individuals up from their fast food jobs…and others from palaces in the hills. I guess I’d never really thought about it, but Uber is a great equalizer. All types of people use it. And almost all of them opened up quickly when someone non-creepy showed a little curiosity. I think we all need human connections. I know I do. So, this really was a pleasure. If my body could handle it…and if I didn’t need work that actually provides reasonable pay…I’d probably do more of this. Anyway, hopefully some of you enjoyed reading this open diary from a week of driving people around. See you next month.
I went to McDonald’s and ordered a Big Mac. Didn’t pay much
attention to the guy at the window as he handed it over. But then he said, “Look
at me. We expect to be called a health food restaurant now.”
I drove away very confused.
Back at home, I sat down to watch a golf tournament. Just in time to see Tiger Woods pumping his fist after winning the trophy. But, suddenly, he stopped celebrating and turned to the camera. He said, “My thoughts on monogamy are posted on TigerWoods.com. And I’m the perfect person to talk about that stuff since I’d never cheat on anyone. In fact, I’m still a virgin.”
What was happening?
Right then, the phone rang. It was a reader calling to let me know that bloggers, with straight faces, are now posting about ethics. By far the craziest part of this day yet.
It’s a bit fuzzy, but the conversation went something like…
READER MileNerd can you believe these shady ass bloggers are bragging about having an ethics policy?
ME My phone must be messed up. That made no sense. You said pathetic philosophy, right?
READER No, ethics policy.
ME Poetic hypocrisy?
READER Ethics policy!
ME Unapologetic Dishonesty?
READER Dude, that doesn’t even rhyme.
Had I had entered a state of shock? My ears seemed unable to hear this information because it was so deeply nonsensical. Should I see a doctor? Should I find some marijuana?
Nah, I should probably just take a nap.
So I passed out. But the crazy dreams started immediately…
In one, Walmart was the friendliest store in
town.
In another, OJ Simpson was a marriage counselor teaching
couples how to stay calm during arguments.
Southwest Airlines was known for being luxury in
the sky, with Dom Perignon flowing like water.
Keanu Reeves and Jackie Chan were winning all of
the acting awards.
Ok, I had to wake up. This day was too illogical.
So I rolled out of bed and turned on ESPN. Desperately needing to hear something real. Anything. But the sportscaster was talking about Lebron James being a better player than Michael Jordan.
Huh?
I quickly threw my remote at the wall. Ran to the internet. And the very first headline read, “Get a natural body like one of the Kardashians.”
What kind of freaky day was this?
Suddenly, the phone rang again. I jumped up, startled. It
was another longtime reader…
He confirmed the craziest part of all…that bloggers are talking about ethics. Apparently, getting away with their bullshit isn’t enough anymore. They now want to be patted on the back for it.
And then it finally hit me…
Wait a minute…
Tiger Woods isn’t a virgin.
McDonald’s isn’t a health food restaurant.
And the sharks disguised as dorks aren’t tone deaf enough to talk about ethics.
Nobody could have that much nerve.
Of course…I’m still fast asleep and this was all just a weird dream.
