Dudes Gonna Dude

Truth To Dude Power

Episode 1: dude. Dude. DUDE. DUDE... (f-bomb)

Evening work in the hilly parts of San Francisco. It's a weekend, so it's mostly a ton of short fares for drunken people, many of whom aren't too concerned about surge pricing. Not the worst environment for the hustle.

Two guys slouch their way into the back seat for an estimated three minutes and 0.3 miles. It's uphill and it's their money and I'm totally fine with it, because hey, having $4 is better than not having $4.

They start to talking about blockchain, which is perhaps the subset of conversation in the Bay Area that will get you the most Bro Tastic conversations. I'm sure there are women who work in blockchain, because there have to be, but... man alive, I kind of hope not. Just because the guys I've met are just... well, you know.

Anyway, they are both drunk and both very emotional about the subject and their coworkers, to the point where the conversation starts having an inordinate number of Dudes, and an equal or better number of F***s.

So much so that I start counting them on my fingers as we climb the hill.

And stop.

After 40.

Three minutes, folks. Ones that I'll never forget.

Episode 2: Tinder Roulette

Several years ago, riding around Old City, one of the hipper parts of Philadelphia. Weekend night, three bros enter the car.

Normally when a passenger has a bit of the odor to them, I am discreet. I do my spiel, wait a 10 count or so, get the car moving to distract, and then bump the windows down a bit to make sure I'm not overwhelmed. I might also turn off subsequent rides to give myself a minute or five to drive around at speed and air the vehicle out.

These guys? Um... so much Axe Body Spray that I just hit all four windows on entry, immediately. They didn't notice, because They Are They.

After expressing enthusiasm for my amenities, they start to engage with each other as if I were not there. (Fine by me, really.) And the activity for this ride is the little-known game show Tinder Roulette.

For those of you who are, like me, past the event horizon for dating apps, Tinder is one of the more meat market providers out there. Participants swipe left or right for matches, usually based on glimpse level visual data.

But what, may you ask, is Tinder Roulette?

It's when one person swipes for the other... with no information other than a name.

I will now replay the conversation for you in its entirety, because it immediately seared into my memory. For Reasons.

Player 1: "Tiffany."

Player 2: "Aw, man, I dated a Tiffany once! TIFFANY WAS NO GOOD FOR ME. ***Pa-ha-ass.***"

Player 1: "Jessica."

Player 2: "Mmm. Mmm, mmm, mm. Like... Jessica RABBIT? I wants me some Jessica Rabbit! Gives me some Jessica Rabbit!"

Player 3: "DUDE! She's Huge!"

Player 1: (channeling Anakin Skywalker) Noooooooooooo!!!!!!

They left the car soon after. But never my mind. I like to imagine incredibly short toasts to the happy couple at their wedding, with the best man (Player 2) taking credit for the way he said Jessica, and guests giving the happy couple gifts that were as random as the pairing.

The performance of this has been an occasional comedy bit for when passengers ask for whack-a-doodle ride share stories, and it usually lands. Once, with a woman telling me that she was a bridesmaid for a Tinder Wedding, with the bride admitting as such when pressed for an origin story.

Because Meet Cute stories are just too hard, I guess. And also, because Dudes aren't always male.

* * * * *

The common point? Dudes Gonna Dude. Nothing can stop them from Dudeing.

Also, that if you are going to do character comedy improv work on your ride share driver, best to go big, really.

Warning Signs

Track Four With A Bullet

I get a ping while in my own home for a restroom break, which is always a cause for some suspense, as many passengers will cancel a ride if they don't see the driver's car moving pretty quickly. I spill a drink on my way out, delaying my leave for extra time, but my rider doesn't cancel. Five minutes later, I'm rolling up to the client, who has chosen to use a single letter for his user name (Warning Sign #1).

My guy is a white guy in his late 40s / early 50s, wearing shorts and a collared shirt, just sitting in front of his garage as a I roll up. He gets into the front seat (that's pretty rare for the East Coast, and Warning Sign #2) and brings his filled plastic cup with him. It's got alcohol in it (Warning Sign #3), and it's... 4 pm on a weekday (Warning Sign #4). He then tells me it's got alcohol in it, and if I want to cancel, it's OK. I check the duration of the ride (5 minutes), do a silent calculation of how much I need the fare to get to my bonus targets (um, always) and tell him it's fine. And we're off.

My car is a 2010 Honda Insight, which is to say, the perfect car for ride share from a math and driver standpoint, but not exactly transportation that should impress the hell out of you. That's not the case for Day Drunkie here, who marvels at the quiet and ride (um, sure, fine, I like my car well enough) and asks if I have any music. Normally for guys like this one, I've got NPR firing away to try to drain away the knucklehead with news, but as we're four minutes away from him being out of my life, sure, fine, tunes it is. My magical Random iPod connects for him (Talking Heads, which fans of the blog will remember from the Santacon post), and he's decided that I'm now his best friend.

Oh, and I'm burying the lead here, which is that he's asked me perhaps the worst question any ride share passenger has ever asked:

"Do you find me creepy?"

I demur with something along the lines of how many rides I've given (+10K at this point), which leads him to add "My relatives find me creepy."

Well, they should know, yes?

I resist the urge to say or ask more about this, because Drunkie is (like most adults, really) bigger than me, and... yeah. Three minutes to go.

Drunkie then notes that his drop off (a store) isn't really his drop off, but across the street (Warning Sign # I'm Losing Count). Well, sure, in for a penny... The next ask is if I'm busy after I drop him off (Warning Sign # Pulp Fiction Gimp Callback), to which I assure him that I am. He doesn't like this much, and wants to know how much I make per hour (Warning Sign # Oh Dear God How Soon Until I Can Get You Out Of My Car). I sidestep the question, as we're now just a couple of blocks away from the drop...

But since the Rideshare Gods are Trickster Gods, it's a beautiful day outside and they've summoned a half dozen teenagers piled two per bike, just ambling all over the road in front of me. "Don't run over the kids!" yells Drunkie, in between telling me who lives in what house on this block, and who he had to beat the fecal matter out of Back In The Day.

Because telling your ride share driver who you want to hire on the side for cash about your tendencies toward violence is just what New Best Friends Who Aren't Creepy At All do, right?

Because all good things must end, we get to the drop point. Drunkie pulls a loose $20 out of his shorts, thinks about it for a second, then tells me that's too much and he'll tip in the app. (Note: if you tell me you are tipping in the app, please note that only about 10% of people who say this wind up doing it, and I do check and cut your star rating if you lie. Because lying should have consequences, especially when you are doing it in ways that are comically easy to check.) I say that's fine, wish him a lovely day, and move off before I close the ride, so I can 3-star him without a chance of him seeing it and having a reaction.

When a driver gives a passenger 3 stars or less, we are not paired with that person again... but that doesn't prevent them from getting back in touch with us through the app. Which is what happens two days later (Warning Sign Off The Charts Has Never Happened Before), when Drunkie decides to tell the platform that he left cash and credit cards in my car.

Um, no, he didn't.

And that's how this story ended before it got far more interesting...

Littering With Violence

Easy image search, this

Shared ride fare in Trenton, NJ with the pick up occurring on a non-prosperous street. My new front seat passenger is a young woman who, upon discovering that there is an empty small water bottle in her presence, just opens up her window and throws it out into the street.

With violence, and without a first or second thought.

Now, in this moment (and it happened four weeks ago, so it's clearly stuck with me), the following thoughts:

> Wow, that's a terrible person

> Hmm, she just did that in front of me and two other passengers, and clearly doesn't care what we think of her

> Only I seem to have noticed, because everyone else in the car is praying to their phone

Which led me to a longer and deeper rabbit hole of...

> Maybe when you live in a place like this, you just give up, and I should just be grateful that I'm not here

> I will never have the self-confidence of this person, who isn't bound by a constant self-censoring need to seek the approval of others

> Perhaps she's acting out from some other trauma or issue in her life, like maybe she's the only person in her house who cleans, or she's going to a job where she has to clean all day and hates it

> Maybe I should stop the car and get out and pick that up to eventually put it in recycling

> But to do that would delay my passengers, imperil my rating, and maybe not even be the right thing to do for the environment, since my car is burning gasoline and I've heard recently that since China isn't taking US recycling, it all might be single stream anyway

> And maybe it's my fault for offering the water bottles in the first place, since I'm clearly contributing to the problem by voting with my dollars to have more plastic...

And, finally, this.

> I overthink things. She's a terrible person. Drive.

And, thanks to the three stars and you're out rule of passenger rankings, one I will not see again.

Except, of course, while I'm overthinking my life experiences...