a person, such as an artist or writer, who exploits their creative ability or training in the production of dull, unimaginative, and trite work; one who produces banal and mediocre work for money in the hope of gaining commercial success in the arts: As a painter, he was little more than a hack.
- Dictionary.com
Why is a taxi driver called a hack?
Hacks or hackers is a common term that originated with the hackney horse, a breed of horse typically offered for hire in the 19th century. Other terms used are livery cab, car service, or jitney cab. The phrases vary by locality and often refer to different classes of licensed transportation providers.
- Wikipedia
I get in the car around five in the afternoon. My first stop is a Wawa to return a catering bag, but it turns out they don't take them back -- sad waste of polyester, that. As I'm leaving, and keep in mind that it's a 39-degree day, I see a middle-aged white guy in shorts and a T-shirt only, and the T-shirt says "I'm Fine". No, sir, you are not.
The first few rides go well enough, with just enough surge price going on to make things better than ordinary. I get pulled up to Princeton where I pick up a family of four, tipsy but responsible and loving parents, from one of my favorite restaurants. Ten minutes of banter later, they have a half dozen more recommendations and I have a $20 cash tip. The next fare is a string of Japanese characters that turn out to be foreign exchange students for TCNJ, because this is going to be one of those shifts where the script writer of my life has overdosed on Random. It goes well enough.
Two hours later, I get my first wild video game ride of the night, three teenage boys from Trenton going 25 minutes south to Willingboro. The one in the front insists on having his window down the whole way, much to the "Bro we hella cold" chagrin of those in the back. Fifteen minutes in while on the highway, he asks if I can pull over, as if I'm willing to spend extra time with these chuckleheads on one of the most lucrative nights of the year for hacks. Two minutes from the drop, one of the people in the back tells me he's going to be sick, but when I point out that he's two minutes from the drop, he quiets down. I drop them with their bad idea liquor, three star them so that I don't get them again, and count my blessings for passing the timed mission without having to clean the car, photograph the mess, and lose the rest of my shift. At least it drops me near a Wawa, where I can refuel and make the gashop's night with a $5 cash tip. (Side note: tip the people who pump your gas, fellow citizens of New Jersey. Especially when it's an hour before New Year's.)
Ninety minutes later, I'm back in Trenton as the locals set off fireworks on a number of streets as per usual, moving people around who shake their heads at the drunkenness and lack of fire safety while, of course, being intoxicated themselves.
Just to make sure I've gotten the Random note from the scriptwriter, I pick up a very devout woman from her urban church -- yes, some services happen late on a Sunday night, it seems -- and after ten minutes of gentle banter and conversation, she asks if it would be OK if she prays for me. Hey, free speech and you are two minutes from your drop, and I've never had a passenger actively pray for me before, so why say no... and her well-rehearsed prayer tells me that she's done this a lot, but the stitched in ad libs also tells me she's been listening very closely to every word I've said. She tells me I am loved. I've had worse fares.
Like, say, the next one... where two drunken guys in their 20s are heading off to a nuisance bar over the bridge into Pennsylvania, which is 25 minutes of driving for people who need to (a) note all of their high school haunts and locations of friend's homes as loudly as possible, and (b) Facetime different people in their orbit to arrange a meet up at the nuisance bar, or there will be violence. Charming! Plus I get ten minutes of dead time where I can't pick anyone up, because at this point, I'm an Uber-only driver to redeeem a higher bonus bounty, and that app only works for me for rides that start in New Jersay. (Yes, folks, drivers are on both apps, and we are that way For Money. You'd be silly not to do the same.)
The next pick up are a drunken carload from a riverfront bar that always has overserved patrons and high surge price, and it's 20 minutes of one of the four passengers saying the same thing to the sober passenger up front. Alcohol really does a number on your short term memory, folks. This leads to a marketing pro who engages in networking that he won't likely remember for ten minutes, then a mom with a squalling infant, because why wouldn't you bring your squalling infant out on New Year's Eve? That ride finishes my last bonus ride, which means the only other rides I'm going to take have to be very high surge price... and that gets me the final ride of the evening, a couple who perform a 20-minute version of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolff" because she had a good time at the party and he was aloof. I will never be, nor understand, people willing to be That Way in public, but then again, I'm sober and they aren't. I head home.
Final totals for Uber: 18 rides in 6:42 for $249, $55 of it in promos, $12 in tips. Plus a $20 cash tip.
Final totals for Lyft: 6 rides 1:15 for $86, $35 of it in promos, $5 in tips.
Net of something like $320 after gas and tolls, or about twice what you normally make. Which is why I drive on New Year's Eve, after all...
