Working late is very high risk / high reward. Drunk people don't notice surge price and you often get cool waitstaff, but there's also a strong chance of dead on their feet warehouse workers or people having, well, Adventures. I tend to be out late because the traffic is light, I don't sleep well, and I'm just more alert late at night. It's not healthy but it is what it is, and we need the money.
The ping comes in as I'm finishing the shift, having not made enough to knock off earlier. It's some distance away and going further in that distance, so I can't say I'm real enthused about it, but it's not as if my metrics are so strong that I can ignore it, so on we go. En route, the person who ordered the ride texts me to say I'm picking up a woman that isn't them, that they will have extra bags, and yeah, complications late at night are a good sign of Adventures. Away we go to one of the cheaper motels in the region.
She's waiting when I get there, which is nice, and proceeds to fill up my car as advertised, but she's reasonably quick and apologetic about it. I don't tend to make eye contact for reasons, but her shock of bright orange hair isn't going to be ignored. I check my email and fantasy basketball league while she loads, and after checking to see if it would be OK if she sat up front due to all the bags (fine), we're on our way. I offer her the usual hand sanitizer and water, she compliments me on my professionalism, and small talk ensues. 20 minute ride late at night, I don't mind a conversation; it's better than fighting back yawns and hoping that I won't have to wake the passenger at the drop off.
After a few minutes of answering questions about me, I pivot the conversation to ask what she does, and the answer is... nothing. She's homeless, which I probably should have guessed given the load out and hour, but it's said without hesitancy or defiance, as if she's said it a lot. She was staying at the hotel with a friend when that friend got violent and suicidal, and the cops were called and she had to go. She's on her way to where the person who ordered the ride is, which is to say, at another low price motel.
She's been this way for a year or so. Her guy hit her, she says just the one time and she didn't press charges, and then he hung himself, and she's been self-medicating ever since, it seems. She used to wait tables, bartend and work as a home aid to the elderly, and she knows she has to change her life and get back to that, but just can't. I offer up the gentlest advice that I can, because I'm wired to be helpful but really don't want to step too hard, and tell her she does not present as homeless, which comes as a surprise and a compliment to her. It doesn't cost anything to be kind.
And as we get close to the drop off, it's clear that the address is wrong, because it's in the middle of a wooded area, and yeah. Adventures for all.
I go a half mile further and find another cheap motel as she calls the benefactor, and he tells her the name of the motel; it's another mile away and he had the wrong address. As Uber asks me if everything is OK because I'm going off plan, I ask Google for the address of the new motel and complete the ride. We pull up to the door and her friend comes out to help her unload, apologizes for the mix up, and promises to add to my tip, which given all that I've learned in the last 20 minutes, I'm not expecting.
It shows up later as promised, though. Biggest tip of the night.
I shut off the apps, drive home in silence, and write this before going to bed.
I wrote this to remember the ride, but I don't think I had to. This one will stay with me. Sometimes, the job is like is that.
