Sgt. N.

This perspective on world politics was given to me this morning by a young Army Sergeant I drove from Baltimore to Alexandria.

“The way I see it,” she said, “is like this: North Korea and South Korea are in the backseats of a car. SK says, ‘he touched me’ and NK says, ‘no I didn’t!’, etc. And America and China are in the front seats going, ‘I swear to f*cking God I will turn this car around!’”

I almost drove off the road. “I appreciate people who can see straight to the point,” I laughed. “It would have taken me an hour to say the same thing.”


Two gentlemen crawled out of a beer can and into my car just as the time changed from 1:59am to 3:00am. They ribbed each other as old or familiar friends often do and we three had good rapport.

Driving north on Washington St. the gentleman to my right said, “dude, I’m totally hetero but I have to say that you look very debonair in that hat.”

“Oh?” I said, “does it help to know that it’s kangaroo leather?” which he followed with a few NSFW jokes about leather and another debonair comment.

At their destination the usual pleasantries were exchanged and, just before shutting the car door, the same gentleman leaned in and said, “stay sexy, my friend.”


So, tonight I had two gay women and one straight man flirt with me. What an interesting world.

Nothing, however, compares to Mr. Ambiguous and friends.

The Memes Among Us

“Books not bullets…” was chanted yesterday by people of youth. I’m amazed at the outright ignorance of the sentiment, considering the commonalities of the shooters going all the way back to Columbine. Per the data I’ve seen, the actions of the shooters had little to nothing to do with a lack of education. 

The worst angels of my nature lead me to think these protests had more to do with… oh, never mind. 

What’s the point? 

Society has a very short attention span. I’ll just wait out the asinine, group-think vacuity until we once again look more at our phones than we do the neglected among us. 

Then we can start the cycle again where the group-think crowd chants useless slogans to pandering politicians so they all feel better about themselves because they’ve made a difference or whatever. Yippee.

Do you think, dear reader, it will ever occur to the people of youth that politicians are largely powerless to effectuate meaningful change? That it’s largely the people of youth themselves who can change things? Do you think…

Wait. Sorry, I just got an important text. Looks like a meme. Gotta go.

Shakespeare Takes an Uber

Last night I picked up two young couples and one young 5th-wheel at the Inner Harbor and drove them to their dorm at Hopkins. The 5th-wheel paid for the ride, of course.

The women couldn’t even walk a straight line to the car, which would have been funny if it hadn’t been so sad. The 5th-wheel — we’ll call him Front Seat Man — sat next to me in a posture I am more than familiar with. “This dude is going to blow chunks,“ I thought and stepped on the gas.

Hurrying up 83 the couples in the back talked and laughed wildly while Front Seat Man looked worse and worse. “Paula,” he said quietly and I figured the girl in the back named Paula didn’t hear him. “Paula,” he said again and after a beat I wondered, “wait… is he saying ‘pull over’?”

My suspicion was confirmed when he began heaving, trying desperately to keep his mouth closed. No worries, I’ve been trained for such things.

Quickly, I reached for the seatback pocket to grab my medical grade vomit bag. Unfortunately, the woman who wasn’t named Paula was in the way, her knees redirecting my hand from the seatback pocket to between her legs and up her skirt. “Excuse me,” I said, “can you move for a second?“ She did, I grabbed the bag and handed it to Front Seat Man who, by that point, had a mouthful of his own vomit.

Snatching the bag he filled it without a drop landing on my upholstery. Everyone had become silent, as if this embarrassing display was an audition for minor part in a morbid Shakespearean play.

After his shockingly long and rather revolting audition, Front Seat Man sat back and breathed with relief. “Feel better?” I said. “Yes,” he replied and the communal jocularity ensued once more.

My refreshed and quite sober sidekick told me what a great guy I was when we arrived at the Hopkins’ dormitory. The two couples agreed, patted my shoulder, showered me with accolades and promised to give me 10 stars as they Fell out of the car and stumbled toward the building door.

I’m still waiting for the stars — and the possible sexual harassment claim from the woman who wasn’t named Paula — but at least my car smells of nothing. Especially not vomit.

Proof of Poo


I drove a theoretical cryptologist from Towson to the airport who quite excitedly explained Zero Knowledge Proof to me. That’s some cool stuff (thank you, Waldo, for making it understandable). I wonder how many other areas of life it can be applied to. 

Two 30-something, opposite sex friends were slurrily discussing the appropriate amount of dates/hookups one must have before it’s acceptable to crap in their SO’s bathroom. Four seemed to be the magic number.

After four it’s even expected: “No, dude, it’s been four times. You can’t leave, you have to crap here. You’re stuck.”

It was so real I laughed the whole time, though I don’t think they noticed.

A Proper Job

This college dude got in the car last night fresh off the stick. The pot he’d smoked was so strong I was getting high just from the fumes coming off his clothes.

In other news, I start my new job at Subaru Monday morning. Not very glamorous but my white collar business days have been long over.

Feeling a little caged-in already. For the better part of 12 years I’ve made my own schedule and done my own thing. During my short lived tenure at the restaurant this past summer I at least had 12 acres to roam around in occasionally.

This will be a small warehouse in a not so big building. I’ll make less there than I do Ubering so I’ll continue to Uber on weekends to make up the difference. Back to nine hour days Saturday mornings and 10–12 hours Saturday nights into Sunday mornings!

I should get stock in Starbucks and 5 Hour Energy.

In other, other news, it’s incredibly gorgeous out. Looking forward to driving tonight. After dark, of course, because the growing crack in my windshield is hard to see in the dark. Out after last light, back before first light. I feel like a frickin’ vampire. 


Around 4:00am Saturday morning I picked up a pipe layer who’s in town from Louisiana to assist BGE in laying pipe. He climbed into my car at one hotel and we drove to another. “I won’t lie,” he said unsolicited, “I was with a woman.” That was mostly what l understood on our short drive from the woman to his temporary home; he was drunk and, well, from Louisiana.

I did, however, manage to discern a few things:

  • a one month job with BGE had turned into 3 months with no end in sight;
  • he hates BGE — “they don’t know what the f*ck they’re doing!” — and he’ll never work with them again;
  • Miller Light is his favorite beer;
  • his plans for the next hour were to drink a beer, shower, drink another beer and head to Silver Spring to start his 12 hour shift.

(Mind you, he hadn’t slept in the last 24 hours. Yes, Louisiana.)

Arriving at his hotel he said,

“Want to come in for a beer?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got a lot more driving to do tonight.”

“Oh, come on… you’ve got time for one beer.”

“Really, I can’t, but thanks.”

“How about a joint?” Same response from me.  “Take it with you, smoke it in the car.”

“My next riders would smell it. I might get in trouble.”

“Damn,” he said, climbing out of the car, “you northerners sure are uptight.”

Perhaps we are.