Flirts and Flatulance

Phenomenal time Ubering tonight. I love these people!

The 5–9am weekday crowd are usually the accomplished professionals going to Hopkins or train station or airports. (Every now and then there's the ride-of-shame person, but we keep that between us.) The Thu–Sat night people are the young professionals who've worked hard and are playing hard.

I never had that—I went to a Baptist school and at 20 my then girlfriend had a two year old daughter. Then there was my about-to-turn-21 son. Then plenty of working hard (still is) but no playing hard (still isn't).

There was my first ride request from The Block. I thought it might be my first hooker or stripper, but it was a disgruntled couple who apparently didn't get the point of The Block.

And as usual there was The Dance. It usually happens once during any given drive:

  • Why isn't he talking to me?
  • Should I talk to him?
  • Did he just say something? I'll pretend I didn't hear it.
  • Is he creepy?
  • Did I just give TMI?
  • He doesn't think I'm hitting on him, does he?
  • Because I'm not.
  • You're married? With kids? ( "whew")
  • You're married? With kids? ("oh…")
  • You're married? With kids? ("oops")
  • Oh crap, I just told him I live in Fells. He's not going to stalk me, is he?
  • Nah, he's cool. "Have a good night! Be safe out there."

Tonight's crowd went a little younger.

There were the four completely shitfaced early-20-something females who didn't even know where they were (Boston Street) after not paying for even one drink at the bar (company party). I drove them from Canton up 83 to Towson, moon roof open, blasting music my daughter might enjoy. The girl in the front passenger seat was clearly an only child: accustomed to attention and accustomed to getting what she wants. E.g.

  • it was her iPhone 7+ blasting my daughter's music through CarPlay (as well as her texts, much to her shitfaced friends' delight)
  • "Where's the volume?" "On my steering wheel" which she regularly fondled quite unsuccessfully before asking me to turn it up
  • I turned it up
  • she wore my hat
  • she took a selfie on my iPhone of her wearing my hat (marred by a drunken blur—deleted)
  • she and her friends had to scream at each other to be heard over my daughter's music
  • she invited me to get a massage at her place of employment ("Not tonight…")
  • she flirted like hell until we all arrived at her house and then dropped me like a used con…

Well, anyway. They were a blast!

Then there were the two already hammered Towson U couples who discussed flatulence the entire way from their housing to their bar of choice. (Girl straddling the middle back-seat-hump: "Everybody farts! Anyone who thinks that's a reason to break up is fucked up." I liked her.)

But none of these are to be outdone by the lovely young Towsonite 'A' who literally stumbled from her apartment to my car, best-friend and boyfriend in tow. I honestly didn't think she was going to make it.

"I cut my finger and it's bleeding."

I gave her a sardine tin of band-aids.

"Wow! He has band-aids!!"


"I'm 21 today!"

"Really?! Happy birthday! I'm 43 tomorrow."

"Really?! That's so cool. We're like, twins! Happy birthday to us!"

Then later…

Best friend: "What's It like?"

"To get old?"


"It fucking sucks."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

I love these people. Or maybe I love living vicariously through them. Or maybe both.