The tales of the Geneva Shore Report Uber driver.
I got a new car to get back at what my career has become, riding around ferrying people to different places or waiting to ferry them around. I’m back and I’m hard at it. The first Saturday call came in at 7:45 a.m. I was out there rolling around and ready. It’s good to be back in the fray. The call was for a simple drop off in Delavan, which went without a hitch. Fifteen buck fare and five buck tip. So far so good.
The next call came in only minutes after the first one. Pick up at the Cove and expect a round trip of a hundred and forty miles. A good chunk of change just for my basic charge. I fly to the cove, riding on air. A woman is standing out front sporting a pair of aluminum crutches. Not necessarily bad but a possible ill omen. She gets in. We’re headed for a Chicago suburb. The ride starts to go south as soon as we hit the road. I don’t want to know about her pending marriage, the fact that her maid of honor was just discovered to be sleeping with her husband-to-be and the marriage, which we are headed to the church for the rehearsal, is still on. Her perspective husband and she had already had one meeting which ended with his having a broken nose and attending the coming ceremony in some sort of taped facial brace. Her broken ankle came when she kicked her maid of honor but missed and hit the edge of a coffee table instead.
We get there after nearly two hours because she wanted to take Highway 50 to see whether it was going to be open later or not. Of course we had to use the Highway 11 detour, adding to the agonizing time. I dropped her off finally, her boyfriend waiting at the church steps, his facial rig worse than she described, the maid of honor there too holding the boyfriend’s hand. I got my two hundred bucks and a rather measly fifteen buck tip and blasted off out of there, not even bothering to look in my rear view mirror to see what other physical mayhem might be going to occur. God, but I hate weddings, or at least the people going to or coming from them. Back to Lake Geneva where people are normal, get married in barns and ride tractors away from the ceremony instead of limousines…or Uber cars.