The tales of the Geneva Shore Report Uber driver:

The call came in on Friday night about eight o’clock, just as it was getting to be full dark. The pickup is to be at four a.m. That call died a few hours later when they called in to tell me they were splitting up and wouldn’t need a car. Great. A Grand Geneva to the airport call came in a few minutes later. Maybe my luck was changing. The airports, Milwaukee or O’Hare, are both great fares and don’t take that much time. Made the pickup and all went well except for the tiny tip. Pikers. From Pennsylvania. I make a note in the future to try to find out where my rides are from.

Saturday rolled around. Saturday afternoon. I’d never been to Country Thunder. I did not think it would be one vast green and muddy parking affair. It took an hour to work through the lines of cars and trucks to get the hell out of there after dropping my fare. The line getting out of there was worse than the one getting in. Cars and trucks moving so slow that guys got out to use the nearby corn plants for watering relief. I didn’t get out, though, just kept inching slowly, ever closer to making it out of there. Three girls jump into my back seat. I hadn’t thought to lock the doors. The three wanted to get away from the screaming music, and the poor behavior of those around them. So I got them out of there.   They wanted to go to Chuck’s. I tried to argue that the place was no better than Country Thunder, but they wouldn’t listen. They got out in Fontana, in front of the place. One handed me fifty dollars for the five-mile trip. They laughed and went inside.

Chuck’s is a lot better than Country Thunder, I decided right then and there. I would work Country Thunder again, I decided, but I would never like it.

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