The tales of the Geneva Shore Report Uber driver.
The Lake Geneva Triangle opened up at about two a.m. when the seas parted and Fat Cats revealed itself. I pulled my vehicle up to the curb, not paying attention to the parallel parking lines because of the hour. The smokers gathered outside the door, puffing and staring knowingly, greeted me with grunts, smiles and small waves. They knew me and my rides. The foursome exited the gin mill right on time. My app told me that I was taking them home, which was in Elkhorn, a quite comfy twenty-dollar trip and quite possibly a handsome tip if I could cage it out of them. But no, they crammed themselves into the back seat (I’ve learned not to help drunks because they have a bad habit of soiling helpers), and off we went. I was instructed to ignore the app directions and circle the inner city of Lake Geneva, while they decided what to do. I immediately understood. They were not done. Being drunk means staying drunk to most people, and they cannot stay drunk at the level my customers were, without a drink every ten or fifteen minutes or so. The four were nearing their time limit when they decided that the only thing to do was to go to Thumbs Up.
I told them that was fine, as long as they paid the twenty for the ride like they’d promised. They agreed and promised me another twenty to wait outside Thumbs Up for them to come out and take them home. It was a ‘no brainer’ as far as I was concerned. Thumbs Up had to close soon and they had no other way to get home since their car was down at Fat Cats. I waited. Thumbs Up closed. I went to the door and beat on it until someone came. They told me that the drunken four had left through the back door a half hour earlier. I went to my car and sat to consider. Forty bucks and tip were gone into the night. The four had obviously decided to bail out, walk back to Fat Cats and drive their car. It had only taken them one more drink for them to get that vapidly stupid. And me? I decided then and there to be on a pay-as-you-go basis. I am only one more screwing away from making people pay before they go anywhere. The only part of the triangle I’d missed on this rotten Saturday night was Sugar Shack, so I drove over there to sit and wait to see if there might be some smarter drunks about ready to exit that place.