A Day of Driving Uber in the Desert

I'm 30 years old.

I'm unemployed.

I live with my parents. Not for much longer. But I live with my parents.

I live in a desert town.

I have a car. My grandma loaned me the money for the car. $14,000. I bought it after I wrecked the other car I owned. I wrecked the other car I owned one morning, trying to make a left turn. I was getting some Powerade before work. I was hungover. I made a left turn into an intersection. And I got hit bad.

I have a car. So while I live with my parents and have no money and have no job and no nothing at least I have a car. So I can drive Uber.

I have a strange relationship with Uber. I dread doing it every time I have to do it. And I have to do it. I'm in serious debt. And I cannot tell anyone. But why can't I tell anyone?

I can't tell anyone because I have an image to uphold. An image of someone who is at least somewhat responsible. Who is not completely a mess. But I am completely a mess.

Good god: tens of thousands of dollars of debt. And an alcohol habit. I hide it from my parents with whom I live. Drink the beer in my room. Try to pay the debt with money I don't have.

Today I drove Uber in the desert. Made very little money. My first ride, I remember. I picked him up on a hiking trail in a state park. Late 30's, early 40's. Thin. He didn't much want to talk. He was a runner. He didn't want to talk at first, anyway. I got him to open up. He grew up here. Doesn't live here anymore. Is visiting. Might move back here. Lives in the Northwest. Owns a restaurant with his wife. I dropped him off and wondered what would happen next.

Who was my next ride? A woman. Blonde. She had a little paunch. Tattoos. I picked her up outside of a fast food joint. I took her to a convenience store. She bought cigarettes. She kept calling me honey. Or sweetie. Then I took her home. To a trailer park.

My next ride was also a woman. African-American. Tall. Early 20's or late teens. Picked her up from work. A place I once almost worked, early in my desert job search. Scary. I took her to McDonalds. Waited forever. I listened to sports talk radio while I waited. It was getting very hot. I took her home to a nice house. I commented on the house, in fact - "Neat house," I said.

Then I picked up a man. Hispanic. Wearing dark clothing. He was in his 30's, I think. Smoking an e-cig. I took him to work at a luxury hotel restaurant. He was nice, and talkative early on. But it was a long ride and we both went silent. The night before I'd picked up some women from the same hotel. They were the wrong riders and I only discovered the mistake when we got to the destination. It was the wrong destination because they were the wrong riders. I took them to the right destination. But I felt like shit. I felt afraid. Like Uber was going to let me go right then and there.

My next riders were a couple. Adults. Parents. Extraordinarily nice people. Nice home. I took them from their home to a nice restaurant. We had a wonderful conversation. They made me feel good.

But then I had to pick up a worthless college student. Not talkative. Took him just a few blocks from a dorm to an apartment. I gave him a bad rating - because I am spiteful. And then I picked up a woman with a baby. Took the baby to daycare and then took the woman to work. When that was over, I decided I was done and it was 5pm. I bought booze. I drank two Jack Daniels mini-bottles in the car on the way back to my parents. And beer when I got home.