When I first decided to drive for Uber, I was nervous, I didn’t know what to expect. I’m not much a people person, so the woman was wondering what the fuck I was thinking.
I drove a few days and I was instantly feeling it. I took a week off for the holidays (it’s amazing to have a job that I can do that with) and decided to hit the road on New Year’s Eve.
I did a few local fares before picking up a pair headed to San Bernardino. I was stoked to find someone to pay me to drive that direction. The young skinny kid sat up front and didn’t speak much. The thirty year old, as he informed me, was talkative and pretty much managed the conversation the entire thirty minute trip. He was a nice guy with bad breath.
As I understood it, he still lived at home and his parents did not know he drank. Mr. Conversation and his mute friend were headed to a house, a “mansion” as he described it. The owner was out of town, but he had permission to use her empty “mansion” and it sounded like only one other person was joining them, another dude.
I thought the idea sounded fun, well, the idea of me catching a good fare to what should be a much busier area, but I’d get to see a nice mansion up close and personal. I was going to take a picture.
Mr. Conversation went on about how much he could drink and traveling for work. The mute was playing on his phone the entire time, only speaking to Mr. Conversation about the third parties contribution once in a while.
The talkative guy in the back then asked if I could stop at a liquor store a couple blocks away from the “mansion” on the way.
I had to piss before I picked them up, so by now I really had to go—bad. I asked if there was a public restroom close by that I could use while they were inside the store. Mr. Convo said I could use one at the “mansion”.
I dropped them off and parked in the rain. Oh yeah, it’s been raining the entire time.
Suddenly, I realized I couldn’t hold it any longer. I circled the parking lot among the constant traffic coming and going, and there was nothing open. I contemplated pissing in the lot.
There was no where to hide. This little shopping strip was surrounded by a residential area. I’m was too scared that someone was going to see me and call the cops, or laugh at my little dick.
After what seems like an eternity and several attempts to man up and just piss in public, Mr. Conversation and the mute exited the booze joint. I swooped them up, and we were off to the mansion. My insides were drowning in urine at this point.
“Here it is, it takes up half a block…the property does.”
It was dark and raining, but the place didn’t appear to be a mansion. It was a big house, on a big piece of property, but not a mansion—not to me.
It was nice.
I pulled into the driveway on the side through the sea of rain water. My sweating fingers touching the door handle trying not to seem to eager to jump out, but my bladder was about to explode. I hopped out and waited for the duo to pull out the self-proclaimed seventy dollars worth a booze from the back seat.
We all turned to see the gate with a chain wrapped around like a serpent and locked.
“What the fuck?” Mr. Conversation said.
I screamed something very similar inside my head.
He pulled his “Obama” phone, as he called it, to call his friend. “You can piss on the side of the garage if you want, or you could wait—” I was already on my way before he finished his sentence.
After getting back inside my pants, and finding my car in the raining dark driveway, I said goodbye and left the pair standing in the rain with a case a beer sitting on the wet driveway, and a bag of liquor.
I wondered if they really had permission to chill there.
The glow of the “Obama” phone lit up the side of Mr. Conversation’s face as I backed out into the ocean behind me.