I prepare my cooler, stacked with cheap beer, and some stale ice from my barely used freezer.
I press the app button and boom, lyft will be here in 3 minuets. I quickly zip the cooler all the way but it leaves a small preview of the cheap beer I am ashamed of. After all, Nashville beer snob rates are at an all time high.
You arrive. I see you and attempt to wave to acknowledge your arrival but nope, you still seek a two level authentication and call me, then say my name through your rolled up window. I appreciate the added levels of security just in case some other bitch with my name might be lurking around looking to steal my ride.
I enter through the back door. You seem disappointed but, let’s keep it profesh. You see a pothole on my street and ignore my warning, thinking it’s not a “bad one.” You immediately realize your Versa is not a Land Rover, but alas you’ve committed to it. You look back after bottoming out and say- “what the hell was that?”after the Versa lightly scrapes the ground as my clutch contents spill onto the floor.
Along the ride, you feel small talk is necessary after we both accidentally lock gaze in your rear view mirror.
I oblige and we discuss the crazy Nashville traffic and how many people are moving here every day. Somehow this leads us into a discussion about the infrastructure/local corruption, speculation, and ultimately, foreign policy.
We are approaching my destination. I advise you to turn right, but you follow the phone map that is taking you “a different way.” We both know this was a dick move and now we’re suffering as a result of your poor decisions. You figure out by mile 2 out of the way that it probably won’t “circle around” as we enter the interstate we just exited. I politely reassure you that your conclusion is correct. Really, I’m thinking “just more proof dudes never listen to a word we say, but we’re almost always right.”
We arrive, you pull into the creepy neighbors driveway, no wait…. now you’ve decided to back out of the driveway and then back in? You tell me that’s easier for you as I look up and see the long muddy trek to my friends house. You tell me you need to get going so you can get some of the downtown pickups. I feel used.
Suddenly I realize the five miles we just spent together meant nothing to you. I recognize it’s time to move on and exit the vehicle with my bag o’ beer. It falls out through the broken zipper. I pick up the broken merchandise, turn around and press that glorious pink button. More cheap beer awaits me at the sketchy gas station down the street….
Shout out to the real hero’s of my Saturday nights- my lyft drivers