It’s Not About The F****** Eggs

(I live south of an airport that spans two major metropolitan areas. Since I don’t have a car, anytime I need to travel, I’ll take a rideshare up to the airport. It helps if I can split the cost, but on this particular day I call the rideshare by myself and get in alone.)

Driver: “Oh, you’re going to the airport today. Is [Airline] the right stop? Where are you flying?”

Me: “Yeah, [Airline]’s the right one. I’m just going back home for the holidays to visit my family.”

Driver: “How horrible. My wife makes me visit her family all the time.”

Me: “I don’t really mind it, actually. I haven’t seen them in a while since we live in different states, so it’ll be nice to visit with them again.”

Driver: “Right. Whatever. I just hate when she makes me do stuff like that.”

Me: “Yeah… families can be a lot, I guess.”

(I’m uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken, so I pretend to be on my phone for a bit. Fortunately, the car isn’t silent, since the driver has the radio on. Unfortunately, after about five minutes he turns up the volume — way up. It’s heavy metal music, and the lyrics are both sexually explicit and profane. I’m trying my best to ignore it when the music is cut off by a shrill ringing. The driver swears, almost swerves into another lane, and then presses a button on his phone. It’s not a call; he’s FaceTiming someone with his phone volume all the way up. He doesn’t turn the music down, either, so when he starts talking he’s practically screaming.)

Driver: “Hey, honey!”

Driver’s Wife: “Where are you? I thought that was your last ride?”

Driver: “Yeah, I’m just going to the airport.”

Driver’s Wife: “What?! The airport?! But you still need to get groceries!”

Driver: “I THOUGHT YOU WERE GETTING THEM!”

Driver’s Wife: “No, you moron. I’m picking up the f****** kids!”

Driver: “Well, you didn’t tell me not to go to the airport!”

Driver’s Wife: “I didn’t think I needed to tell you not to go all the way up to f****** Seattle. My parents are coming tonight, you f****** moron, and we’re all out of f****** eggs!”

Driver: “Well, I’m already driving there, so you can’t f****** expect me to just dump my passenger by the side of the road or something, you stupid b****! You should’ve told me this morning!”

Driver’s Wife: “Told you?! Told you?! Are you a grown-a** man, or are you a f****** child?!”

(The driver is gesticulating angrily by this point, swerving all over the place, and nearly hitting several other cars. He continues arguing with his wife for another twenty minutes or so, both of their voices steadily increasing in pitch as the conversation goes on.)

Driver: WHO THE F*** DO YOU THINK GIVES YOU THE MONEY FOR YOUR F****** EGGS, YOU GREEDY B****?!”

Driver’s Wife: “You?! Give me money?! You useless, unemployed son-of-a-b****! You can’t even afford–“

(By coincidence, my phone dings, and the wife goes quiet… for all of two seconds.)

Driver’s Wife: “Do you have a f****** passenger in there?! Am I on speaker?!”

Driver: “Uh… oh, here, um, your gate—“

(He swung across three lanes of traffic, pulling to the curb in front of a completely different airline than the one I was flying with. He pressed the button to unlock my door and waved at me to get out. I got out by myself, pulled my own bags out of the trunk, and nearly got hit when he tore away. And the whole time, from just outside the car, I could still hear both his music and his wife’s screeching in crystal-clear sound. Oh, and since the airline he’d dropped me off at was on the completely wrong side of the airport, I ended up missing my flight. But hey… at least his wife got her f****** eggs.)