I get picked up from the airport by a rideshare app driver.

Driver: “Coming from anywhere interesting?”

Me: “Yeah, a vacation in Arizona. Did the Grand Canyon.”

Driver: “Oh, cool!”

After a few moments of silence:

Driver: “Did the Indians out there tell you how long it took ’em to carve that thing out?”

Me: “Uh… no.”

Driver: “Ah… shame. Been trying to find that out, but no one ever knows.”

I then proceeded to sit in silence for the next forty minutes of that drive.

CONTENT WARNING: Vomit

I’m a rideshare driver, and one night I had a pickup WAY out of town to a huge, fancy house. A well-dressed older man with a briefcase (who had called for the rideshare) came outside and got in my car.

As he was getting in, I noticed a younger guy perched on the stoop of the house, scattering vomit with impressive vigor. I was instantly thankful HE wasn’t getting in my car.

But then…

Older Man: “Hang on, we’re waiting on someone else, who’s a little drunk.”

Ugh…

So, the younger guy joins the older man in the back of my car… with vomit stains ALL over his shirt. (I didn’t notice this detail until I dropped them off, but I could definitely smell it right away. At the time, I thought it was just face residue or on his breath, or something.)

Me: “Are you gonna be okay, dude? If you need me to pull over, please say something right away.”

They both agreed. We had a very long drive back to town, and I had to crank the windows down and tuck my nose under my shirt because of the smell.

Then, not two minutes into the ride… the younger guy starts vomiting out my back window. Several times.

Me: “Um, dude… do I need to pull over?”

Older Man: “Oh, he’s fine!”

Me: “Uh… it doesn’t sound like it.”

He finally looked over at the younger guy.

Older Man: “Hey, you okay? Oh… are you vomiting?”

Younger Guy: “Yeah. But I’m good now.”

Morgan Freeman: “He was NOT, in fact, good.”

At that point, we were on the interstate on the way back to town, so pulling over would have been difficult… yet no one even hinted that it was necessary. The younger guy just kept randomly vomiting out my back window while I drove as fast as legally possible, with my nose still buried in my shirt, trying not to gag.

We finally got back into town to a red light… and he did it once more, just for good measure. Again, zero mention of hopping out or asking me to pull off.

I finally (and thankfully!) got to their stop, which is when I noticed the impressive vomit scatter all over the younger guy’s shirt.

Me: “Um… you know I’m going to have to clean my car now, right? And that’s a decent cleaning fee.”

Older Man: “Well, he didn’t vomit IN the car, so you should be fine.”

Me: “Can you not smell him?! He’s got it all over his shirt, and he’s been in my car for fifteen minutes. That smell is HARD to get out. Trust me… I’ve been here before.”

Older Man: “Well, he didn’t do it IN your car, so you’ll be fine.”

I pointed out that it was probably splattered all over the rear of my car, though.

The older man tried to argue with me, but then they both got out and surveyed the side of my car.

Both Of Them: “Oh… yeah. It’s a mess on the outside of your car, here.”

Me: “Um… YEAH!”

The younger guy wanted me to get a tip to compensate for the situation and to pay for a car wash. He suggested $30, which would have been fine with me.

However… the older man (again, whose rideshare account it was), argued that since the mess wasn’t INSIDE the car, it shouldn’t be a big deal. When I stood my ground, he relented a little bit…

…by making this mistake:

Older Man: “I actually own some car washes in town, here.”

Me: “Oh, how ironic. Which one?”

Older Man: “Hank’s.”

This is a small town, and Hank’s is the giant automotive conglomerate that dominates this town; Hank’s has several dealerships, car washes, detailing centers, and service garages in this town alone, as well as across the state.

So, I’m sitting there thinking, “Okay, great. Well, I’m never going to a Hank’s anything ever again. But how does he think this is supposed to help me right now? It’s 10:45 PM, I JUST started my night (I do the bar close shift and go until about 3 AM), and until I get the vomit washed off the side of my car, I can’t take any more rides.

Me: “Is your car wash open right now?”

I knew it wasn’t.

The older man laughed… yes, he effing LAUGHED.

Older Man: “How about this. I’ll email you a coupon for a free car wash at Hank’s. That should take care of it.”

I should also note that Hank’s hands out free car wash coupons like candy. I currently have about six of those coupons in my wallet. 

The face I made to his brilliant solution was probably akin to the face one would make if someone had just said, “I know you’re only eighteen years old, but I’d like to set you up on a date with my eighty-six-year-old grandmother.”

Me: “Well… thanks… but you realize I can no longer drive tonight and make any more money, right?”

The older man ignored that little detail and seemed very content with just emailing me a coupon for a free car wash.

No sympathy. No apology. No tip.

No big deal to this rich dude that he and his guest had just destroyed my hopes at income for the night, left a stench in my back seat, and decorated the outside of my car with vomit glory.

Once they went on their merry way, I immediately called up a 24-hour gas station that I knew had a car wash attached.

Me: “PLEASE tell me your car wash is still open tonight.”

Gas Station Lady: “Yes, it’s open until 11:30.”

Me: “Oh, thank GOD! Thank you so much!”

I burned rubber to get to the car wash, obviously having to clock out of the rideshare app… during a surge time, which really burned my biscuits.

What I had to pay for the car wash was more than I made on that ride, so not only did I lose money on that, but I missed about twenty minutes of surge time income with the whole car wash thing.

I ended up cracking my back window for a second while in the car wash to get the ridge of the window and purposefully get soap and water onto the backseat (I saw that the guy’s shirt had transferred some vomit spots onto my seat). I wiped the seats down with the soap and water while the car wash was going, and it seemed to do the trick.

Thankfully, I was able to get on with my night and make some good money, but I was still fuming about the situation and resolved to never go to a Hank’s automotive anything, ever again, if this is how the faces of the company treat us “peons” in their downtime.

I never received the free car wash coupon email; however, the next morning, I did get a different email from the older man. (It is copy and pasted verbatim).

Email: “Good morning [My Name], apologies for any mess we made last night. Let me know what we owe you for cleaning the car. And I suppose how to pay you; I can tip extra or eTransfer.”

My Reply: “Good morning, [Older Man]. Happy to hear from you! I appreciate that, thank you. Luckily [Gas Station] car wash was still open for another half hour last night, so I was able to swing in there and get the $13 wash. I did miss some wages during that time as it was a busy rush time, but I’m just thankful I was able to get the car washed right away. You can just submit it as a tip on [Rideshare App] if you like. I think that would be easiest. I hope your friend is feeling better today. Thank you again.”

He ended up submitting a tip for $25, which was definitely appreciated. 

I didn’t appreciate the situation as a whole, but I do get that vomit sometimes comes with the territory of rideshare driving. It was more his flippant attitude about my personal property and income that had me grinding my teeth for the rest of the night. So, I’m glad he came to his senses and made it as right as he could, in the end. 

And as an added bonus… the very next night when I went out to rideshare drive again, my very first pickup was to Hank’s Car Wash and Detailing Center. At least the universe has one heck of a sense of humor.

I’m driving a passenger through the countryside. She’s staring out the window as we pass a field of cattle.

Passenger: “Wow, look at all the cows! That’s a lot of milk!”

Me: “Those aren’t dairy cows. They’re beef cattle.”

Passenger: “How do you know?”

Me: “They don’t have udders.”

She goes quiet, thinking that over. A few miles later, we pass another herd.

Me: “Now, those are dairy cattle. Once they’ve had a calf, farmers keep milking them.”

Passenger: *Genuinely surprised.* “Oh, so only females produce milk?”

I grip the wheel to keep from laughing.

Me: “I’m not trying any milk that comes from a male. Somehow, I don’t think it would taste quite right.”

She goes red, and the rest of the drive is very, very quiet.

I’m visiting California and hop into an Uber. My driver seems friendly, and we get to chatting. She asks where I’m from, so I tell her I’m Canadian. That’s when things take an unexpected turn.

Driver: “Oh wow, that’s cool! So… which state does Canada border?”

Me: “Uh… a lot of them. Pretty much every state from Washington to Maine.”

Driver: “Wait, what?”

Me: “Yeah, Canada is huge. Actually, it’s bigger than the US in terms of land mass.”

She looks genuinely stunned, eyes wide in the rear-view mirror.

Driver: “No way.”

Me: “Way. And fun fact: the US and Canada share the longest land border between any two countries in the world… Hold up. If Canada’s that big… what did you think was up there?”

Driver: “I don’t know… just snow and ice, I guess. I didn’t know there was a whole country up there!”

I sit there, equal parts speechless and amused, as we continue the drive. Geography lessons were apparently included free of charge that day.

I picked up a guy from a bar in broad daylight, heading to a casino. Nothing unusual about that, until we got on the freeway.

Almost immediately, a car started tailgating me. Close and aggressive, with the horn blaring every few seconds. I flinched and checked my mirrors.

Passenger: “That might be my wife. Don’t worry, she’ll stop following soon.”

She did not, in fact, stop following.

She stuck to us like glue for the entire twenty-minute ride. The horn never let up, not in traffic, not at lights, not even when I changed lanes.

We pulled into the casino parking lot, and the guy practically launched himself out of the car like it was on fire. His timing was good; she screeched in behind us and nearly clipped him as he ran for the doors.

Right before the glass doors closed behind him, he looked back at me, dead serious.

Passenger: “Don’t ever get married.”

And just like that, he disappeared into the casino while his wife’s tires screamed behind him like a NASCAR pit stop gone wrong.