Monday mornings are often a drag
Starting the day driving rideshare super-early can be a drag, or it can be invigorating, it’s what one makes of it. After doing a rather quick carpool, I was in downtown Chicago, with no traffic, no weather, and morning-person energy.
My West Loop riders were not airport bound (Yes!)
My next ping (5:30a.m.) took me to the West Loop where I patiently waited for my rider. Having noticed that this was not a trip to either O’Hare (ORD) or Midway (MDW), a smile washed across my face.
My riders were not done partying yet
The riders were presumably boyfriend and girlfriend, were dressed for the clubs and were clearly not done partying yet. Both were intoxicated, the female rider a bit more intoxicated than her male companion. They whispered to each other a few times, something about sex was muttered and then a quick discussion about their mutual distaste for the newly opened Concrete Cowboy Bar.
Being extremely familiar with the Chicago foodie culture, dance clubs, and miscellaneous attractions in downtown Chicago, I injected myself into the conversation, and stated, “But it has a Late Hour license, right?”- trying to ferret out at least one positive trait about the new tavern. While they did agree- they and I knew that there were several other Late Hour licenses (that are better) within walking distance of the Concrete Cowboy Bar.
I used that Late Hour license bit of interaction to segway into a probing conversation:
Driver: “Where were you guys hanging out tonight?”
Woman: “We didn’t sleep, sex? We didn’t have sex.”
Man: [inaudible comments]
Woman: “No, we didn’t have sex, we tried to sleep.”
Man: [inaudible comments] “Sex.”
***Woman lifts fist into the air and quickly slams fist into man’s genitalia***
Driver: “That’s true love right there.” [sarcasm intended]
**Woman pauses, lifts fist into air, slams fist into man’s genitalia five (5) consecutive times**
Man: “Do it again, you know I like it. Felt good.”
*Woman, lifts fist into the air, raining down hammer-fist-punches to her boyfriend’s genitalia five (5) more consecutive times*
The woman put everything she had into those crotch punches. The full force of a 130 pound woman slamming her closed fists into her boyfriend’s junk could have been mood altering for the man, but he was unphased.
Did she miss the target? I am certain some of the punches were off-target, and had she wiffed on all of those hammer-fists, her boyfriend would have told her as much.
Our friends are in from Los Angeles, let’s party!
They continued to tell me that they had friends in from Los Angeles and that they were going to continue to party with them. Without asking about alcohol, I was sure I knew what they implied.
When we arrived at their Humboldt Park destination, I gave them brief directions to the residential staircase.
Thanks for the best posssible Monday morning ride a rideshare driver could hope for! Maybe next time we can draft more people into a one-sided game of Roshambo.