When In Doubt, Call Your Uber Driver Mohammad.

If there’s one thing I like doing, it’s fucking with people. No, I’m not saying I liking fucking people. Well that too. Certain people. Like my flavor-of-the-moth boy-toy. But I also love to push people’s buttons. I’m like the OCD kid in your kindergarten class: I won’t stop clicking my pencil, pulling your hair, or eating paste. It’s just what I do. 

So, one of my favorite types of people to mess with are cab drivers. First of all, I pay them so it makes me feel less bad about how much of a bitch I am if I’m annoying. And second, I can tip more if they put up with me.

So, last night while I was taking Olivia/Oliver back from the cat hospital in an Uber, I thought it would be über fun to engage with the driver. So, I hopped in the back seat and pulled Oliver’s carrier next to me. Now, the cool thing about his carrier is that it looks like a duffel bag. It’s a Sherpa, under the seat carrier, and is made to fit under airplane seats. Conveniently, nobody ever realizes I have an animal unless he starts meowing or they look closely. Something I’ve learned is that if people rarely look closely, they see only what they want to see. 

So I got in the car calmly and asked, “Oh my gosh, like what’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened in your uber car?” And the driver gave me the typical story of a drunk bitch (*cough Roberta cough*) who threw up all over the place. I thought the car smelled like too much air freshener… So then I asked, “What’s Uber’s policy on pets?” 

And he said, “No pets, except service dogs,”

And I said, “Well, what about service cats?”

And he said, “Service cats are not a thing, this is a company wide policy. I mean, when was the last time you saw a cat on a leash.” (For me, not too long ago. Oliver has a leash for special occasions).

So, I smiled: perfect white teeth — adorable pony tale, crazy I’ve-been-up-for-too-long eyes — “Oh my gosh, you are so funny. Like what’s your name.” He pulled up to my apartment, like right in front because I refused to get out of the cab until I had the shortest walk possible to my door. “Wait, let me guess. Mohammad?” Ding. Ding. Ding.

I mean, I felt really proud of myself. But then again, out of the 350 Uber’s I’ve taken in my life, I have had three woman, and 300 Mohammads.

He looked back, healthy-well-groomed beard and gave me a wink. “Say bye to Ollie,” I cooed, and showed him my adorable ginger pussy(-cat, get your heard out of the gutter).

“Oh, uh… I love kitties.” He responded, but I could tell he was quite uncomfortable.

Juanita 1. Cab drivers of the world 0.



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