A lady, lesbians, and a lot of laughs - My Life as an Uber Driver #4

 Uber sent out an email to Palm Springs drivers a couple of weeks ago saying they realized they had been short changing us.  In essence, paying us just pennies on the dollar while they took a good chunk of the fare.  I’m learning it is not a really good company.  On a $10 fare, drivers can end up getting only $6.  So, they said, they will increase the pay Uber drivers in Palm Springs get by 25%.  We’ll see how that works.

They also said that the upcoming weekend should be really good because the lesbians are in town.  They were more diplomatic than that, but if you read between the lines they said a lot of women will be in town for the Dinah Shore golf classic …. And those of us who live here know that means it’s lesbian weekend in town.  Come on ladies, I’m ready to give you a ride in my car.

But the first lady I got that day was not of the “L” persuasion.  After a few “regular” rides (one trip to the airport, another back to a gay bar downtown where the drunk guy had left his car the night before and let his more sober friends take him home, thank God), I got a call for the Eisenhower Medical Center Clinic in Palm Springs.  As I pull up, an impeccably dressed elderly woman using a walker with a miniature poodle in a basket in the front of the walker comes out of the clinic.  You got the picture.

She is not your typical Uber passenger, so I did not think she was my passenger …. but for some reason I reach out to her.  And she is indeed the person waiting for me.  She obviously is in discomfort and having difficulty walking.  I help her into the passenger seat, and she asks if it is OK if her little dog sits on her lap.  It is her child, so of course it is OK.  The walker goes into the back of the car, and as I take her back to her assisted living center, I learn she has lived in Rancho Mirage for 36 years.  Her husband died a few years back, and she could no longer live in her home alone. 

We talk about the changes in the community, and as we drive past the street leading to Bob Hope’s house (on the market now for $29 million) I ask her if she has ever been there.  “Oh, yes, dear, many times,” she replies.  She admits that in her day, she loved to sip martinis with the locals. She doesn't say who that included, but she is a classy lady, and I can see her tipping one with Sinatra, Martin, Hope, Ball.

92 years old, she can no longer drive, but she kind of knows how to use the Uber app on her phone (she admits the “girls” at the doctor’s office help her sometimes).  Her body is failing, her vision is blurry, but her mind is sharp.  I help her when we get back to her assisted living center.  Her dog licks my hand as I take him from her lap.  She shuffles into the lobby, and I kick myself for not giving her my card.  I’d be her personal driver if she wanted.  She was a gem.

Now, back to the lesbians.  A very fun crowd and they all enjoyed the free mints I now give to passengers.  I did three trips with three groups to the Hilton Hotel in downtown Palm Springs where the women’s pool party was underway (and where I found out later, Lady Gaga was hanging out).  Unlike my many other lesbian friends that I know, these women were not real chatty with the Uber guy driver (they just didn’t know me), but they were all gracious, and they all apparently gave me five stars because my stupid Uber rating soared, all the way from 4.85 to 4.87.  I won gold.  Thank you lesbians.  I love you.

So the day is drawing to a close, it is 4:30 and I’m heading home, and just about when I am ready to turn off the app, I get this “ding.”  Eight minutes away, Curtis wants a ride from Golf Club Drive in Palm Springs.  I almost deleted the request, but then I think, what the hell, one more for the day. Maybe Curtis is heading in the same direction I am, closer to home (which rarely happens).  So I turn around, head back toward central Palm Springs to meet Curtis.  It’s Friday afternoon, traffic sucks, but the Uber app finally steers me to the Tahquitz Creek Golf Resort entrance where the little stickman image of Curtis hangs on my phone. 

As I approach the club house, I see a guy emerge, looks at his phone, and Curtis waves at me.  I’m at the right spot.  As Curtis ambles down the walkway, golf bag bulging with freshly used clubs swung over his shoulder, he is joined by two other guys … both similarly outfitted with bags and clubs.  One kind of stumbles as he walks (I mistakenly think it’s from the weight of the bag).  We say hello, I open the back, they thrown the clubs in, the back goes down and the fun begins.

Curtis and his pals have had at least a couple of beers (maybe more than a couple) on the course.  They are in a jolly mood, and the party isn’t about to stop now.  Fortunately for them, they got the right Uber driver. 

Curtis (before we get into the car):  “Ummmmm, we have kind of a favor to ask.”

His pals (laughing and poking each other):  “Uh, yeah, we need to get some food and some more beers.”

Me:  “Sure, not a problem.”

Curtis:  “So, what we’re really asking is, other than the place we are staying, we don’t really know where we’re going.  Can you take us to a place to buy beer, then to a place called Babes to pick up some barbecue, and then take us back to our house in Rancho Mirage?  Like, several different places.”

Me:  “Whatever you guys want, I am your driver, I’ll take you wherever you want.”

Curtis:  “Well, we kind of don’t know where we want to go, except to Babes and the house.  But before then, we need beer.  Do you know where we can get beer?”

Me:  “Hop on in guys, we’re in for an adventure.  I know right where to go.”

Curtis (and pals):  “But like what if it takes an hour or longer?”

Me: “Not a problem, let’s go.”

Smiles wash over their faces.

Now had I been a taxi driver with dollar signs flashing in my eyes as they do when strangers enter their car and say “We don’t know where we’re going,” I could have taken them to Indio to buy beer.  I’m not a taxi driver.  Instead, I head toward to the nearby Vons Supermarket.  My passengers are elated. 

As I am heading to the grocery store to let them get beer (as I discovered, I should have called Vons to make sure they had enough), I find out that Curtis’ pals are Doug and Taylor.  They are from the LA area and they are in Palm Springs for the weekend for Taylor’s bachelor party.  Thus, the need for beer.  As we’re heading to Vons, from the back seat Doug asks if the window is on child lock because it won’t go down.  He said he may have to throw up.  I quickly flipped the switch that had mistakenly been locked.  He didn’t throw up.  But I asked him to give me a warning if he was about to.  He just laughed.

At Vons, the boys head into the store, saying they are going to buy me something also.  I insist that they don’t.  They ask if I want to go shopping with them.  I tell them I don't want to do that either.  So, I wait at the car, and about ten minutes later, as they exit, they have a Vons shopping cart (one of the big ones) literally overflowing with cases of beer … and a carton of Parliament cigarettes for me, they say.  I thank them but tell them I don’t smoke, so they said they would go ahead and smoke ‘em. Thanks, guys.

The beer and smokes are tossed into the back of the Edge, and we are quickly running out of room.

Me:  “OK guys, you say you want to go to Babes?”

All three:  “YES!!! We’re starved. Do you know where it is?”

Again, here’s the opportunity to take a long scenic Coachella Valley route where I would proudly point out the many fine amenities of the community where I live, as the Uber meter clicks away, racking up a nice fee. Instead, I drive directly to Babes in Rancho Mirage.

We talked a lot.  They are all professional guys with good jobs, intelligent, the type of people that I would hang with if I was thirty years younger.  Some are married, others about to get married, and they are just in the desert to have a good time with their buds (which I later discover is a group of about 20 guys).

At Babes, the boys (who reportedly had ordered a pile of ribs and chicken before they got into the car), asked me to wait for them as they went in to pick up the food.  Thirty minutes later, they come stumbling out of Babes, loaded with bags full of food.

Doug:  “Hey. Sorry, Dan it took so long but they didn’t start cooking until we got there.  So, while we waited, they bought us more beers and shots at the bar.”  The pain level had decreased even more so in the past half hour.

Curtis:  “OK, to the house.” 

Now, they had an address for the place, but Curtis said he would guide me there.

Me:  “You guys sure got a lot of food and beer for one night.”

Doug:  “Oh man, we’re not alone.  We’ve got a bunch of our friends waiting back at the mansion.”

Me, thinking, mansion?  Really.

Curtis:  “Yeah, when we get there, you’ve got to come in and meet everyone.”

I drive for about ten more minutes, following Curtis’ instructions, until I enter this small street where the entrance to the gated community awaits us.  Except, it’s not an entrance to a gated community.  It’s the private gated entrance to “the mansion.”

As the gate opens, I see what they are talking about.  The place is amazing.  Huge.  Like what you see in the movies.  “Come on in with us,” my new friends say.

So, I grab three twelve packs (leaving about a dozen more in the car) and follow them inside.  For this weekend, “the mansion” has been converted into a mix between Dynasty and Animal House … you can tell it’s an amazing place with fine touches like beer filled coolers and sleeping bags tossed in.

“Let’s go outside,” they say.  And there, I find, the rest of the bachelor party.  “Hey guys, this is our super cool Uber driver, Dan.”  “Hey, Dan, have a beer.”  “Thanks, I’d love to, but I’m still driving.”

They carry on the party, which is taking place in a huge hot tub, multi-layer swimming pool and ponds, basketball court, putting green, all on about 4-5 acres.  It’s an adult Disneyland.  They are good people having a good time.

With the car unloaded, the mansion tour finished, and time for me to head out, Curtis says to me that he’s concerned the Uber drive, since it lasted 70 minutes, was going to cost a fortune.  I tell him I'll check my app.  I discover my salary for the adventure … just a tad over $18.  Curtis couldn’t believe how little it was.  He looks at his app and finds the charge to him is $26.  He is amazed at how little he had to pay, and of that, I only got $18.  So, he, Doug, and Taylor say that's not fair.  They dig into their pockets and give me a $25 tip.  The best I’ve ever received.  They didn’t have to do that, because they actually provided great entertainment for my last ride of the day.  But they did.  I thanked them, wished them a great weekend, and I think they realized that as lucky as they were that they got me for a driver, I was lucky too that I got the coolest passengers to be had that afternoon in the Coachella Valley.

I’m taking a couple of weeks off driving because I’m out of town helping my mom.  But I’ll be back this next weekend … and still debating if I want to drive for Coachella.  If I do, you’ll hear about the adventures.