Dear Uber Driver,
Let’s just get it out there: You are a saint. Seriously. Unless of course you’re one of the drivers who ruins it for everyone by making a nasty comment about my friend’s boobs or jokes that we should “respect ourselves” more. But obviously I am not talking to those asshats. So let’s move on.
You, dear driver who remains calm under pressure as four inebriated girls in Steve Maddens and Madewell shirt dresses pile on into your Camry, are the real MVP. Really, I don’t know how you do it. I can barely handle one of my friends for an hour when I’m sober city, population me, and she’s downing Goldschläger at the bar while throwing her hands in the air with every Taylor Swift remix that comes on. I don’t know how you handle multiple groups of these hot messes all night long.
Thank you so, so much for pulling around the block so we didn’t have to cross the street to where you were. I know pulling a U-Turn, dealing with traffic, and not rolling your eyes at a group of girls waving furiously at you while shivering because no one brought a jacket was probably not how you wanted to kick off 1:45 a.m. on a Friday. But there you are, leaning over to open doors and not even gagging when you smell to mixture of drunk cigarette smoke, vodka crans, and Vera Wang Princess perfume about to cram into your car.
Bless you once for having an auxiliary cord and bless you twice for letting Nichole “play DJ!” I sincerely apologize for her affinity for 2013 Top 40, I was just as sick of “Timber” after the fifth time she played it, obliviously fist-bumping and tossing her hair. But it really is so nice of you to not force your passengers to either text awkwardly in silence or pretend to love whatever music you’ve been into this week. You truly know the meaning of “customer service.”
You are amazing for allowing us to detour and go to Taco Bell – even though it means your car will most likely-to-absolutely smell like grilled stuffed chicken burritos and soft potato tacos for the rest of the night. I hope that beefy fritos burrito we got “Just for you! Take it!” tastes okay when we finally stumble out of your car. We did really mean well. Thank you for not trying to Snapchat us stuffing our drunk girl faces at that stop light. If you had…well, we would have deserved it.
You really are such a trooper. Between the lack of properly used seat belts, the unrelenting Ke$ha, and the one girl who kept screaming profanities because she stabbed herself in the eye trying to do backseat-moving-mascara, you really had a ride on your hands. I think I speak for all of us when I say we owe you a big hug and an even bigger apology for the girls who had to pull over to puke or fell asleep in the back of your car. But you, Uber Driver, you’re such a good sport. You took it all in stride and kept reassuring our vodka soaked cerebellums that it was okay and we were almost home.
So once, twice, a million times thank you for picking us up and making sure we actually got inside of our apartment buildings. Our getting back home journey would not be nearly as seamless without you and your efforts. You’re the best.
Five stars, forever and always!
Love,
Your Drunk Passenger
PS: Really. Sorry about having to puke. But at least I made it out of the car?.
Image via Youtube / Whelmed Productions
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Kendra Syrdal
The closest Kendra ever went to going Greek was always hitting up Pita Pit on her way home from the bars. But she thanks the sisterhood of DG for always letting her crash taco night and helping her find her way out of that frat party where a guy got stabbed with a samurai sword. Contact her at kendrasyrdal.com for sex toy suggestions and general sass.
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