Trip length: 16 minutes. Trip distance: 5.2 miles.
Fare: $11.66. Year: 2018.
Song of the trip: “Going The Distance” by Cake
Time's important in this one, so stay with me.
Through a long chain of events I don't want to bother to explain, I was in Newark (out by Oakland) as we were approaching bar close (2 a.m.), way outside of my normal zones. I tell you this simply so you understand that I don't know this area. Like, at all.
Over the years, I've cultivated a deep well of knowledge about most of the areas of the Silicon Valley, so I can answer questions about late night places to eat (especially after the bars are closed). People ask, and I deliver.
At least usually.
I pull up to pick up someone named Travis, and the clock reads 1:48 a.m. and I haven't even brought the car to a full stop before the guy is opening the back door of the car and hopping in. "Go go go!" he says.
I narrow my eyes for a moment and glance around looking to see if there are cops incoming. I've accidentally been a getaway driver before, and have no desire to repeat that experience. I slide my finger across the bottom of the phone to start the trip, and the destination is just 2 minutes away. I ease my foot off the brake and the Altima picks up speed again.
"Thanks man. I'm not saying to speed or anything, but I'll tip you a fiver if we make it there quick." Sure enough, there's no traffic on the road and I time my speed (maybe a couple of miles over the limit) to ensure I hit all the traffic lights on green, as we pull up in front of a liquor store.
That's closed.
"No! Dammit! Think, Trav, think! You know any liquor stores around here that are open?"
"Can't help you, man. I'm from down near San Jose."
The clock reads 1:50 a.m.
"Got it! Changed the destination. Let's go!"
Sure enough, the drop off location has changed, and we are now 4 minutes away from our new destination. I shift from park into drive again, and we're back in motion. I spot a turn in to the parking lot of our destination before the app's suggested turn in at the spotlight, shaving off a few seconds, and we pull in front of another liquor store.
That's also closed.
"Dammit dammit dammit dammit!" Travis says, in his best accidental Jack Bauer impersonation. "Okay, just start driving again. I'll change the destination in a second here."
The clock reads 1:53 a.m.
To understand what's going on here, you have to know something about California's liquor laws. When you can buy and sell liquor varies from state to state, but here in the Golden State, it's illegal to sell alcohol from 2 a.m. to 6 a.m. No hard alcohol, no wine, no beer, bupkis.
So I'm guessing Travis had finished drinking whatever was in his house, or maybe is having a party he doesn't want to end, and so he's rushing out to try and find booze. As it turns out, finding booze after midnight in Newark is harder than expected.
We're approaching the destination, but I can already see no lights on. "Looks like no joy here either."
"Okay, one last place, and then I guess we just hit a 7-11 and I get some beer."
The clock reads 1:56 a.m.
"Dunno if you have time for both." The phone chirps again, and the destination is 2 minutes away, so I keep on rolling.
The parking lot we're turning into has a number of smaller buildings out in front of the larger strip of shops, so I can't see the destination, but as we start to pull up, I see someone coming out of a lit place that looks a whole hell of a lot like a liquor store.
I pull into a parking spot as the clock reads 1:59 a.m.
"Be right back!" Travis shouts, flinging himself out of the car, leaving the door open, as he sprints towards the store, where it looks like the shopkeeper is about to turn off his sign. Travis runs into the shop, heading into the aisles, then comes back to the counter, as the shopkeeper drags himself back over the counter to make one more sale.
As Travis is walking out with what looks like a 2-liter of vodka, another man walks into the shop. The shopkeeper turns off the store sign lights and locks the door behind the guy, so either it's someone there to help him close up, or the guy running the liquor store just wants to be sure no one else is coming in to make any last minute (and possibly illegal) purchases.
Travis hops into the backseat and pulls the door closed. I'm a little annoyed he'd left it open while he ran in - it's 37º outside right now, and the Icy warning on my car's temperature readout has turned on, but he was inside just a few minutes, so I suppose I can let it slide.
"No opening that in my car, you hear?"
"Gotcha. Thanks bro. Now back home."
The destination updates one more time, and sure enough, I'm taking him back where all this has started. It's a whole 3 minutes away. In fact, I note with amusement that we're closer to his place now that the first two stops he'd picked along his quest for booze.
The Nissan glides to a stop in front of his house and Travis gets out of the car with a smile. "Thanks man, I appreciate all the hustle."
The clock reads 2:05 a.m.
There's no surge pricing in Newark on this particular Saturday night, to my annoyance, which means I should probably start making my way home. There's a feature in the app that lets me set a destination - in this case Fremont, where I live - and the app will then only pick up fares along that path. I'm mostly doing it so I don't get stuck hauling someone to San Francisco, only to have to turn around and come home so late the sun's coming up before I make it to my bed.
There aren't any fares along the way, and when I get home, I check my earnings for the weekend, and guess what?
Bastard didn't even tip.
I rated the guy five stars when I dropped him off, and now I'm a little annoyed by my generosity, after all the runaround, which certainly cost me at least 1-2 fares of people coming home from bars. What with all the constant changing of destination, I probably should've given him 3-4 stars, but I assumed after the memorable beat-the-clock race we'd just had, he'd have been a man of his word. Looks like no.
Dammit, all I wanted was the fiver you promised me, Travis. Maybe you'll remember next time. But maybe next time I'll be a bit more stern on my ratings...
Time's important in this one, so stay with me.
Through a long chain of events I don't want to bother to explain, I was in Newark (out by Oakland) as we were approaching bar close (2 a.m.), way outside of my normal zones. I tell you this simply so you understand that I don't know this area. Like, at all.
Over the years, I've cultivated a deep well of knowledge about most of the areas of the Silicon Valley, so I can answer questions about late night places to eat (especially after the bars are closed). People ask, and I deliver.
At least usually.
I pull up to pick up someone named Travis, and the clock reads 1:48 a.m. and I haven't even brought the car to a full stop before the guy is opening the back door of the car and hopping in. "Go go go!" he says.
I narrow my eyes for a moment and glance around looking to see if there are cops incoming. I've accidentally been a getaway driver before, and have no desire to repeat that experience. I slide my finger across the bottom of the phone to start the trip, and the destination is just 2 minutes away. I ease my foot off the brake and the Altima picks up speed again.
"Thanks man. I'm not saying to speed or anything, but I'll tip you a fiver if we make it there quick." Sure enough, there's no traffic on the road and I time my speed (maybe a couple of miles over the limit) to ensure I hit all the traffic lights on green, as we pull up in front of a liquor store.
That's closed.
"No! Dammit! Think, Trav, think! You know any liquor stores around here that are open?"
"Can't help you, man. I'm from down near San Jose."
The clock reads 1:50 a.m.
"Got it! Changed the destination. Let's go!"
Sure enough, the drop off location has changed, and we are now 4 minutes away from our new destination. I shift from park into drive again, and we're back in motion. I spot a turn in to the parking lot of our destination before the app's suggested turn in at the spotlight, shaving off a few seconds, and we pull in front of another liquor store.
That's also closed.
"Dammit dammit dammit dammit!" Travis says, in his best accidental Jack Bauer impersonation. "Okay, just start driving again. I'll change the destination in a second here."
The clock reads 1:53 a.m.
To understand what's going on here, you have to know something about California's liquor laws. When you can buy and sell liquor varies from state to state, but here in the Golden State, it's illegal to sell alcohol from 2 a.m. to 6 a.m. No hard alcohol, no wine, no beer, bupkis.
So I'm guessing Travis had finished drinking whatever was in his house, or maybe is having a party he doesn't want to end, and so he's rushing out to try and find booze. As it turns out, finding booze after midnight in Newark is harder than expected.
We're approaching the destination, but I can already see no lights on. "Looks like no joy here either."
"Okay, one last place, and then I guess we just hit a 7-11 and I get some beer."
The clock reads 1:56 a.m.
"Dunno if you have time for both." The phone chirps again, and the destination is 2 minutes away, so I keep on rolling.
The parking lot we're turning into has a number of smaller buildings out in front of the larger strip of shops, so I can't see the destination, but as we start to pull up, I see someone coming out of a lit place that looks a whole hell of a lot like a liquor store.
I pull into a parking spot as the clock reads 1:59 a.m.
"Be right back!" Travis shouts, flinging himself out of the car, leaving the door open, as he sprints towards the store, where it looks like the shopkeeper is about to turn off his sign. Travis runs into the shop, heading into the aisles, then comes back to the counter, as the shopkeeper drags himself back over the counter to make one more sale.
As Travis is walking out with what looks like a 2-liter of vodka, another man walks into the shop. The shopkeeper turns off the store sign lights and locks the door behind the guy, so either it's someone there to help him close up, or the guy running the liquor store just wants to be sure no one else is coming in to make any last minute (and possibly illegal) purchases.
Travis hops into the backseat and pulls the door closed. I'm a little annoyed he'd left it open while he ran in - it's 37º outside right now, and the Icy warning on my car's temperature readout has turned on, but he was inside just a few minutes, so I suppose I can let it slide.
"No opening that in my car, you hear?"
"Gotcha. Thanks bro. Now back home."
The destination updates one more time, and sure enough, I'm taking him back where all this has started. It's a whole 3 minutes away. In fact, I note with amusement that we're closer to his place now that the first two stops he'd picked along his quest for booze.
The Nissan glides to a stop in front of his house and Travis gets out of the car with a smile. "Thanks man, I appreciate all the hustle."
The clock reads 2:05 a.m.
There's no surge pricing in Newark on this particular Saturday night, to my annoyance, which means I should probably start making my way home. There's a feature in the app that lets me set a destination - in this case Fremont, where I live - and the app will then only pick up fares along that path. I'm mostly doing it so I don't get stuck hauling someone to San Francisco, only to have to turn around and come home so late the sun's coming up before I make it to my bed.
There aren't any fares along the way, and when I get home, I check my earnings for the weekend, and guess what?
Bastard didn't even tip.
I rated the guy five stars when I dropped him off, and now I'm a little annoyed by my generosity, after all the runaround, which certainly cost me at least 1-2 fares of people coming home from bars. What with all the constant changing of destination, I probably should've given him 3-4 stars, but I assumed after the memorable beat-the-clock race we'd just had, he'd have been a man of his word. Looks like no.
Dammit, all I wanted was the fiver you promised me, Travis. Maybe you'll remember next time. But maybe next time I'll be a bit more stern on my ratings...
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