My Crazy-Ass Lyft Rides - A Series: Part 1 / by *nickels*

I enjoy using public transportation and I love walks. But, I also utilize a good ride-share because let's be honest, sometimes after you 100th email at work where someone is passive aggressively/actually calling you a bitch for some tomfoolery above your pay-grade, it's best to just get home the fastest way possible. 


My favorite drivers do the following: barely talk to me, make sure the car is super cold (I'm a hot box), and they make sure to ride the toll and/or drive like we have somewhere to go without making me feel unsafe. My least favorite drivers do the following: harass/chastise/scold/demean me and/or make me feel unsafe. Most of my rides are perfect. And then... there are a few exceptional(ly ridiculous) ones that make me call my sister (#2) to tell her what happened.

For my therapy (because processing is important) and for your amusement I present to you part 1 of my most recent ride. It features 4 perspectives.
Her - the Lyft Driver.
Me - What I say to her out loud.
Me (internally) - What I think about the foolishness.
(Narrator) - What I say to ya'll and my internal self while processing.

Enjoy.

  1. (Narrator): I order a Lyft after pulling some overtime at work. I'm over it y'all. I often compare the pricing between ride-share apps before ordering and today, lo and behold, Lyft is cheaper than Uber. Lyft it is. 
  2. (Narrator cont'd): After Kiki-ing with one of my homies at work, I see that my Lyft Driver is "about to arrive." I really appreciate that Lyft sends this notification. I chunk the deuce to my homie and head outside. It's a beautiful day. 
  3. (Narrator cont'd): My Lyft driver swings a massive right to pull up to me. I confidently walk to the car. I hear fucking butterflies y'all!
  4. Her: "What's your name!"
  5. Me: Um... Nikki...
  6. (Narrator): She opens the door for me to enter. I enter. The car smells like Chinese food. She definitely either had a delicious, bomb-ass dinner or she's a double agent and also works for PostMates/UberEats/DoorDash. Fuck.. this gig economy is some bullshit.
  7. Her (gruffly): You. Don't. Have. A. Profile. Picture. Why?
  8. Me: Um... I don't know. I never thought about it. 
  9. Her: You need to get one.  I know most men are responsible for crimes but pictures help keep us safe.
  10. Me: Safe! (We literally said the word at the same time). 
  11. Her: Yeah. Press the three lines then the third options then--- (at this point I stopped listening).
  12. Me (internally): Bitch I'm not about to put a picture up on this app in your car.
  13. Me (externally): I need to update the app. I'll have to add a picture when I get home to my wifi. 
  14. Her: You don't need to update the app. You can do it now. 
  15. (Narrator): She swerves a left. 
  16. Her: God I hate this app sometimes. Sometimes it tells you too late what to do and then customer's get mad and think it's your fault. Like especially right now. The app keeps fucking up around the Rodeo (insert your favorite major city event that lasts for more than 3 days, aka SXSW or Awards Season or Mardi Gras etc).
  17. Her (cont'd): If you miss your exit you end up having to make a U-Turn and then you end up 30 minutes later.
  18. Me (internally): Can we stop talking?
  19. Her: And then it makes your score mess up. I had a perfect 5! Like ugh! Okay okay I had a near perfect 5, I was close... and then people start giving you 4s and then people give you 1s!  I mean this one couple was a peace of work. 
  20. Me (internally): I don't want to know any of these things. I just want to go home. I'm tired. 
  21. Her: This one couple got in... and you know what I hate, drunk folks. Especially folks who want to drink in my car. The one couple got in and they wanted to drink and I told them now, you can't do that. And they were like, yes we can. I told them you can't. It's not legal. And she said, she said oh I'm a lawyer and I know we can. There are special rules.  And I said with all do respect mom, that is not the case. And she said, I'm a lawyer, there are special rules for ride-share. And I told her, that is for limos, not Lyft and Uber. And she said, I'm a lawyer I know. 
  22. Me (internally): Why is this happening?
  23. Her: I mean there's the open container law in this state. I just hate driving drunks. You want to listen to some music? What do you want to listen to.
  24. Me (internally): Oh my gosh yes. That means no more talking. Please be quiet. 
  25. Me (externally): Anything you want to listen to. 
  26. (Narrator): Ya'll, I recognize this is a cop out but honestly, as long as it ain't grunge metal ya girl is okay. I am literally staring out the window making plans for my life, judging myself, apologizing to myself for judging myself, praying, looking at clouds, thinking about what to have for dinner, thinking about money, thinking about music, thinking about my next film project, thinking about feeling like I'm behind, apologizing to myself for judging myself about where I am in my journey, etc... to care what's going on. I just want to get home in one piece, take off my bra, and watch Youtube videos while trying not to fall asleep. Anyway, so the Lyft Driver finds a station. First NPR then she starts turning buttons.
  27. Her: You know the TSU station plays Jazz. I can't find it now for some reason.
  28. (Narrator): TSU is an HBCU, a historically black college/university. I am feeling profiled along with my other feelings of major discomfort and over-it-ness.
  29. Me (externally): Oh really?
  30. Her: Yeah I'm trying to find it. 
  31. Me: (internally): Why do ride-share drivers assume all black people like hip-hop/jazz?
  32. Narrator): Child calm down. Not everybody is coming for you because you black. Maybe she likes Jazz too. 
  33. Her - finds a different station. The music sounds like Reggaeton. Legit, like island music, specifically Dominican I think. 
  34. Her: I think this is Nigerian rap. I cannot stand Nigerian rap. It is so not far me. 
  35. Me (internally): Triggered. As. Fuck. 
  36. Me (Narrator): Ya'll... I'm Nigerian-American. 
To be continued.