Had four young women, all in beautiful outfits, on their way to a nearby Day Party at a swanky spot in East Hollywood that used to be a homeless enclave but had gotten millions poured into it and has since been renovated into a WeWork style rent-a-workstation office thingie with expensive coffee.
An up n coming DJ was charging $40 a ticket for the event. LA’s young adults were sick and tired of being cooped up at home due to the rain, snow, and mushy hail which has a name but its a dumb one.
Day Parties for rideshare drivers are dangerous because some of us intentionally avoid driving at night because puking passengers are our biggest nightmares.
Anyways these ladies were sober, pumped, but did smell a wee bit like they had pre-partied a few pitchers of mimosas at the crib.
With large groups I like to focus on one passenger. But always playfully.
“We’re going to the DJ Day Party are we?” I asked when I clicked the app and the address popped up.
“What are you, David Blaine?” one of them said in the back. Her name was Lily, she soon revealed. “How the hell did you know that?”
“You saw my license plate said XBI,” I said. “The X stands for excellent at ESP.”
Everyone laughed. Then I said, “I just took another carload of bougie bitches there 20 minutes ago.”
“Do you have to be 21 to go to this thing?” I asked.
They all said yes in beautiful harmony. I wish you had heard it.
I looked in my rear view at Lily in the center of the back seat. She was the tiniest one.
“Girl how old are you and why aren’t you in detention at Marshall High?” I asked.
Everyone laughed. Lily said, “omg I’m 24 but thank you.”
I said, “according to your Alvarado Street fake ID maybe, but tell me the truth. 16? 17?”
More laughs. “EVERYONE SAYS THAT ABOUT YOU LILY!”
“I know, so annoying,” she said blushing, but happy.
“Seriously there’s no way I’d let you in if I was that DJ. You’re pretty but that’s not worth the po-po busting up my good thing.” I said.
Howls from the ladies.
Then the one next to me, who was showing way too much leg for an East Hollywood bash, said, “ok now go around and guess all of our ages!”
The laughing continued and then died down because they actually thought I would do it.
“These rides come with ratings. If you noticed mine is perfect. Only a fool would fall for this trap!” I argued.
“We’ll give you 5 stars,” the one next to me promised.
“Oh I’ve heard that before. One false move and I won’t get a tip.” I said.
“WE WILL TIP WE WILL TIP!” they started chanting in the back.
I was making expert moves around traffic. Starbucks lines that spilled out onto Fountain were avoided. College kids on dumb scooters were narrowly passed. Potholes were eluded.
As were their pleas.
“Why don’t you ask me to guess your dress sizes? No one is going to leave this car happy if I accept your double dare, Marc Summers,” I said and they laughed more and luckily we arrived at the destination before they wore me down.