• Brian D. Hinson

So Drunk, He Couldn't Remember...

One of the bouncers told him I was here. He was barely able to walk from the doors of TD’s strip club to my car. Once seated beside me, I swiped the app to initiate the ride. The destination was a 26 hour drive away. “So, we’re going to Mexico City?” I ask.

“Eh?” He shook his head. “No…no, man.” He

“So where we goin’?”

“Uh…Juan Tabo and Central.”

That was a lot closer. My passenger passes out on the way, so when we’re getting close to the intersection, I wake him up. “So, what’s the address?”

“Juan Tabo...”

“You want me to drop you at the corner?”

“No. My house.”

“Okay. What street do you live on? What’s the number?”

He looked confused before he passed out again. I nudged him awake.

“What street do you live on?”

“I…” Out again.

I nudge him again. “Come on, sir. Tell me where you live.”

Incoherent mumbling. He looked out his window some, perhaps to get his bearing. He passed out, his head leaning on the glass.

It was tempting to drive him down to the border, that would have been a great fare. And funny just to see the look on his face when I woke him up on the border. Instead, I pull into a Waffle House. I loudly announce, “We’re here!”

He jolts awake, fumbles with the door until he’s able to get out. I close the door for him. I back out of the parking lot, and I see a homeless man already bugging him for change. It’s not the best location, but the Waffle House is open, so he can sober up enough to remember where he lives.

And call a different Uber.

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