Substance Abuse In The Uber Car.

Usually when I arrive at a pickup location I call the client, but sometimes I text. This time I felt like texting, there was a good song on the radio. I was pecking a message to Brittany who requested the ride, when a guy jumped into the passenger seat. I gave him a smile and said, “you don’t look like Brittany.” Often times a friend gets in the car before the person who requested the ride.

He replied, “Brittany is my code name.” Okay. Is anyone else joining us? Nope, just the skinny guy. Where to? Anyplace.

“Just drive.”

If I only had a brain, I would have realized something was wrong. I might have noticed the way he kept his hand in the satchel in his lap. But I’m not that observant. I just wanted to take this weirdo downtown and dump him on some street corner. He smelled like something strange, not tobacco. Something burned and sour.

He started talking, more to himself than to me. I’m not sure if he was asking me questions, or talking to his invisible friend. A few times he arched his back and hissed thru his teeth, “I really need a cigarette!” The guy was creeping me out.

I tried not to pay him much attention as I was making a left turn in a dangerous location. When I finished the turn I saw that my Uber phone showed that the drive was completed. Must be my mistake. Apologizing, I pulled over.

“You will need to use your cell phone to make a new request,” I told the guy seated next to me.

“Oh, I don’t use a cell phone. None of us will soon. We will all use our brains.” Then he added, “are you using your brain tonight?” He reached over to caress my head. Please don’t do that. I’m busy trying to figure out how to send a message to the Uber HQ about my mistake.

“You will need to make a new ride request on the Uber app on your phone,” I told him. I was feeling patient because I felt like I had made a mistake. When I make a mistake, I feel responsible to fix it. He stared at me blankly.

“What is Uber?” he asked me. I pointed to my Uber phone and said it’s like a taxi service. “Did you request a ride?” I asked him.

“I called a stud service. I was expecting a stud to pick me up,” he replied. I didn’t quite register what he was saying because my lightening-quick mind was telling me that this is not Brittany, nor her friend. The real Brittany is a few blocks away expecting a ride. Dang it! This is my second time doing this!

He reached over to start caressing my arms and chest, and he asked if I wanted to be his stud tonight. Please don’t touch me. I’ve heard that there is a problem with meth in our little resort town and I’m thinking that this is a close encounter of the third kind. I don’t want to have another encounter like this. He’s really creeping me out.

I hung a u-turn, feeling really bad about this situation. For a brief second Fake Brittany seemed coherent and said, “I bet Brittany is wondering where you are.” Yep, there she was with a few of her friends in the hotel driveway.

I flashed my headlights at them, they looked happy to see me but confused. I jumped out of my car and yelled, “I’m sorry” while pointing to the person in the passenger seat, waving as if to say, “step away from the freak.” But I wasn’t fast enough. Fake Brittany got out of the car and began shaking the hands of the four women. They looked puzzled. I cut between them to direct him away.

He turned to the open car door and told them that this is their ride, but he was very sorry for the mess in the car. Real Brittany looked horrified, thinking he had vomited in the car. Then he waved the air around the seat saying, “I left many of my neutrons here.” That’s not all he left, he was stinky. I directed him to leave, and as he moved his satchel opened enough for me to see that he was carrying a hand gun in the bag. He had been pointing his gun at me while I drove him around. My blood began to drain from my head.

The ladies all quickly piled into the car and I couldn’t stop apologizing. We sped off as quickly as I could.

Real Brittany and her friends could not have been more gracious and kind and pretty and pleasant and, well, just what I needed after that little encounter. I told them what happened and they were horrified by the story. They kept saying how sorry they were. They were sorry! Wait a minute, they should be upset with me for my mistake but instead they all wanted to comfort me. I guess I looked pretty freaked out. I’m good at projecting a freaked out face. They kept trying to comfort me on the way to The Saguaro Hotel. Very nice people. Brittany, if you read this, I owe you and your friends a free ride next time you are in town.

After I delivered these kind angels to their dinner, I took off to the store. I knew exactly what I needed. Some delicious gluten-free lemon cream wafer cookies. I ate the entire box on the way home. Sugar and carbohydrates, especially lemon flavored are my preferred substances to abuse. Soon I was calmed by a blissful sugar coma.

Later that night I reflected on the experience. A strange man jumped into my car. He seemed to be tweaked out on drugs. He kept his hand in his satchel. He was holding something metallic pointed my direction. He did not request, but ordered me to “drive anywhere.” A quick-minded person might have seen a dangerous situation. I am not known to be quick-minded. Perhaps Brittany was not the only angel that took care of me tonight.

Seriously, Brittany. Next time you visit I will share a box of cream wafer cookies with you. We can enjoy the bliss of a lemon-flavored sugar coma together.

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Originally published at UberConfessions.com