Welcome, reader! It is I, los with the most. I am the asphalt asskicker, purveyor of pavement, kaiser of concrete, the car czar, the Lyftkeeper, to relay Tales from the Lyft!

The following has been plucked from the backseat of the Millennium Subaru. The only detail(s) changed are the names of the people.

Sit back, chillax, and read with delight.

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I’ve been driving for Lyft since May 2023. It’s the perfect side hustle for me! I love the driving experience, I listen to my tunes, learn the streets of the Phoenix metroplex, converse with riders, all while being paid to do it!

As I mentioned before, I auto-accept all ride requests. It’s literally playing Russian roulette with rider acceptance. The app briefly flashes the pick up and drop off addresses, the mileage between them, and the time to reach the pick up, and the approximate time to the destination.

Unless you’re FAWKING Google Maps, you’ll never know if those addresses are residential to business, residential to residential or business to business. That said, the navigation was leading me to an address I stopped at about 4 rides ago. Once I rolled up to the dispensary in Mesa, I knew this was gonna up as a blog entry for Tales from the Lyft …

Ride #8 – Good grief, Goodyear?

Outside the dispensary was four people, looking like 2 couples (2 women, 2 men. All Caucasian) They embraced each other for a goodbye, one pair walks off, the other approaches the passenger doors of my vehicle. As they pile in, I’m wafted with an overwhelming smell of chronic and alcohol. I peered down at the digital clock; 1:06 p.m. I greet them as usual and offer a bottle water to each.

This crunk couple is clearly tore up from the floor up. The destination address is out in Goodyear. GOODYEAR?! That’s 30 minutes or more to drive there each way. I mentally sigh, and put the Millennium Subaru into gear.

They immediately started gushing their gratuity through slurred sentences. They attempted a couple times to secure ride with no success. I muttered under my breath, “No shit, who would take the crunk white couple out to their mansion in EFFING Goodyear.”

I ask from the driver seat, “Was it a kick-ass brunch with friends?”

The husband, Joe, answers for them, “Yeah, the girls got to talking and ordering mimosas. But it was a blast.” As I join the freeway to travel westbound, Joe removes his wife’s shoes to rub her feet. I turn up the radio to hopefully drown out the noises from the backseat.

After several minutes of this, Lisa sits up and leans into Joe so they can kiss, and make out. I mentally complain if they continue and culminate into sex, I’m kicking them to the curb!

Thankfully a few minutes of tonsil hockey was more than satisfactory for the wife as she passes out mid-kiss. Joe has experienced this before because he shrugged his shoulders, and gently propped her up against her door and window. He leans forward and wraps his arms around the passenger seat like it was Lisa.

“So,” he breathes out with alcohol, “how long have you’ve been driving Lyft?”

I’m confident I rolled my eyes, as I mentally groaned, “Here we fucking go …”

I smiled, “A couple months. Tell me about brunch with your friends.” This was my attempt to steer the conversation away from me and toward him (see what I did there?) Mercifully, he yammered on and at me for the next 25 minutes as we raced toward Goodyear, AZ. The city of Goodyear is home to affluent people. Joe and Lisa* were no different.

I stopped the car in their long, gated driveway near their ginormous home. As Joe exited, he orders, “Stick around.” He manages to wake up Lisa, help her into the house, and returns to my window like an overbearing Chick-Fil-A employee working drive through.

Joe reaches in, put a folded a bill into my breast pocket, and lightly pats it. “You’re a good man, Carlos.”

I rolled up the window so I could grumble, “Good grief, Goodyear? There’s no business out here!” My complaint was answered with an algorithm masterpiece … my next ride was right here in Goodyear – for Colby wanting to be driven to Chase Field in downtown Phoenix.

I look into the rearview mirror, “Maybe it’ll be another additional for Tales from the Lyft.”

‘los; out