For this next story, I was leaving Lower Greenville when I received a request from a Greenville residential area. Usually, the Greenville area yields $10-15, sometimes even more. So of course, greedy-Simon was intrested in a little bit of extra paper - and maybe a blog story too.
I arrived, and the street was completely dark. The house had no exterior lights, and I could barely see anything except what the moon was shining down upon. I texted and called the client, but she did not answer. After waiting 10 minutes at the curb, a middle-aged woman came stumbling out of the house, nearly tripping down three steps, and hobbled into my car.
From this point onward, she will be referred to as "WWW," short for "White-Woman-Wasted."
WWW: Heeyyyy, you're my Uber, riiight?
Simon: Yes, my name is Simon. Where can I take you tonight?
WWW: I...I need to go home. I'm really not that drunk, I promish. Can you tchake me there?
Simon: Sure, where's your house?
WWW: Juss...juss shtart driving. I'll get it. I'm new to Dallas, I'm from Chicago, and I juss moved here.
(after about 5 minutes of fumbling in her purse, she finds and gives me the address)
Simon: Oh, Chicago? That's pretty cool. I've never been there, but I'd like to visit.
WWW: (insert Fran Drescher voice) Oh my gaahhd, you totally should go. You'll love it. Heeey, do you like, wanna go get a beer or shomething? We can talk about Chicago 'n' stuff.
Simon: Uhh, no.
WWW: Why not? C'mon, it'll be fun.
Simon: Because I have a girlfriend.
WWW: Oh she won't mind. We're just talking.
Simon: It's also 2:45, and the bars in Dallas close at 2:00.
WWW: Oh...you're right. In Chicago, they serve you until reaallly reallly late at night, like, four in the morning or shomething.
WWW: So what are you doing? Like, what do you do? This isn't your real job, is it?
Simon: No, I do this for fun and extra money. I'm a project manager for the Army. I'd like to get into the Healthcare sector though.
WWW: You, you know what I like about you? You're a...a...a go-getter! I'm like, 42 years old, and I was dating this guy in his late 20s. He was like, 28 or shomething. When we first shtarted talking, he told me he worked in the Trump tower. I was like, "Yeahhhh! wow! this kid is going somewhere." But actually, he worked in the deli downstairs and ran food up to all the rich and successful guys. All he wanted to do was smoke pot...I'm like, so over that. I need someone who's got like, more ambition than than, ya know? Do you wanna go get a beer or something?
Simon: Uhm, the bars are closed.
WWW: But maybe we could go to the Gayborhood, they'll still serve us!
Simon: No they won't, Dallas stops serving at 2:00.
WWW: Damnit. Well, maybe we can stop by the gas station and grab some beers, and we can go back to my place and drink!
Simon: Gas stations and grocery stores don't sell this late either.
WWW: Oh okay.
(As I'm nearing her apartment...)
Simon: Which apartment is yours?
WWW: Looking outside her right-side passenger window,"like... 14xxx, but I dont see it anywhere." These houses don't have enough numbers. There's only two numbers...but thishshiz my street...
Simon: Why don't you try looking to the left? Those apartments have five numbers.
WWW: HEY. THAT'S MY PLACE. Do you wanna come in for a beer or something?
Simon: ...
(WWW leaves my car and shuts the door, stumbling to her apartment)
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