Super Bowl

Some drivers do this work as their full time job and make decent money logging 40+ hours a week cruising the cities every day. Personally, I’ve opted for weekends and events only as a supplement to my full time job instead of replacing it. I get more flexibility to decide if it’s worth it to stay sober or skip a party to drive versus taking the night off and hanging out with friends. I had decided early on that I would drive Sunday night for the Superbowl partly because I didn’t care much for getting wasted to watch it and because I thought I’d get a bunch of fun and rowdy cars of guys and bar-goers that would end their night either elated for their team victory or who might need a friendly driver to help assuage their defeated demeanor after a loss. Either way, I flipped my app on before the game to get people where they needed to go. 

My first call was Nathan at the mall. OK, I thought as I envisioned a buff crew cut dude with a goatee or something, he was probably just pre-gaming at the bars around there or maybe ending a day of obligatory shopping and now heading out with the guys for some football. Cool. I turned my radio to the local audio broadcast of the game to help them get psyched up for a night of Hawks v. Pats. When I pulled up, there are two sharply-dressed men (note: NOT in oversized team jersey or "division champ" t-shirts) with arms full of shopping bags who begin striding up to the rear passenger side. They get in, shuffling the 8-10 bags between them. 

“Hey guys!” I start energetically, “Are you headed home to watch the game tonight?” 

“Oh, GIRL!” begins a now very obviously effeminate Nathan, “if you mean the nationally broadcast Katy Perry concert, then hell yes! We have outfits to try on first. How long is a football game…or half…or whatever, what time is she on?” OK, not the macho hyped up dudes I was expecting, but still happy to make the drive with them to Minneapolis. 

As we get on the highway, I realize the Superbowl radio station is still on as they begin the pre-game festivities. The first event is John Legend singing “America the Beautiful”. I can perfectly envision him passionately playing the beautiful piano accompaniment with his smooth baritone voice. Nathan shushed his shopping companion, I turned it up, and we listened in total silence for the 1:35 rendition.

"Oh. My. God! Chills!" Nathan said what we were all thinking as it came to a close. "and his eyes...and his smile....can you IMAGINE him serenading you with that voice? Chrissy Teigen is like, the luckiest straight woman EVER!"

The love and admiration was not so abundant for the National Anthem singer, Idina Menzel which was surprising because she's a big broadway presence and this car seemed like the type of crowd to love her. But a couple flat notes and the demeanor turned pretty harsh. "She needs to take her own advice and let it fucking go," spoke up the feisty, but until now more reserved partner. He opted to speak directly to the radio like a tiny Elsa was there in the radio console, singing her pitchy heart out and extending notes for far longer than any football fan would be willing to tolerate. "Hey Idina - you need to stop trying to do everything ever! It's not gonna happen for you!" hahaha! laughter from Nathan as they agreed that she needs to go back to Wicked and get off the national stages. 

So with that catty exchange, we pulled up to their perfectly pristine Minneapolis apartment and I left them to not watch the game, but psych themselves up for what would prove to be a fierce Katy Perry concert instead.

Punch Out

You don't have to be a driver to know that the closer to 2am it gets, the crazier the bar crowd clientele tend to become. The same people that began the evening with polite and quiet conversations can easily become raucous patrons kicked out of their local joint for bar fights and lewd behavior. Or at least that's what happened to Michele.

I pulled up to the Minneapolis corner to find Michele, a classic 90s-style Lilith Fair kind of beauty in her mid-thirties, along with her similar-looking girlfriend loudly discussing their night over cigarettes and exaggerated hand motions. The slurred high volume conversation continued into the car.

"BaaaaaAAAAaaabe," started Michele's slightly shorter and blonder girlfriend, "I can't BELIEVE they kicked us out!" she said slightly dejected, but mostly drunkenly annoyed. I nudged them on to get details on their night with a casual "OMG, what happened?!"

"What happened is that I have the best. Girlfriend. EVERRRR!" She went on speaking with honest-to-her hyperbole, "So get this: we're at the bar and this guy kept hitting on me. I kept telling him: No, I'm gay. No, I'm here with my girlfriend. No, even if I WAS straight, I wouldn't be into you, and he won't fucking listen. So I go get Michele like for proof or whatever and he STILL kept hitting on me." Now, why she didn't just walk away from the guy at some point during this obviously annoying conversation is beyond me, but asking rational questions to incredibly drunk people usually yields minimal understanding and just more confusion.

"And like, not JUST hitting on her," Michele interjected to clarify, "but like, rubbing her arm and totally eye fucking her up and down and so I finally come over and see it and it starts to piss me off. So I said 'Back off my girlfriend, man' and he thinks it's cute to make some joke about how she'd probably like a threesome or whatever with both of us like most straight guys do....so I punched the fucker in the face."

"I mean..." the girlfriend slowly responded, "it probably LOOKED way worse than it was cause of the bloody nose, we didn't need to get kicked out, but dude still totally deserved it." She was dozing on and off at this point, so my concern turned from their well-being to worries of vomit in my car, but there's only 2 minutes left per the GPS, so I didn't make a big deal out of it.

"He was fine." Michele said definitively. "And I mean, even if it wasn't cause I love her or cause I might be kinda drunk or whatever, I think more guys at bars need to get punched in the face more often. I hope the rest of them took that as a warning to quit fucking with strong women," she clearly stated as a defiant feminist who has probably grandstanded these kinds of causes sober on more than one occasion.

Michele had to wake her girlfriend when we got to their uptown apartment, and as I looked back to make sure they were good, I caught a smile of admiration from her as she awoke and slid out of the car and into the arms of her knight in shining armor. 

Grilled Cheese

There is a reason females generally don’t sign up for driver jobs like this. Being trapped in a confined space with a random string of drunk men at 2am doesn’t appeal to the average lady. Fortunately for this blog, I’m neither average, nor a lady. I’m up for the challenge, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get my share of creeps and propositions, too. 

When I pulled up to the bar I was requested to, the first person I saw was an incredibly good looking, tall, well-dressed 30-something guy looking up from his smartphone and scanning cars as they slowed. I found myself secretly hoping he was the Greg I was looking for, so imagine my joy when he signaled for me with a cute half-smile and hand raise as he walked up to the car. Be careful what you wish for. 

"Hey, Hottie," he started over-confidently as most attractive guys who know they're attractive do, "You look just as good in person as your driver photo on the app," he said with a pleasantly surprised tone. I was initially flattered, but also cautious because of how much he slurred and assuredly hit on me, like I was the sure thing he was looking for after he was obviously feeling defeated about going home alone from a crowded bar full of hot girls.

"Yeah, bunch of bitches in there, it was time to head home anyways," he answered to a question I didn't ask. My fleeting attraction to him disintegrated at the reference of "bitches" for girls who wouldn't have sex with him, but he was already in the car, he was heading toward my house which means it would be a big fare and paying my gas to get home...so I kept him on board. "It's like my ex-wife, she was the BIGGEST bitch and now she's all like dating my best friend and stuff." He went on for a while about his ex wife and other bitches in his life or recent experiences until we got into his driveway.

"...but they're not like you. You seem sweet. I bet you could change my mind about all women. How about you come inside and I'll pay you you there for the ride."

"Well," I started a little scared being in a secluded dark culdesac with this guy who was moving close enough to my face that I could tell that Jack and Coke was his drink of choice for the night, "luckily, I already have your credit card on file, so no need for physical payment! You're all covered, have a good night!" I tried to make up for the fear with overconfident pleasantry. 

"Ok, ok, ok," he started thinking of a new negotiation tactic to get me in, "How 'bout this: you come inside....and I'll make you a grilled cheese sandwich."

"Grilled cheese! Why didn't you say so?" I said not sarcastically enough.

"Really? That worked?"

"No, asshole, get out of the car."

"OK, but you're missing out! Cause a grilled cheese sandwich sounds fucking fanTAStic right now," and he took the hint to actually stumble out of the car and make himself a delicious grilled cheese sandwich, alone in his big house with no bitches to share it with him.

Party Girls

The first car after Hot Cop was just what I needed - a group of four gossipy overly excited girls my age to rehash the situation.

"OMG, how did you NOT follow him to the bar? He was totally dropping hints, you should definitely go back there!" suggested an overly optimistic petite brunette. "Or you can totally just take us there and we'll swoop in on him." hahahaha! Group laughter from the other three and awkwardly from me because 1) I wasn't totally sure if she was kidding and that I'd need to totally redirect my route from uptown Minneapolis to downtown St. Paul and 2) I suddenly became super insecure because every one of the girls was way prettier than me and could totally go home with him. Not that he was mine in any way, just a weird pang of jealousy for a hypothetical situation concerning a stranger I had a crush on for 15 minutes. 

"And seriously," began the raven haired Kardashian-looking one that occupied the front seat, "you look hot tonight, I can totally tell you did your hair and your eyeliner is legit. Do you get dressed up to pick up guys on purpose?"

"I mean, I want to look decent because it's a job," I started to explain as I hadn't really thought about it before, "but I don't pick up guys and have no intention of it. I think people are just nicer to you when you look nice, ya know? So yes, I make an effort, but not like, with any pickup attempts."

"So you just drive around and get to talk to hot guys all night? Sign me up!" said one in the back as the others agreed.

"Actually, I usually prefer picking up girls because I think a lot feel more comfortable with a female driver anyways, ya know? Like even when a guy doesn't DO anything creepy, it's still uncomfortable being alone in a car with a strange guy at midnight."

"I didn't even think of that," Kardashian quipped, "you're the first girl driver we've had and it's actually way less rapey vibe. You should make a company of just girl drivers FOR girl drivers. Could that be a thing?"

So I've thought a lot about a females only rideshare since then. It's an interesting concept, but are you just creating in invitation for random attacks or abuse if requesters KNEW the driver was going to be a solo female? Would enough girls sign up to drive? Is it sexist to make a company that would only accept female clientele? I mean, none of this will happen because I have no idea where to start, but it was an interesting concept that would actually be a great service for vulnerable girls who need rides home all over. If someone wants to go ahead and get that started and pay me like 50% profits, that would be great!

But, we continued to the original bar (not Hot Cop bar, that was a joke) as the girls each checked their phones selfie cameras to finalize hair volumizing and makeup taming before hopping out of the car in the middle of Hennepin Ave. when we hit a stop light, shouting a quick thanks, and awkwardly strutting into the bar on towering heels and inappropriately short dresses for a Minnesota Februrary night. 

Hot Cop

Tony was a surprise pickup as I was on my way to St. Paul for a surge indication. Surges mean that the ratio of requests to cars available it getting disproportionate and I can make more per ride if I pick up in the surge zone. My app was flipped on, but I wasn't expecting a ding until I got closed to downtown, but there was 5-star Tony, at an apartment just across the river, so I swung off the exit to get him.

I parked out front of his palatial building for a while, sent a quick text to see if he was still coming, and two minutes later, saw the doors open and a tall 30-something with dark features, khaki pants, and a great V taper build under a black shirt and leather jacket came striding toward the car. 

"Oh man, sorry to keep you, mind if I sit in front?" he started with a fantastic Tom Cruise smile. "This is what you get for being Italian and thinking it's a good idea to move your cousins into the building. I can't make it to the fuckin' laundry room without a family reunion now, ya know?"

Incredibly good-looking, family man, no wedding ring, and Italian? How unprofessional would it be to turn off the meter and just propose now?

"So, you're headed to a party bar, celebrating anything special or just for fun?" I asked teasingly as we got on our way.

"It's been a long week at work, so heading out with some of the guys to unwind."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a cop for the city," he replied modestly.

Incredibly good-looking, family man, no wedding ring, Italian, AND a cop?! Stop the car, I might pass out. But it gets better.

As we continue with the usual small talk and my music gets to the third song on the soundtrack of our car ride, Tony stops mid-sentence, "Holy shit - is this the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack? Best movie of the decade, am I right?" 

Despite driving around replaying the same 12 songs for all my riders, so few people catch that or care, so I respond too enthusiastically, "YES! I LOVED the movie, and KNEW I needed the soundtrack before it even hit Hooked On a Feeling."

"Yeah! That's when Starlord's getting the shit kicked out of him - I thought that, too!" Fleeting visions of which wedding venue could fit hundreds of his Italian wedding guests and have a dancefloor big enough for my German bumper polkaing family begin going through my head. But alas, I got to the bar and I had to let him go.

"This has been the BEST rideshare I've done," he looked over with his great smile and deep laugh lines that give away decades of happiness behind him, "I'm glad you picked me up, maybe I'll catch you again sometime," and he disappeared past the smokers huddled around a heat lamp and into the bar.

As I hung in the parking lot for a minute, waiting for my next call, I texted a friend with a quick recap of my last 20 minutes and finish with "Would it be super creepy to quit for the night and follow this guy into the bar? I already know the answer is yes...and only slightly less creepy than if I go wait at his apartment for him to get back lol! Fired from my job aaaaaand arrested for stalking by Hot Cop..." so I headed toward downtown to wait for my next call.

Ride'em Cowboy

Jeremy is (so far) the only coincidental repeat customer I’ve had in my brief experience, but oh man, was it a good one. 

I initially responded to his pickup request at a house in west Bloomington. He was a typically good looking guy who got in the car with a blonde in skinny jeans and a crop top, probably both in their early 20s. He had his arm around her, they talked in kind of whispered flirty tones in the backseat, maybe a little buzzed, but not drunk, while being pleasant and talkative with me. They seemed to be leaving a house party, but meeting up with people at the local bull riding bar nearby, so that’s where I left them. Thank you, have a good night. 

Fast forward 6 hours to bar close and I happen to be in Bloomington after dropping off a downtown partier at their house in the suburbs. I get a beep that a Jeremy at that same bar needs a pickup. Wouldn’t that be weird if it’s the same guy? 

Well, I pull up and there he is: Jeremy….with a totally different girl. He's making out with a curvy brunette with big wavy hair amongst the smokers and cabbies outside the front door. As I pull up and click “arrived” to alert him, he sees me, eyes wide with recognition, and as party girl 2 is finishing a cigarette and talking to friends or strangers on the curb, he opens the passenger door and instantly says “Don’t. Say. Anything.” with a wink because he knows I know he’s talking about the girl. 

So he collects his new girl up, gets her in the backseat and she’s obviously all about him. He’s taking her back to his place (not the house party I picked him up from), and they’ve obviously both had a few drinks because their lack of restraint is uncomfortably apparent in the 5 minute ride home.

We finally get to his house, the girl stumbles out first, and Jeremy stops to look at me and says genuinely “Thanks for being cool.” Maybe it was a slight to my gender to say nothing and let girl 2 blissfully fall for this player, but it kept my night interesting, so what can you do?

Socially Awkward

Trevor was actually at the bar I dropped my Vegas friends at, so it was a quick pickup and turnaround. 

He was standing awkwardly on the corner, avidly staring at his phone under curly auburn hair and glasses that were a year or two overdue to be replaced. I figured he was my guy, but he wouldn’t look up and come to the car, so I finally got to the curb behind the other taxis and rides and yelled out the window for him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought that was you, but didn’t want to say anything if it wasn’t,” he stuttered out while looking at the ground to fully establish his discomfort with me. He wasn’t the type who fit in with the notorious bachelor and college bar vibe of the bar scene, but there he was. 

As we drove, I made small talk as I always do and his responses were often short, he laughed a little too loud at my jokes and stories, and he never looked at me when he talked. Regardless, he was pleasant and nice and we had a relatively quick ride to his house. 

Just as I pulled up to the indicated St. Paul duplex, I said my regular “thanks and goodnight” when he paused with the door open, looked up, talked directly TO me for the first time and said “Sorry I was kind of shocked by you, I just didn’t know that pretty girls drove rideshares. Thank you for your friendship.” And then, as if realizing the fleeting moment of openness and honesty he had just exposed himself to, he whisked himself out of the car and speedwalked up to his front door.

Vegas Bros

I picked up at a St. Paul hotel for Jim. Jim was a big guy with three big buddies, so I was quickly doing rough estimate math wondering if my crossover SUV would be ok to fit them all. It was a tight squeeze, but it worked. They definitely looked the part of “end of the night wedding guests” with various colors of button down shirts and coordinated ties, slightly sweat stained from the dance floor, and that unique combination of being exhausted but energetic from daylong festivities. Turns out they were college buddies who came up from Vegas to celebrate their other bachelor friend getting hitched. 

“So how did a whole group of Minnesota boys end up living in Vegas together?” I asked with genuine curiosity and because they seemed talkative and interesting. 

“We did a guys’ weekend down there three years ago where we just gambled, golfed, and got shitfaced for 3 days when Jim came up with the drunken idea that this was so fun that we should just live here. So we went home, packed our shit, quit our jobs, and went for it. Happily ever after.” 

“So you’re doing ok for yourselves, then?” 

“If you call 6-figure jobs, year round golf, and living in the bachelor capitol of the world ok, then yeah, we’re all doing ok,” they laughed and went on to explain that they met when they were all in school to become CPAs, and apparently there are plenty of opportunities for them in the Vegas area and compared some of the biggest commissions they’ve had over the years. When the conversation took a pause, I snuck in the opportunity to get some advice for an upcoming vacation I had with my Battles.

“Well, 6 girls and I are headed to the strip next week for a bachelorette thing, any advice for us hitting the town during the week?” 

“Are most of you single or taken?” asked the lavender shirt with violet tie quickly.

“Taken.” 

“Stay away from guys like us, do all the girly shit you can stand, and you’ll have a great time, no matter what with no regrets.”

Ex Husboyfriend

Jennifer was the first rider that made me realize I need to remember these stories and write them down before they leave my head. She was so perfectly drunk and honest and entertaining that I knew there would be so many more experiences to be shared. 

Jennifer was about mid-to-late twenties like me, obviously dressed up with full makeup and blowout hair for an occasion, and really pretty, but spoke with very Valley Girl/annoyed teenager inflections. I picked her up at an Italian restaurant because her boyfriend was being “way too drunk and a total jerk” at her best friend’s birthday party. 

“Like, he ALWAYS does shit like this, where we go out with friends and I end up babysitting him. So I was finally like, ‘no – you can take care of your damn self for once! I am NOT going to sit here and watch you hit on the waitress all night!’” 

“That sounds terrible…does it happen a lot?” I asked sympathetically. 

“Ummmm…only like EVERY time we go out! He has some DUIs, so I end up driving which means I’m ALWAYS the DD which is such bullshit because, like, I want to go out for drinks sometimes, too. So I was like, I don’t care, I’m getting drunk tonight and I’ll figure out how to get home and the asshole can be stuck there all night. Thanks for coming to get me, by the way.” She went on dramatically with horror stories of other drunk nights where he made out with her friend (as a joke, “but it wasn’t fucking funny!”), of him getting them kicked out of place after place, and other anecdotes I know all too well the ending to: with the embarrassment of justifying him to friends and resentment for ruining what could have been a fun night. 

So after 10-15 minutes of venting to me, as I responded with the appropriate head nods, empathetic validations, and “OMG!” exclamations, she finished with “I just don’t know what to do with him.” 

“Well – obviously, I don’t know him," I responded hesitantly, not knowing if she actually wanted advice or just a sounding board, "but I’ll tell you from personal experience that you should probably just break up with him…or at least don’t progress into marrying him or moving in together for sure.” 

“Oh, I know! We’ve been together, like, 10 years and we’ve broken up before. He’s actually my ex-husband, we just started dating again last month.” 

Wait…..WHAT?! 

I made an unintentional stunned face at that revelation just as I heard her phone ringing. “Oh God, now he’s calling me…” she answered her cell and the call progressed like this: “No, fuck you and find your own ride home...Well I don’t care WHO drives you, but you’re not coming to my house after how you acted….Fine, but you’re not staying the night, I have work tomorrow….You’re right, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe you can come over for the night, but you’re sleeping on the fucking couch, don’t even try to get in my bed….unless I come get YOU, but that’s IT…ok see you soon.” 

 So I sighed, pulled up to the destination of my Google Maps route just as she was hanging up with him. She looked over at me on her way out, rolled her eyes, and said “I know, right?” before she walked up to her house that the alcoholic ex-husboyfriend would soon be entering, too.

Crashed Smith

Minnesota is The State of Hockey, so it’s no surprise that the turnout for any events involving skates and board checks are a huge draw for our population. At least that’s why Red Bull keeps coming back to shut down St. Paul and host this Crashed Ice event annually for us. 

With that alone, we knew it would be busy, but add a Sam Smith concert 4 blocks away from the ice and things were insane. Roads were closed, walkways were jammed, gridlock at every intersection, but it still made for a fun night. 

The thing about this evening is that there weren’t any standout patrons, but they fell into two distinctive groups: the crashed ice pickups were “bros” who had college hats, beer on their breath, and roved in testosterone driven packs through the cold. Most were pickups around the ice and dropoff at a bar near Dinkytown. Nice guys, but typical college dudes. 

The contrasting groups were the concert-goers. Just as the smell of Axe body spray would be fading from my upholstery, I would get a car full of girls and gays raving about how “absolutely fabulous” Sam Smith was! 

“People need to stop calling him the male Adele – he’s SO much more!” quipped an especially passionate rider, “His voice is like butter and I’m like a fat kid who needs more!” 

The trichotomy of guys, girls, and gays kept my night wholly entertaining and I had fun and chatted up whoever stepped into the car.

Cherry Poppers

My first riders ever were the perfect way to start this endeavor. I had been in South Minneapolis visiting a friend on a weeknight, just days after my driver account was activated, when I thought I’d just flip it on quick and see how it works. Within 3 minutes, I had my first request. 

I pulled up to a trendy condo building and waited patiently for a bit as Nico texted that they were on their way down. Before I see my person, I only have a first name, their location, and a star rating to judge them from. 5-star Nico seemed objectively good, and seeing that he came out smiling and holding hands with his adorable boyfriend seemed better. 

As we drove, I made my first attempts at awkward small talk when Nico totally called me out, “Are you, like, BRAND NEW to this?” 

 “Actually, you guys are my first riders ever, so yes!” 

“OMG, we’re popping your rideshare cherry, this is SO. SWEET!" cue the excessive hand gestures and genuine joy in being my first, "You’re doing great, you’re adorable, and you’ll be fine. Just enjoy the hell out of it, it's such an awesome service and just think of the STORIES you’ll get! Oh, girl…” 

 And with that, I dropped them at some trendy Uptown bar, flipped my app off, and drove away feeling verified in my decision and satisfied with my first night.

Origin Story

Most riders' first question when they get in the car is: Why did you decide to become a rideshare driver? It seems dangerous for a single young female if you just want a part time job, so is it really worth the risk? 

Yes. Yes, it is. 

First off, it's not THAT risky....I'm in control of the car, I can decide to accept or decline anyone and if they get in and turn terrible, it's my control to drive to a well-lit area or police station and get help. I have my phone that is GPS tracked by the company plus a backup phone if absolutely needed. That, and my Battle Buddy got me a knife necklace that seems to be a good shanking length, so I'm not too worried about myself.

I decided to become a driver for a few reasons. I’m a person who enjoys being busy and ever since I finished grad school, I found that my nights – which used to be consumed multitasking with homework and research papers and cramming while watching reruns of 30 Rock and doing a load of dishes or laundry – were suddenly just me single-tasking on a seemingly endless Netflix binge or other equally unproductive matters. I wasn't being efficient with my time because my schedule wasn't crammed and knew I had space for a part time job. 

However, I didn't want a job that would tell me what hours to work. After a seasonal gig at Target last Christmas and missing every weekend event and doing 16 hour days back to back just to make $8.50 an hour, I knew it wasn't worth it. I’m a homeowner with two kids and two pets, a lot of volunteer projects and meetings to attend, a decent social life, and that’s all after my normal 40 hour a week job. I wanted to make my own schedule and make my time away from my kids worth more than minimum wage. 

This brings me to the next draw: money! I generally only work weekends and events, so I average at over $20/hr to hang out in my car, listen to whatever music I want, and make pleasant small talk with strangers during the hours that my kids are asleep anyways – it’s great! I couldn't make this kind of money for this chill of work and these perfect hours anywhere else. 

The secret reason I got into it, though, is to have something to talk about other than my impending divorce. I filed for divorce from my husband of almost a decade in January to kick off the new year, and knew I would be facing a lot of difficult conversations. Conversations with myself when the reruns weren't funny enough and the kids were spending the night away to leave me in a house full of my own conflicted thoughts; conversations with friends as I told them or, more often, as they found out through the grapevine, and would come up to me with that pity voice reserved for funerals and layoffs like “Heeeeeey, sweetie! How ARE you? If you need ANYthing, just call me anytime, ok?" It’s all really nice and genuine, but I’m a person who wants to laugh and joke and stop crying all the fucking time. So I did this as a conversation piece and as something to always change the subject to when I couldn't take unsolicited divorce advice or pity for another second. 

So for one year, to stay busy, make some money, and build myself up in this new single life, I am driving around the Twin Cities with strangers, and these are my favorite stories.