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.