The Devil is in the Details

Being a Ride Share driver sucks but sometimes you get a cool rider.

Like Mr. Schefield.

Mr. Schefield likes to party and while he's not limo and bottle service rich, he does leave a good tip. The first night I picked him up, we had great conversations and it seemed like we saw eye to eye on a lot of things. Finances. Politics. Women. So any time he needed a ride somewhere, he texted me and I became his chauffer for the night. And it only got better from there. Sometimes he'd be ready to go home with not one but two ladies from whatever party or venue he'd visited and I almost always got to benefit from his extra companionship on our way to drop them off at their destination.

If I was driving Schef around, I knew I'd be busting a nut one way or another before I got home. That, combined with a solid 4 figure pay day at the end of the night? Fuck yeah, Mr. Schef could call me day or night and I'd be there.

So Saturday night rolls around and sure enough I get a text from him.

PICK ME UP AT 10PM.
AND WEAR SOMETHING NICE. YOU'RE COMING IN WITH ME TONIGHT.

I was blown away. My version of nice wouldn't be brand name or anything but if I could shake hands with whoever put Schefield where he is, it wouldn't be long. I like the guy but he lacks charisma. Put me in his place and I'll be running everything in a month.

I just needed the in.

I picked him up and he immediately started in on the "Don't make me look bad" and "I'm taking a chance on you" and "Don't waste this opportunity" bullshit. I smiled and assured him of how grateful I was but deep down inside, I wanted to meet the guy above Mr. Schefield. The guy who throws the parties Mr. Schefield attends. That's where the real power starts. That's where I belong.

I'd sell my soul for an opportunity like that.