Driver's Log; Various Dates, Scores Strip Club:

A Wednesday Night

I'm winding my way through Mount Vernon. I can't find the pickup, the GPS is way off; the location might as well just read, "somewhere in Baltimore". This only seems to happen at night. I believe it's because the tin decorative ceilings of some bars and clubs scatter GPS signals.

My phone rings, it's the client. The car's bluetooth automatically routes the call through the stereo speakers, interrupting my audiobook:

"[static][thumping base][static that might be language] …ores [static] Sc… [static] We're [static] SCORES! [static] [thumping bass]." End call.

Thankfully a text message arrives, "We're at Scores."

I ask Siri to find Scores for me. It returns with the results of last weekend's Ravens game. I clarify that I'm looking for Scores Strip Club. Siri responds with a Wikipedia article. Frustrated, I yell in a pirate voice, "find me a titty bar"! This Siri understands. It displays a page full of listings, Scores right on top. Luckily, it's only a few blocks away.

I pick up the fare —four very inebriated guys— and I worry that I might need to vacuum body-glitter out of the car afterward. The gentlemen are from out of town and can't decide if they want to go (back) to the casino or to their hotel. They keep changing their mind, forcing me to drive back and forth between the Horseshoe Casino and the Inner Harbor. This would annoy most drivers, but I'm getting paid by the mile.

One of them, who's nickname is "Country" and who's accent lives up to the name, asks me if I can get him some cocaine. I offer to drop him off in west Baltimore, suggesting that he can probably find some if he sniffs around a bit. The others want nothing to do with that plan, favoring getting a prostitute instead. I advocate that they search Craigslist from their hotel room. After about $20 worth of running back and forth between their hotel and the casino, they begin to pass out in the back of the car. I dispense them at the Hilton.

--

A Sunday Night

I pick up two men in Canton. This particular weekend the Ravens won; they have been drinking all day. One of their fantasy football teams has paid out, so we weave through Canton looking for a Bank of America ATM. He pulls out $300, then proceeds to Scores.

"I've been taking a lot of people to Scores lately, is it any good?" I say to make small talk. I'm not really into strip clubs.

They explain that they don't actually know, but they have free drink coupons and have been "looking at whores on Tinder" all day and now they want to see some three dimensional boobs. They self-consciously explain that by "whores on Tinder" they mean literal prostitutes, they're not only being misogynist pigs. I guess Tinder is the new Craigslist. Too bad I didn't know that, I gave Country bad advice. He probably wound up snorting baby laxative off a transvestite.

--

A Monday Night

The GPS lights up: pick up Christine at Scores. I briefly wonder if I'm picking up a performer, but it's only 1:00 AM which seems too early. Instead the clients are two very drunk young women. They are both medical professionals, the less drunk one is a drug company rep, the extremely drunk one is in anesthesiology, though too young to be a M.D. She is very drunk and also very loud, very horny, and NEEDS me to blast Z 104.3. She explains that she's on a week-long bender, this strikes me as possibly a bad thing for someone responsible for anesthetizing people to be on.

The drunker one howls to the less drunk woman, "You're going to fuck him when we get home! (referring to the less drunk woman's fiancee) Yeah you are! I don't want to be a third er… something… Uber Driver! Do you want to come in with me when we get there?", laying across the less drunk women's lap. I mutter something about needing to get home to my wife, trying to avoid confrontation by acting like I didn't get what she was saying. Young intoxicated women don't like hearing the word "no". I change the subject. Fortunately she immediately loses interest and starts calling people using Facetime, despite the car being too dark for the people she is calling to see her. This goes on for the entire ride, all the way to north Baltimore County.

We arrive at Christine's (the less drunk women) apartment. There is a bit of a debate. Christine wants the drunker one to stay with her. The dunker women insists that Christine needs to fuck her fiancee and that she's going back to Scores, because there was a cute guy there. Eventually they negotiate that the drunker one will go home and Christine will pay for the ride as it's just around the corner (it is not).

After dropping off Christine, I take the second women home. With her friend gone her beer balls (beer ovaries?) morph into beer tears. She bemoans the fact that she is 26 and lives with her parents. I try to be supportive, reassuring her that that isn't unusual, especially today. "Europeans don't expect their kids to move out until 30", I say lamely.

"They are going to kill me!" she cries.

"Why, are you not supposed to be out? You're 26, not a child."

"No, they just are." she continues.

"You went out with your friends, you had fun, you didn't do anything stupid. You didn't drive home drunk, you got a car; you're fine." I say, which pulls her together a little bit.

We enter the driveway. It has statues at the entrance, is long, well paved, with trees lining it in symmetrical rows. She lives in a small stone mansion, tucked in a wooded valley. The driveway ends in a circular roundabout with evergreen topiary at the center. There is a guest house further down the hill. I'm guessing there are probably a few security cameras.

I swipe the meter, ending the trip. "Have a nice night, good luck sneaking in."