airbnb review - Chuck’s bachelor party

A city is only as good as its uber drivers. I believe that’s snapple fact #745. Last night when shuttling us to Denver’s best mortuary-inspired restaurant, our driver Amare said business has been slow from congress shutting down (longest in history fuck ya world record!) since there was less federal travel from the airport. To be fair, though, Amare also said he’s gotten several, several hummers in the driver’s seat, and there’s no way that ass-to-mouth angle physically works in a moving vehicle, so take his word for what it’s worth.

Joseph, on the other hand, screamed his throat raw with me to high school ballads of Chiodos with the volume on LOUD, or at least as loud as a little dinky Kia Soul’s sound system can be.

You share a lot with uber drivers. Besides your google search history, you’re never more honest than you are trapped in a fifteen-minute car ride with a stranger.

We told Amare about old committed crimes that should never be spoken aloud. I told Joseph about this weird itch my ass gets when I eat too much sugar and he told me about his wife wanting to leave him because their mortgage defaulted.

The uber dynamic feels so anonymous that you end up sharing when you shouldn’t, but as a surprise reward the drivers sometimes share back. When you get that raw, unglorified truth from someone, you can know them better than their spouse does.

And between us 16 drunkards, let’s just say we’ve learned a lot about your city’s people. They’re interesting, fucked up, and lead the nuanced lives we’ve come to expect from Denver natives. I can’t wait to come back and meet more of them soon. Thanks for letting us have that experience here.

Cheers,

The Ricky Chucky Shit Show