The late Carrie Fisher penned Postcards from the Edge as she wrestled with her intergalactic fame, substance abuse and bipolar life. While Ubering, some of my riders could likely be companions on Carrie’s journey. A little alcohol, our (sometimes unreasonably) high expectations of others and how morals tend to descend while under  alcohol’s influence create fertile ground for funny quotes.

The following, politically incorrect soundbites echoed out of my backseat while Ubering the weekend partying crowds. The names are changed, but the feelings are real. . .


On a snowy afternoon, I picked up six adults at a pub well outside of Grand Rapid’s restaurant epicenter. They’d waited for over an hour for a ride, and even though my little SUV looked like a circus clown car I agreed to get them to their destination.

“Will you get a ticket?”

“Yes,” I replied, “if the police see us.”

From somewhere in the back seat came what were meant to be encouraging replies.

“If the police see us, I’m an attorney. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of it.”

“I’m a whoe,” she declared from the other end of the seat. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of it.”


Not everyone in my car at the end of the night have enjoyed a great time at the downtown pubs. On the way home from a party, the three in my back seat lamented sardonically over the company they left behind.

“People are dumb as f*#@. Hashtag: Trump’s America.”


I picked up a car full of twenty something young ladies moving the party from their apartment to downtown. Birthday girl Sandie sat next to me.

“Last year was my 21st. This year I’m 22, and I feel like life is all downhill.” She paused and looked at me in earnest. “Is there anything to look forward to after 22?”


I pick up a lot of parties in process, and the sound bites are priceless.

“You have a drunk giggle.”

“Yep, I have a driggle.”


Sarah slid uneasily into my backseat. She clutched her purse strap as if it kept her from falling off a carnival ride.

“I’m going out on my first date since I found out I was getting a divorce. Do you have any advice?”

“Can I ask . . . how long has it been?”

“How long since I was on a date, or how long since I found out?”


“Too soon. I found out a month ago my husband is divorcing me.”

“Do you want me to circle the block a few times after I drop you off, just in case you need a way out?”

Our laughter broke her tension for a few seconds. “Oh, don‘t worry, I have two exit plans.” She gazed blankly out the window at the approaching pub. “And I’m wearing sensible shoes.”