How To: The Uber of Shame

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By Kendra

We’ve all been there. You went out, probably with the intention of “just having like, a couple drinks” with your girlfriends. Maybe it was a “girl’s night” and you were all wearing wedges and sock buns. You were going to be good, stick to wine and behavior that would make your parents proud. But then some bitch, her name was probably something like…oh I don’t know…*cough*Kendra*cough* decided that everyone needed to do Car Bombs and Lindsay Lohans. 

(What’s a Lindsay Lohan? A Red Headed Slut with a little bit of Coke in it. You’re welcome.)

So you’re dancing, you’re sweating all off the Mac you plastered on your face, and it happens. You find someone who under the haze of smoky bar lights, Jägermeister, and the pure need to validate yourself by climbing another human like a tree seems like a quality person to rip your Forever21 club dress off for. You flick your sticky bangs out of your overly-lined eyes, smile that “Come here, Sailor” smile, and get to work. Yeah girl, I see you. You get yours.

We’ll cover the steps of how to one-night-stand it at a later date. Partially because I’m already establishing myself as the resident class act around here and I’m trying to clean up said act and partially because I’m writing this at 10 AM on a Tuesday and talking about those shenanigans is reserved for Happy Hours and Round Fours. So let’s all just agree that we generally know what happens between making out like a fiend in a bar and the next morning when it hurts to even think about opening your eyes.

I’m just going to assume that you live in a place with my favorite app to ever app (besides Snapchat because DUH): Uber. The times of hoping you can successfully follow Siri’s directions back to your home while you carry your shoes are gone! With just the tap of a touchscreen and the charge of a debit card you can be along your merry way.

So find your clothes, maybe a little bit of your dignity, and follow these steps to get your ass out of that stranger’s house and into your own bed with a Parks and Rec marathon that you deserve.

Decide who is going to pay.

This is really just an assessment of “Do I want to see him again?” if we’re being honest. If I’m scoot-scootin’ to get my bandage skirt on and struggling to left-handedly open the Uber app while barely saying a “Thanks, had some fun, byeeee!” over my shoulder I have literally no intention of even remembering his name. If I sexily stretch and linger under the sheets batting my eyelashes like Kirsten Dunst in Marie Antoinette saying “Hon…could you call me an Uber? I’ll totally get you the next one.” *blink blink* I probably want to get weird again next week. If he doesn’t say yes immediately, that is my cue to make the Uber driver go through Taco Bell to talk to a Doritos Locos Taco about how embarrassed I am.

Roll down that window.

Unless it is so bitterly cold that you run the risk of freezing your eyebrows off by doing so roll that sucker to half-mast and sit near it. They will charge the crap out of you if you puke in the car. Don’t be that girl. If it’s going to happen make Tony pull that Prius to the shoulder and roadside assist that vomit.

The other benefit to having some fresh air is it will mask the smell of vodka that is currently radiating out of your pores. It’s 7 AM; you aren’t sneaky and the driver knows what’s up. But you want to do everything in your power to stop him from saying, “You smell like alcohol and bad decisions.” It happened to my friend; it happened to me, it can happen to you.

Follow a route on Google Maps while he’s driving.

Unless you know a foolproof, backroad way to get from Point A to Point Bed, pay attention to where they are driving. I’ve had Ubers try and loop me all around Seattle like a really shitty sight-seeing car in an effort to up the fare. Uber Support is great but if you were sleeping off part of your hangover in the car and can’t say “I told him not to do that but he just cranked up Billy Idol and ignored me” they probably aren’t going to have a whole lot of sympathy for you.

You don’t have to chat if you don’t want to.

Be nice to the driver, but be nice to yourself. You don’t need to feel obligated to hear his life story if it feels like your brain is trying to escape out of your ears. If what you need is to quietly scroll through Instagram shots of girls with clean sheets and better decision making skills than you that is not something you should have to apologize for. You are paying him to drive you home, not be your therapist.

Five Stars.

HOWEVER. He did pick your hungover butt up before the sun was even all the way in the sky making you home a half an hour earlier and a whole lot happier than if you had been forced to walk. Unless he did something totally repulsive (possibilities include: excessive road rage, made a comment about you that was creepy, or had garbage all over the car) rate the dude highly. It’s good for his job and good for your karma. And considering the choices you made 8 hours prior to flopping into that backseat you could probably use the karma points.   

Ubers of Shame are a first world luxury that I for one, would like to keep. Give them those stars so they’ll still give me a lift.