Uber Coachella Meltdown
The scene outside the Merv Griffin Estate was chaos. Crowds of people trying to get in. The road was blocked with limos and black SUVs. Two young girls were happy to find me. They had almost zero reception on their phones. Take note: T-Mobile is not your friend during Coachella.
The young Aussie lass gave me an address. Their VIP Performer Passes were at another sponsored party. Their friend holding their passes was passed out from who-knows-what-drugs and wouldn’t respond. But the address was no good in the Uber Driver app. Being the ever-helpful guy that I am, I tried Google Maps. Bingo! Just around the corner.
The young American girl in the front seat wasn’t having any of it. She removed my phone charger from her phone, complained that it wasn’t working, tossed it to my lap then began her tirade:
“This is bull-f*ckin-sh*t! I’m going to kill Brandon. Why won’t he answer his phone! I can’t get any reception. My phone is bull-f*cking-sh*t. I can’t take this anymore!”
I’m so glad I had my patience cap on. I might have taken it personally and kicked their privileged asses to the curb. I remained quiet as we drove on to the possible destination. Turned out it was a back wall for the Madison Club. Definitely not the location of a fashion clothing line Coachella party.
I finally understood that they were looking for the Hudson party. I had just been there and knew it was not far. Gesturing to the farmland to the east I told them it was just over there, somewhere. Not really sure where. Maybe we can find it. But we were stuck in Coachella traffic, not moving at all. The melt-down in the front seat was getting worse.
“I want to cry. But I can’t cry. I don’t know how to cry. I’m dead inside. I’m dead inside. I just want to die. I should be backstage at Coachella, but I’m stuck in an Uber and don’t know where to go. My fu**king phone is bulls**t!”
Poor thing. She was clearly in need of some food. I asked the less-frazzled Aussie lass in the backseat if she could reach some water and Kind bars out of my cooler. I was hungry, and hey, maybe you each could use some food too?
Front seat girl was not hungry. She just need to cry. But she couldn’t cry.
“Are you sure? I have dark chocolate and cherries Kind bars? They’re yummy. Why don’t you try one?”
She started to nibble on one. By the time she was eating the last morsel, she started to smile. She even laughed at describing how hard she was going to hit Brandon. She was going to hit him right in the face.
She turned to me and said, “I’m being a total bitch, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay, you are having a rough patch. You can be a bitch. Be THE bitch if you want. Embrace it.” She liked my humor and giggled a little bit. Oh, the transformative powers of chocolate and a little bit of empathy. We did a fist-bump in the front seat.
I loaned Aussie lass my phone so she could make a call. She found a new address where their other friends were staying. At least they could be at a home and figure out what to do. Front seat girl was in the mood to talk, and asked me personal questions. Why do people ask such personal questions of their Uber drivers? Before long I was showing them photos of David and I at Coachella last year. “Awwww, he’s so cute!”
Everyone always likes David best.
The new address led to the back gate of yet another gated community. This time front-seat girl didn’t curse or meltdown. We sat in the car pondering what to do. I noticed the gate was a bit high. Perhaps one of them could crawl underneath then open the pedestrian gate? That Aussie lass was amazing. She slid underneath, then posed for this photo.
They both told me it was like I was their dad, fixing their problems and taking care of them without them asking for help. I got to play Dad and be the best-uber-driver-ever.
