In the competitive taxi industry, Ubers are represented by two separate yet equally important groups. The people who order the Uber, and the driver who picks them up.
These are their stories.
UberDiary Of An Uber DriverSydney
There’s Marco, the Merrylands dude who injected cocaine up his ass because “IT. IS. THE. BEST. SHIT. EVER”, and, an even worse person to have in the back of your car, the little shit from the Inner West who thought kicking the seat with brute force was just the ticket for an enjoyable ride.
Here’s a taster to get your lips around:
“Marco reached down to pick up the giant water bottle he had been holding between his feet. He starts sculling the water, with most of it running down his chin and soaking into his shirt. “F#$k!”says Marco. “Sorry bruz, I didn’t spill any on the seat I promise!””
“And then it hits me. I don’t care if Marco spills a few drops of water on my seat, but I sure as hell care if he is leaking feral ass juice laced with cocaine into my seats. “I would have to burn this car to the ground,” I thought to myself. Please don’t be ass juice stained into my seats. Please. Please. Please.”
Cocaine-laced ass juice aside – #smoothieinspo tbh – “Diary Of An Uber Driver” is still in its infancy: there’s just six (sweet) posts to satiate your voyeuristic thirst for other people’s stories. They, however, are positively tingling with the promise of grand things to come – read ’em HERE.
And since the blog is anonymous, you’ll never know if you’re getting into his Uber. He’s answering your calls, driving up your street. He’s the modern-day Samuel Pepys, the Sydney chapter of HONY, the deceased Conde Nast elevator twitter account reincarnated in the back of taxi. He’s always out there. He is Batman.