Dear Johnny

How did your morning start this am? A beautiful sunrise? A nice cup of joe? A slamming of the snooze button on your iphone?

Mine started with Johnny.

No mama, I am not writing to the interwebs about a man I woke up next to. I am talking about my Uber driver who arrived promptly at my door at 6:07am to take me to LAX for a long day of travel to middle America (which is currently still in the process of happening courtesy of United Airlines’ most tiny plane).

But anywho, Johnny was quite the character and before we even met, I could tell by his uber head shot, which was a posed Hollywood style glamour shot, the 45 minute ride to the airport would either be a delight or a terror.

Screen Shot 2015-01-08 at 2.24.15 PMHe was in his late 30s, hair slicked back with more Daper Dan gel than used in all 8 seasons of Mad Men. His thick accent immediately took me to where he was from, Boston, a city which produces people that fascinate me. Boston, is a city that I have actually never met anyone who is actually from there, because they are ALL from the surrounding towns. I have met so many people who have fled this city for the west coast, but have so much pride for a place they don’t live. Like Texans, but WORSE. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Boston friends, shit, my best friend in LA is “from” there, but Johnny was not the good kind of Boston.

The convo started when he asked me where I was headed. When I said, Springfield Missouri. He quickly made a joke about Missouri sounding like Misery.

Not a delight.

But like any semi good looking, Uber driver in LA, who is very clearly just trying to “make it,” I turned to the conversation to him and he was so happy to share, even at 6am.

Johnny lived the good life from 18-26 in New York. From college, where “I’m sure you can tell, I was an athlete and a frat guy” to his “years making a fuck ton of money on wallstreet.” Johnny then moved to LA in pursuit of fame. Clearly, it worked…insert his 4.7 star rated, Uber career.

I asked if he liked LA and he said well, I hang with my Boston bros and that makes it better, but you can’t replace the weather (No, I won’t tangent on how wonderful the weather has been #ThisIsNotAWeatherBlog). He then named dropped the Boston bar where the Patriots games play. I said, “oh I have friends who frequent that bar.”

Then things got weird. He said, “We should go sometime. I have always wanted to date a southern girl, East Coast girls are too brash.” Shocked by this inquiry, especially before 6am, I started to wonder if Johnny was drunk, but quickly responded by saying, “Southern girls aren’t brash, this is true. But most, like yours truly, aren’t looking for a foolhardy man.” I think ignored my insult or didn’t understand or maybe wasn’t even really listening for a response, went on to tell me about the East Coast, “C U Next Tuesdays bitches” he has dated. He said that now that he is in his 30s he is looking for a nice girl, like I seem to be.

At this point, I have never been more thankful to be approaching my destination because what started as an uber ride to the airport, turned to a weird proposition, turned to the beginnings of a therapy session on Johnny’s lonely life.

Dear Johnny,

First off, stop telling people of your experience and knowledge of sports, your scrawny frame doesn’t lend to that of an athlete. I did appreciate the ride in Audi A4, which makes me thankful for your years on wallstreet and sure they did happen.

Second, considering most people in the LA world are single until their mid to late 30s RELAX. Your brash words, f bomb dropping pre-7am, excitement about your “bros,” use of the word c**t freely (especially when talking to a woman), and overall demeanor are a little much. I don’t foresee a southern girl falling for you, it won’t be me and probably won’t be anyone else from south of the Mason-Dixon Line. A brash East Coast broad may be exactly what you need-stick to what you know.

Lastly, thank you for putting yourself out there and driving me to the airport, it was nice…kind of.

Never yours,

Your Friendly Passenger

P.S. Thanks for sharing that one nice story about your grandma, she seems like a nice lady.


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