The party on Saturday was in the cul de sac, so I can’t call it a block party. It had all the trappings of the suburban let-the-kids-play-in-the-street-while-parents-drink-until-silly ‘block party.’
By seven, the group was heading toward ‘silly’ at light speed. I decided to try my first Uber service after dark. Six minutes after I was online, a ping and fare, just two blocks down the hill.
“Would you mind taking me to a recording studio, in Los Angeles?”
Of course not. Off we went. Up through Carson, where my fare had to stop at a Panera Bread to visit the lady’s room. 30 minutes later, I dropped her off at a little studio just off the Golden State Freeway.
Saturday night. Los Angeles. Lots of fares, right? My little inner gremlin crawled out from his bunker and whispered “What are you doing? Get back home. You don’t know the roads, what would happen if you picked up a gang member from Boyle Heights?
I raced to the freeway and was almost back to the OC when my voice of reason took over.
“Do gang members used Uber? If so, go ahead, name one.”
It was late. Even though I was in Orange County, I’d hit the besotted hours, 10 pm to 2 pm.
The voice – “a la Jack Nicholson’s The Shining “Here’s Johnny” had cost me $140.