There is no way in hell that I would let Chris drive me anywhere. If his driving doesn't kill me, then his smell will.
Imagine waiting for your uber late at night in the cold pouring southern rain, standing outside of a closed bookstore.
Your uber is already fifteen minutes late.
You're freezing.
Finally, the blue Ford Focus you've been waiting on makes a sharp turn into the parking lot and pulls up to you, albeit a bit further than necessary so there's still a sprint to the back door.
You catch a glance at the back of the car. The trunk is decorated in stickers including one that reads, "girls kick ass".
And there was a custom plate. Son-...something.
Son Goku, maybe? Must be a weeb tumblr girl, but whatever, as long as they're driving you home.
Immediately upon getting into the car there's a waft of body odor combined with an oily scent.
The driver is eating a McDonalds burger.
"Hey, uh, sorry to uh, be--that I'm a tad late," he says with a mouthful, not bothering to look back at you.
There's a yellow clay decoration dangling from rearview mirror. It looks like a child made it.
"I've been drivi--working my uber job here..." He stops to sigh, long, heavy, and agitating. "For a few hours now and I got real hungry. I'll be done eating in just a minute."
He is indeed scarfing down his burger with speed, a chunk of meat flying from his mouth as he continues talking and getting stuck in the greasy mane dangling down his shoulders. He doesn't notice, or doesn't care.
"I'm actually--it's your lucky day because I'm actually I'm quite famous, y'know. Today your uber driver is--" He heightens his voice, as if he's trying to sound like a girl, and raises a hammy fist to the air. "Christine Weston Chandler, the Creator of Sonichu and Rosechu the Electric Hedgehog Pokemon and Your Friendly Blue Heart CPU!"
fftopic:The only kind of chocolate cake worth a damn is a German's chocolate cake.
