There are people in our society who have no boundaries. They are the undignified. The unrefined. The unkempt. The last remaining descendants of an age that had no rules. These people need more than just a friendly, gentle nudge of guidance in the right direction.
They need this book.
Like the Jaws of Life freeing a texting driver from the crumpled mess of automotive steel, this book is the lifeline that will extract them from the gluteal bars that imprison their minds.
If you dare, allow yourself to be guided on this self-deprecating, no-holds-barred journey through the disgusting underbelly of rideshare driving.
What do you do with the dried-up booger on the end of your finger?
How should you handle a stomach cramp that demands your immediate attention?
Does your rideshare driver notice the sweet aroma of your body odor if you don't lift your arm?
These essential life questions, and sixty-eight more, are all answered within this one gloriously descriptive beacon of light.
Not a dreg of society?
Not to worry. This book isn’t just for the dregs. It’s for the friends and family of dregs. It’s for the borderline dregs. It’s for the once-dregs. It’s for everyone.
Because it truly does take a village idiot to write a book that can answer ridesharing’s most important questions.
When is it appropriate to undress yourself in the back seat of a rideshare?
Will your driver bring back the three ounces of Acapulco Gold you accidentally left in his car?
Is Whataburger really that good?
Each perfectly-worded, colossally-horrendous chapter includes a two-question quiz that even a five-year-old who watches PBS could pass with flying colors.
So brush off your cobweb-filled lawn chair, grab a six-pack, and snuggle up to the backyard fire pit. Then drink three beers and start reading. (I was three beers in each time I sat down to write, so you might as well meet me there.)
For a man who lost an athletic scholarship and a college education to a set of stairs, Bill Parsons was leading a happy and successful life.
Innocent stalking, boyish charm, and larceny convinced the woman of his dreams, Jessica, to marry him. Patience, hard work, and begging convinced the owner of Big Horn Furniture, Troy, to make him a salesman.
Selling furniture was as natural to Bill as Tiger Wood's swing. So much so that Troy named him store manager after Big Horn moved to a new location in downtown Austin.
Bill's life was perfect. His office was a man cave, meeting new people meant making new friends, and Jessica never crumbled under adversity.
That script, though, was flipped faster than a Chip and Joanna Gaines property in a seller's market. As if the mother of bad news was giving birth to twins, Bill was fired and escorted out of Big Horn by two security guards at the same moment Jessica was receiving word that her mother had passed away.
Bill turned to Shotgun, a rideshare company, as a temporary fix to his problem. Jessica turned to Prozac and wine.
Seven months later, those temporary fixes seem to have cemented themselves into permanent ones. Bill achingly spends his nights giving rides to drunk college students, drugged-out strippers, wannabe porn stars, and Irishmen who celebrate whiskey Wednesday on Tuesday. Jessica spends hers listening to Céline Dion while painting portraits of zombies, the grim reaper, and cows.
Bill's new office smells like a mix of fast food, body odor, and cheap beer at the end of every night; the thought of meeting the next rider makes him want to vomit more than the eighteen-year-old who drank tequila for the first time last week; and Jessica spins through the five stages of grief at least three times per day.
Daily talks with his widowed, elderly neighbor, Erma, help Bill cope with the exhaustion of dealing with belligerent, obnoxious riders who are ruining the back seat of Jessica's car (and his belief in mankind). Drinking with his not-so-bright, lifelong friend, Dexter, exhaust him even more.
When Bill's divorced parents, Carl and Hillary, add to the stress in the Parsons' home by deciding to come for a visit on the same weekend, Dexter comes to the rescue. Armed with thirty pounds of marijuana and the promise of splitting a seventy-five-thousand-dollar payday, he convinces Bill to take him to Boulder, Colorado.
Shotgun rides for a male, truck stop prostitute; an alcoholic grandma with bowel control issues; and an unabashedly self-righteous millennial named Farrel give them the means to complete their trip.
A meth-dealing biker gang; a not-so-small white lie; Olympic-level Nerf gun skills; and a Barney the Dinosaur look-alike give them the misadventure of ten lifetimes.