OOber: lot dog stories

Working the parking lot at the Downs makes it difficult to like Uber. They swarm like mayflies on Lake Erie. They block traffic fishing for their clients. Most won’t use the section of the lot set aside for them. They swarm and congest traffic around the horseshoe near the Executive Gate when the races end. They’re worse than than the party buses. I spend half my day getting yelled at by privileged jerks and yelling back just to get them to drive in a way that doesn’t endanger everyone else in the parking lot, not to mention me and Vicious Sid.

Look, I know. I know Uber drivers get screwed. That allure of being their own boss gets tarnished quickly when the backseat turns into a vomitory for drunks from the track, from Cards games, from 4th Street Live downtown. I get it. We’re both dealing with the same drunken, privileged jerks. We’re both viewed as instruments of their convenience.

But holy fuck, can’t the drivers just read the signs and follow direction? Set a good example for the philistine assholes we’re both stuck dealing with?

Sometimes the Uber drivers stop in the middle of the driveway into let riders out or let them in. And the more drunk they are, the longer it takes them to tumble into the car. Not because they’re being more careful but because they lose the ability to walk in those very expensive shoes.

It’s worse when there are special events. Corporate junkets. Gaggles of lawyers. Special Race days that people dress for like it’s The Derby. Big college football games where they’re determined to get “The Full Looeyville* Experience” by taking in a day at the races before the game.

Most of them drive like they don’t know the streets. They’re worse than the cops, most of whom don’t wander into the South End unless they’re cleaning up a dead body or trying to flash their badge to get special treatment at The Downs… which means they don’t know the streets because they don’t live here. I expect that a lot of them live in Saint Matthew, where most everyone is two generations moved out of the South End and persist in the delusion that they’re better for it.

When they do use the assigned lot — which me and Vicious Sid keep clear and get cussed at for daily — I try and work with them. We let them sit and wait as long as they’re waiting on customers. I’ve given a few direction tips for getting out of the lot faster by using side gate. I operate on the notion that goodwill should be spread as much as possible. But I won’t be run over, either.

Even if I do get paid to sometimes stop traffic with my body and reflective vest.

*How tourists insist on pronouncing the city’s name. It’s how we mark you.




Writer. Raconteur. Too many interests to list, so just keep reading.

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Ey Mick

Ey Mick

Writer. Raconteur. Too many interests to list, so just keep reading.

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