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My Uber Home - A Short Story

The Wednesday Writers Whatchamacallit's group went a little mad today...Mad Libs, that is. Do you remember Mad Libs? I've had hours of enjoyment reading the comedic genius behind every one. And by enjoyment, I mean struggling to breathe because I'm laughing so hard.

That brings me to today's writing prompt from the Facebook group - a Mad Libs prompt:

Your PERSON picks you up from the LOCATION in a VEHICLE and says: QUOTE/SAYING!

After polling four individuals from the writer's group, the above underlined entries were replaced by the following:

Your Uber Driver picks you up from the bar mitzvah in a tractor and says: Someday is not a day of the week!

So, with the writing prompt established, the following is what developed within the allotted 15 minutes of writing time. I hope you enjoy, My Uber Home...and that it brings a chuckle or two.

My Uber Home

I look at my phone then at the guy sitting atop the tractor. He’s grinning at me like I was born yesterday. I look back at my phone—yup, that’s definitely my Uber driver.

“Mind explaining the tractor…I’m sure as hell not paying Uber Black fees for this.”

The driver’s grin widens—if that is even possible. Any wider and his ears will touch.

He waves me off. “Buddy, this’ll be the ride of your life. This baby flies!”

“Uh, huh.” I say.

Whatever, I’m too drunk to care. I climb into the cab—at least it’s air conditioned.

“Was that your bar mitzvah?”

“Do I look like I’m thirteen freaking years old?”

“Sorry dude, didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. I’m don’t know anything about the Amish religion.”

Oh jeez…not only am I in a tractor—I’m getting farmer quotes too.

“No worries,” I say. I take a look outside at the slow progress we are making, “Just get me home someday and I’ll be happy.”

“Someday is not a day of the week,” he proclaims loudly, that super-grin reappearing across his face. Then he lifts a cup and spits a wad of copper colored juice into it—most of it misses and lands on his tobacco stained shirt.

Rubbing my temples with my fingers, I say to myself, “Oh, my God, please just shoot me,”

“What was that, pardner?”

“Nothing, just drive please.”

In no time, we pull up to my apartment complex. I look around, confused. “What the…?”

“Told ya.”

“Told me what.”

“I told ya this thing flies.”

“How’d you do that? Did I fall asleep?”

“Nope,” says my driver. Then he leans forward and whispers, “Have you ever been abducted by aliens?”

I open the door and escape as quickly as possible.

Needless to say, as strange as the experience was and after I sobered up, I did leave the driver a healthy tip.


October 16, 2019

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