Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex:
Confessions of a Convicted Uber Driver
by Joe F. N. Schmo
Genre: Comedic Adventure
An Uber driver is expected to be courteous and attentive, both to their passengers and to those on the road. They are not expected to accept an invitation to a swinger party, flee the scene of a fatal accident, nor are they expected to be a convicted felon on probation.
Unfortunately, this Joe Schmo is not your everyday Uber driver.
As most Uber drivers do, Joe began sharing rides with the audacious hope to one day escape the legal and financial road blocks stalling his merger onto the freeway of creative success. But when a typical shift U-turns into a series of detours involving Android ordered lovers, herpes ridden riders, sexy sorority sisters, a botched bachelor party, and blundering bank robbers, he arrives (at gunpoint) miles from his desired destination.
“Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex: Confessions of a Convicted Uber Driver” is a narrative nonfiction based upon actual events that transpired over the year Joe covertly drove for Uber while on intensive probation. He confesses outlandish details in a highlight reel of wrecks (both car and train) and sex, effectively answering the question every Uber rider has begged to know from their driver: “What’s your craziest story?”
“What the fuck are you doing, numb nuts?” The robber pistol-whips my headrest
to kidnap my attention before thrusting the barrel into my chest. A stink of
desperation and maple syrup wafts from his mouth when he shouts, “Drive the
fucking car, now!”
It’s at a time like this that I wish I were a superhero. Not so I can have superhuman strength,
unmatched speed, or a stretchy cock, but so I can harness the power of hindsight. That’s right,
This individualized ability would be similar to, but not exactly like, predicting the future. You
remember the convoluted superpower Isaac Mendez displayed in Heroes? He had to black out in order
to produce ambiguous artwork of an underage cheerleader. Creepy, I know. However, if his paintings
could, in fact, foretell future fate, he could sketch a fake and manipulate Donald Trump into believing
he’ll win another presidential election, then sell said paintings to him at market value ⎯ a cool
billion. But hindsight is not like that; my superpower would be more practical than Isaac’s.
Instead of predicting the future, hindsight would trigger a red light when I approach morally
ambiguous crossroads at which a certain direction could lead me to mental, spiritual, or bodily harm.
At every consequential juncture a visual GPS would activate, allowing me to witness the destination of
every road traveled, thus giving me an opportunity to choose the path that would prevent me from
ever using the adage, “hindsight is 20/20.”
Just imagine something that might happen in an episode of South Park or a campy Nick Cage
Unfortunately, I am not a superhero. Nor am I Nick Cage. I am an everyday Joe f’n Schmo who
has a billion (and one) regrets that have led me to this moment where I am screaming “fucking
“Hey, Uber driver, get to the chopper, asshole!”
Braking from my heroic lament, I slam the transmission into gear and tear out of the bank
parking lot with three masked men and what appears to be a cool billion, wishing to hell I could
recalculate this current detour, where it will inevitably lead, and return to the beginning.
It all started yesterday when I turned on my Uber phone…
Joe F. N. Schmo, a 30-something latent child prodigy, is on a quest to obtain free Rockstar for life and plans to use it to obtain his Ph.D in Upsetting the Status Quo. Once earned, he hopes to use his written works as a vehicle to turn underinformed perceptions on their thick skulls (among other abhorrently selfish goals).
After completing over 1,000 rideshares for Uber while on intensive probation, Joe has encountered it all (save for alien abductions and spontaneous combustion) and is über qualified to write a confessional with such a titilating title.
Prior to his salacious adventures, Joe earned his B.A. in Film and Media Production where he wrote, produced, directed, and edited several short films. This experience sculpted him into the kind of asshole who quotes from random films and includes obscure pop culture references into his written works.
Joe’s masterpiece, “Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex: Confessions of a Convicted Uber Driver” is a culmination of his of film background, sharing rides with Uber, and myriad adverse experiences. It was NOT written to please those stiff, literary types, but to appeal to the haughty neophytes who attest e-books are superior to the printed page.
Currently, Joe is working on his encore, “Jackpot,” which, much like “Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex, was written with the intention to be adapted into a feature film (as it is his narcissistic goal to direct his own film adaptations).
What is something unique/quirky about you?
I am a film school graduate and had several student films play at Comicon. I’m a HUGE nerd! Like dress up nerdy.
Tell us something really interesting that’s happened to you!
The stories in “Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex” ARE indeed true. Well, most of them…
What are some of your pet peeves?
Man, this is a tough one. I don’t really sweat the small stuff… it’s all small stuff.
Where were you born/grew up at?
Phoenix, Arizona (where the book takes place).
If you knew you’d die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?
Playing Rockband with my friends and family.
Who is your hero and why?
Seth MacFarlane / Trey Parker / Matt Stone / John Holmberg. South Park and Family Guy are by far the biggest visual influences in my sense of humor and style. I love these guys because (and John Holmberg — Phoenix radio morning show DJ) because they say and produce what they want, regardless of what others might think or how they might react. This is what I did for RWS. In today’s #metoo world, it seems no one can say or do anything without walking on eggshells. Now, I don’t ever go too far, per se, but I do speak my mind, and I am going to turn off a lot of readers because of it. However, I will gain that many more superfans in the process. And that’s what I want: People who appreciate me for who I am, not who I pretend to be.
What kind of world ruler would you be?
The worst kind… I’m way too polite and passive. And I don’t have any personal social media accounts.
What are you passionate about these days?
I love music! If I had to choose only one of the following: TV, movies, books, or music, I’d choose music. Heavy Metal? You bet! I’m going to see Disturbed and Three Days Grace in January, and I will probably be at the stage screaming my lungs out. I wrote this entire book listening to Slipknot.
What do you do to unwind and relax?
Netflix and chill. I enjoy shows like Dexter, Breaking Bad, and 24.
How to find time to write as a parent?
I am single and without children (hopefully (crosses fingers)).
Describe yourself in 5 words or less!
Ugh. I can’t do that.
When did you first consider yourself a writer?
I still don’t consider myself a writer. Maybe after I publish a half-dozen books, and am able to quit my “day job.” Until then, I’m still just a Schmo.
Do you have a favorite movie?
Donnie Darko is high up there. Contact. Pretty much any film directed by Zemeckis or Spielberg.
Which of your novels can you imagine made into a movie?
All of them!!! I write with the intention to adapt. In fact, I’m hoping to direct all of my own film adaptations. When I write, I am very visual. I first write what I see in my “mind’s eye” as if it were playing on a film in front of me, THEN edit it. If it isn’t good enough to entertain in a film, it’s not quality enough for print.
What literary pilgrimages have you gone on?
Okay, so this might be sacrilege, but I don’t read many books. ESPECIALLY literary garbage. I binge read as many books in prison as I could because I just don’t have the time to otherwise. And most of those were non-fiction. However, when I do read fiction, it’s typically books adapted into films. I read to study. I watch films to study. I love it!
As a writer, what would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal?
Mr. Hankey, the Christmas Poo.
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