Six Types of Drunk People- A Chicago Cab Experience

I got picked up in an Uber after a night of twenty five cent wings and draft beer in Ravenswood. The driver was making friendly conversation with me asking where I had been. I told him about my night with IPAs and spicy wings.

I asked him how his night had been and he said, “Oh you know, nothing special, no drunk people. ”

I said, “Oh yeah?” hoping to hear a story. I have found in my seven years living in Chicago that cab drivers are the best storytellers.

“What I have learned driving, is that there are six types of drunk people.”

This is his account of what the six types of drunk people are:

The first type is happy people, now these are people that do not want to hurt anyone.

Then there are sad people. I had a girl in here once who sobbed the entire time she was in the cab.

She said, “Nobody listens to me like you do.”

She had come to America and didn’t make it. When I tried dropping her off she wouldn’t get out of the car, she said,  “I want to stay in here.” So I slowly drove around her block while she talked and cried. When I got back around to her house, I said, “Here we are!” and she said, “Really, no, I want to stay with you while you drive all night, nobody listens like you do.” Finally she left with some cajoling.

The next kind of person is the pissed off person. The key to dealing with a pissed off person is find out what they are mad about. Did you ever see the video on youtube of a guy who smashes the driver’s head against the window? That guy was a Taco Bell executive. The driver happened to have a dashboard camera.

Then there is the amateur pukey drunks. They don’t realize that the human body is not made to be a cocktail shaker. Pretty soon your body will say “Everybody out of the bus.” One time I picked up a bunch of shit faced drunks from a bar. Girl number one did not see the uber, girl number two was holding back girl number three’s hair while she was puking.

I didn’t want to let them in the car if she was going to puke but they convinced me she would be ok. We start driving and girl number three is hanging her head out the window like a dog the whole ride home.

Another time I picked up some college kids at Northwestern’s campus at bar 63. Bar 63 is a bar that anybody with some form of identification can get into. The guys got in the car and one of them got greener and greener every turn I made. I told them if you puke in my car I am kicking you out. Finally we get to the dorms and the guy gets out and vomits all over the sidewalk.

Guys aren’t the only idiots, girls do a pretty good job too. I picked some girls up once and they were taking selfies of their little adventure. I thought it was odd, their cameras were down by their feet. I asked them why, they told me that they were taking pictures of their coochies. I didn’t know what to say so I said, ooooh, ahhh.

They said, “We are sending it to some guys so they come party with us at the bar.” Then a few minutes pass and they ask me if I think they are sluts.

I said, “Yeah, I do. You’re willing to show the ham before you get to the counter. You’ve got plenty of years to be stupid. ”

I want to bring them back to their moms and tell them this is what their Northwestern education is amounting to.

Another type of drunk is the intellectual type. The more you drink the smarter you get. I haven’t run into too many of those.

There was a guy who got in the car one night with a friend. With slurred words to the point of no comprehension said, “I’m a clinical pharmacist.”He told me I could ask him anything about health. So I asked him, “What if I had diarrhea for fourteen days, what should I do?”

The guy proceeds to tell me everything about it, where it comes from, where it goes (I told him I know where it goes). A friend of his was laughing so hard at the conversation that he almost blew an artery out of his neck.

The grand finale is the catatonic drunks. They literally pass out in the car. I picked up a group of three older people who did the twelve bars of Christmas in Wrigleyville. They only made it to eight. They told me initially to go to the wrong house right around the corner from where they were. The guy leading the ship told the others that he swore it was familiar and that he used to hang out around there.

I figured out that they lived in Rolling Meadows. All three were zonked out by the airport. When we got to their house all three poked their heads out of their slumber hole like gophers. They got up and out of the cab, seemingly more peaceful and sober after their deep sleep.

There was another girl who wanted to shake my hand the entire ride. When she opened the door to get out of the cab she dumped everything out of her purse. I asked her if she needed any help in her attempts to pick everything up. Every time she was leaning over she head butted herself on the car door.

I saw four black spots on her head. I watch her get to the gate and she remains still like a possum being stalked by a leopard. I asked her if she needed help, she said no. She was still standing at the gate when I drove away.

One lady go out of the car and started walking and I yelled to her, “You’re going the wrong way, you’re going the wrong way!” She said, you’re right you are so smart.

Then I watched her go the right house and it took her five minutes to climb three stairs.

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