Another day, another urban horror story.
I wake up around 9 am in my friend’s Los Angeles loft that I’m staying at for the week. I spread my legs out on the big comfy couch, admiring the open space around me compared to my tiny Manhattan pad. Here I am, LA – ready to appreciate the amenities, lower-stress lifestyle, and mellow citizens.
I call a Lyft to head out to Bricks and Scones cafe for the day to get some work done. Horace is on his way!
I leave the apartment, take in the calming LA sunshine and breeze, and hop in the back of Horace’s Camry. I happily say hello; he looks at me.
“How’s it going?” Horace says.
“Great!” I open my phone to catch up on some emails. “Just headed to the cafe for the day. I think it’s called the Larchmont Bungalow.”
“Are you from LA?”
“No, I’m from New York,” I say with confidence, because New York.
“Ahhhhh, that explains it! You know you have a pretty low rating on Lyft, right?”
“Wait, what?” I say, confused what he’s referring to. I’m not used to low ratings.
“I mean, I had to pick you up because I had to see how you were. You’re the lowest I’ve ever seen in LA. A 4.2.”
“Out of what?!” I say with shock, laughter, and confusion.
“5! The second lowest I’ve seen was a 4.6, and damn, that guy was mean. But you’re just, friendly and happy, so I got confused. But then you told me you’re from New York…so that explains it.”
I think about to all my New York Lyft experiences. There weren’t that many, since I’m a subway junkie, but for the ones I do remember (aka giving the wrong address)….it somewhat makes sense.
Thanks, New York, I may just have to switch to Uber during this trip due to passenger defamation.
Moral of the story: prepare to always be the unfriendly, rude guy in other cities if you’re coming from New York. Wear it with confidence.
You’re from New York, bitch.
-mike, the “tough” new yorker