Few things will make a man feel more like a square country rube than driving for Uber in Atlanta on a weekend night.
Last night I picked up a genuine “nightlife influencer”, who explained his business and how he does the job of inviting attractive women to clubs (who then attract paying men).
Tonight I picked up a partial owner of one of the bumpin-est clubs in Buckhead, who explained to me the fake “club broadcasts” some clubs put on the radio to promote their scenes.
Later I carried home two teenagers who (with a horde of other fake ID-carrying teens) were swarming an area club on Saturday night in absurd numbers.
Through these encounters, I had the bemusement and amazement of an American tourist in southeast Asia: just well out of my element.
I’m not a clubbing person. I grew up sheltered to the nth degree. I am an admittedly uncool (by club standards), stodgy white kid. Yet now by a twist of fate I find myself ferrying around the nightlife crowd – and what’s more, apparently I’ve carried a couple of bigger deals in the nightlife crowd.
I don’t see myself becoming a part of this scene, but I am learning from these riders about a world I hardly know – a world that is a big part of the lives of young Atlantans. And most everyone has been friendly and willing to share a view into their world.