Uber has once again revolutionized the world of transportation. Although they removed the fun out of drinking, these drivers each have their own tales to spin, vomit to clean, and names to make damn sure they are getting right in this day and age. Thanks to fermented grain, I get to trust these men and women with my life, and I am always more than happy to offer a miller latte as mid-ride compensation. However, it is Uber’s challenged child with two less wheels that never asks my name. And while ‘Mothers Against Drunk Driving’ would disagree, I gotta get home somehow, and that Lime scooter splayed across the sidewalk always manages to get me to a place I call ‘home’.
Lesson Learned
It is the events of May 3rd, 2024, that encourage me go to church on Sundays and keep a cross above my bed. Don’t get me wrong, scooters are sleek, slim, and badass in the ‘lime’light. They are essentially the supermodels of the motorized world – one swift gust of wind and they’re horizontal.
But then there are times when they aren’t so badass. There are those times when I am left to my own devices. And in those grave times, my prefrontal cortex does exactly the opposite of what would be considered ‘smart’ and ‘conventional’.
I was itching to find myself at a bar on Friday night for some good ol’ fashioned Colorado fun, and with no uber in sight, I decided I would make use of their dumb child Lime for the night. So as I approached the Colorado-Springs-renowned superbar, Trainwreck, my beloved scooter had met its untimely demise. PSA: Check the battery before taking a 1.5 mile ride through the ghetto.
For those who have never been under an overpass in Colorado, congratulations! I watched these people rise from their graves (tents) and check me out the same way I check out another table at Carbone who had ordered something much more appetizing than what I ordered. With my fists clenched and asshole tight, I made it through. After a few wrong turns and a couple monetized interactions, I was ready to become a trainwreck at the Trainwreck.
Home Sweet Home
Quickly after two too many Voodoo Rangers at this lively bar, I decided it was time to head home. The unfortunate part of this tale is that “head home” meant going headfirst into the pavement and laying there like I truly was home in bed. Then I made my way to my real home that is a Lime scooter. Taking heed of my past mistake, I rolled through a different part of town on my Lime scooter that belonged to everyone but me.
One wrong turn ended up as a trip on the shoulder of Interstate 25 South. Turns out, Lime scooters will take you places where the speed limit is a 70mph minimum but won’t take you close to the ‘Free Palestine’ club of Colorado College. After an illegal U-turn and a quick stop for some 7-11 taquitos, I was finally back home. A hiccup here, a hiccup there.
Case in Point: Beware Lemon’s younger brother: Lime.