Don't.

Around 3 a.m. last Saturday night, I decided to take one more ride request before throwing in the towel for the evening. The request came from 4th and Washington downtown, where I found a very drunk couple - a woman and a man - who had attended a wedding reception with a very, very open bar. 

As I began the trip, I noticed that the destination wasn't a specific street address, but rather, just a street and city. 

"Would you mind opening the app and entering your exact drop-off address for me, please?" I asked.

Instead, the woman slurred some numbers at me.

"That's great, but I need you to enter that in the app please."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, "sure."

"Psh." was the sound emitted from the man.

"What?!" demanded the woman. "What is your fucking problem?"

"My problem?" he said, "you can't even use an app right!"

"I didn't request the ride! You did! Fix it!" she said, incorrectly.

"No, Melissa," he said, "this is on your account. You requested the ride."

And thus began the longest ride of my life.

Before we even left downtown, he was belittling her for drinking too much and embarrassing him, though apparently he didn't know anyone else at this wedding reception. She, in turn, was belittling him for not paying for anything.

This was a drawn out debate. So drawn out that by the time we were on the highway, on the outskirts of downtown, the argument about who had requested the ride evolved into a pissing contest about who spends more money in the relationship.

"I spend so much money on you," she said. "You're just a mooch. You just mooch off of me. You're a parasite."

"You are so full of shit," he said. "I pay for stuff!"

"Oh yeah?" she demanded. "Like what?!"

Coming up empty after a blissful moment of silence, he retorted. "Well, maybe I'd pay for more if I didn't have to get pizza for everyone the other night!"

Clearly, this was his Excalibur. He got pizza for everyone.

"Ohhhhh, mister big shot! Getting pizza for everyone!" she screamed back at him, her words soaked in resentment. "You work at a pizza place, Jeremy!"

"I still have to pay for it!" he appealed. "I still have to pay for it, Melissa!"

"And you didn't even save me any!" she countered. 

"I saved you three pieces!"

"You know that's not enough when I'm drunk!"

"Of course not, you fat fucking cow!"

Oh damn. Shit just got real in my back seat. It then proceeded to get realer and realer. I just zoned out and drove. 

"You are a real mother fucker, Jeremy, you know that?"

I tended to agree with Melissa at this point. That was a pretty low blow. Especially from a leech like Jeremy.

"Fine, you're right, I'm sorry," he said, unconvincingly.

"You're sorry? Right. Bullshit. I don't want you coming back to my house," she said. 

"My name is on the lease!" he said. "My dog is there. He needs to be walked! I'm staying at my house!"

"Fine," she said. "Uber guy how much longer?"

We had just pulled off the highway and onto the street listed in the app.

I read their street name. 

"This doesn't look familiar," said Melissa.

"Did you update the address in the app like he asked you to?" asked Jeremy.

Look at Jeremy, making up ground. 

"What? I told him the address!" she said, and repeated it. I noticed that the address she told me had four digits. All the houses on this street had two. Definitely not a good sign.

I had to get involved. I parked the car, turned around, and addressed the assholes in the back seat.

"When I picked you up, I told you the app only had a street listed, and I asked you to update your destination to include the specific drop-off address. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah, do you fucking remember?" Jeremy interjected.

"I don't want to hear it, Jeremy," I said. 

Silently, Melissa turned to Jeremy, sneered at him, and handed me her phone.

"Can you please do it for me? I don't know how."

I entered the correct address for her - something I would have gladly done eight miles earlier.

The updated destination: six miles southeast of our location, another 14 minutes away. Son of a...

The arguments continued, though admittedly not with as much gusto as the first leg of the trip. The intensity ramped up as we approached the final - correct - destination, though.

As Melissa and Jeremy began to exit my car, both felt the need to make closing statements, because apparently I looked like I gave a fuck.

"I'm sorry he's such a piece of shit," said Melissa.

"And I'm sorry she doesn't know how to use a fucking app," said Jeremy.

Again, I turned around and addressed them. 

"First, please make sure you have all your belongings. I don't want to come back here." They double-checked the seat and the floor for keys and phones.

"Second, and more importantly, do you have kids?" I asked.

Melissa responded with a puzzled look. Jeremy simply said, "Nope!"

"Good," I said. "Don't."