Cosmos Side Hustle

**Dave Hendricks** had been driving with Uber for about five years too long. Not that he had aspirations of grandeur; he just dreamt of doing something—anything—that didn’t involve answering the clichéd question of how well Uber paid. So, on a particularly bleary Wednesday night, after dropping off a couple who couldn't stop arguing over John Legend lyrics, Dave decided to park his car, close his eyes, and imagine a world without rideshares. Then it happened. A blinding beam of light enveloped his car, lifting it gently but with unmistakable authority into the night sky. Dave, equal parts confused and concerned, struggled to comprehend whether this was some dramatic movie dream sequence or reality spinning off its axis. As the light carrying him vanished, Dave found himself in a command center that looked like someone had crashed a neon carnival into a Costco. A myriad of blinking control panels stretched in all directions. Before he knew it, he heard a voice—cocksure, undeniably alien. "Hey there, Earthling! Sorry for the abrupt pickup. We're short on drivers, and the universe, well, it commutes like hell. Think of this as Uber Galactic!" The being (a neon-green quadruped with two heads) grinned with an unplaceable goofiness. "Uber Galactic?" was all Dave managed to sputter before the creature continued. "Name's Xylo. Yours is Dave, yeah? You came highly recommended! Now, if you can get people from A to B on Earth, how tough can the cosmos be? Just watch out for asteroids." For Dave, adjustment was surprisingly swift. The novel concept of driving in a vacuum-focused him, and Xylo's infectious enthusiasm made space travel bearable—almost fun. Yet, something gnawed at the back of Dave's mind. Why was Uber's alien counterpart so desperate for drivers? As he whizzed past constellations with fares ranging from peculiar gaseous sculptures to talkative gelatinous masses, Dave stumbled upon confidential Galacti-Mail tucked within his coworker's planning charts. The correspondence? Evidence of a cosmic conspiracy—an interstellar monopolization scheme threatening Earth's productivity. Apparently, a coalition was secretly syndicating human boredom to power their outposts galaxy-wide. A moral quandary ensued. Document in hand, Dave realized the choice: maintain the status quo or sacrifice cosmic neutrality for his home planet. As wacky intelligences poured from interplanetary comms requesting "Destination Earth," Dave grasped the stakes. "What are you doing with that? That's high-clearance stuff!" Xylo exclaimed, catching Dave red-handed. "Just some bedtime reading, XYZ," Dave returned, hoping jocularity concealed intent. But something shifted in Xylo's demeanor—a realization that his Earthling passenger wasn't aimlessly booking a return flight. Feeling betrayed, Xylo confessed, "We're energy-hungry—but not without remorse," stopping, a spectral tear dripping. Dave, though fixated on outcomes beyond interstellar hierarchies, surprised himself: "Look, Xylo, the universe is enormous. So much so that just getting by isn't enough. Wisest journey? Choosing right from wrong—even lightspeed can't escape consequences." With that, Dave shared his plan. Armed with the truth, the duo devised a narrative, banking on honesty over hurtling through prearranged roads. It turns out, broadcasting a simple but stirring Open Fare message to Uber Galactic clients across the galaxy struck a cosmic chord. With Dave's wit and pleasantries, they disclosed impact over consequences. The wheel turned: passengers opted for minimal energy use, sharing lodes or traveling light. The planets unburdened sought safer alternatives—not a negligence of calamity, but correcting navigational fallacy together. Astrophysical giants dared rethink. In hours shrouded with brightness-bound politeness, Dave allowed full disclosure in place of misdirection. Back home, Dave's loyalty to intergalactic Uber became mythologized and near-religious across the chatty corridors they all navigated. He laughed about it as he hailed "rides" sensed with humility. And as he pondered meaning amidst entirely unstable nooks, he acknowledged his roadtrip memorable—a galactic gig now etched intrinsically, an everlasting lesson wrapped in stardust humor.