It’s a slow Saturday night, and I’m sitting next to Medill senior Dallas Wright in a SafeRide car. Bernie Foster, the SafeRide coordinator, says Wright is one of their most experienced.
Normally, as soon as it’s 7 p.m., he’s flooded with passengers, and the car is full of radio chatter between drivers and dispatchers. But no one needs a ride yet tonight. The temperature is dropping rapidly, so soon he’ll begin his normal runs, hauling out to the Ridge and Davis alley, launching up Sheridan to the frat quads and sneaking through alleys, flashing his headlights each time he meets a street.
After 15 minutes of waiting and no rides, we head to 7-Eleven for a drink. He grabs a tall can of iced tea lemonade and heads for the counter.
A small child in a knit hat challenges him with a karate kick. They spar playfully.
“This is the easiest job I’ll ever have,” Wright says as he shoots the Prius down an alley. It’s a simple job: Just ferry around drunk kids and those avoiding the cold. He does have to give up the occasional Saturday, like this one, but tonight he’s only working a half shift so he’s off at 11. He’s already making plans.
“Music is important,” Wright says as he spins the wheel, sending the car down another alley. Without it, this would be a boring job. But as long as the stereo works and his phone is charged, Dallas enjoys the time to himself. A Wu-Tang song comes up on the playlist, and the student who needs a ride from the library to Chili’s doesn’t show up.
At 8 p.m., the rides start to pick up. We drive a guy from Ridge and Davis to Zeta. We ask what he’s doing there on recruitment night.
“They need help moving furniture.”
After an 8:25 p.m. bathroom break at Burger King, we’re back to the driving. The pickup at Bat 17 has an extra rider. Dallas lets him in. Their previous activities amplify their appreciation.
“This is what NU SafeRide is about!”
“Is your name Dallas? That’s really cool!”
“I probably pull eight U-turns a night,” Dallas says as he spins the car around. We make a pickup at Norris and slowly descend the hill southbound. The students walking in front of us can’t hear the hybrid silently creeping behind them. A quick flash of the high beams startles and disperses them.
A few minutes later, we’re back at Norris. A stream of girls, all gussied up for recruitment, pours out. Their bare legs shiver. Most didn’t dress for warmth. Two climb into the car. One is quiet. The other one, relieved to be out of the sorority event, opens up about rush and decriminalization. The empty streets just south of campus are full of cops.
Dallas knows when the streetlights change. It’s unnerving at first, hurtling toward a red light. But the light turns green just as the Prius hums across each intersection. After a few white-knuckled clutches of the door handles, I’ve gotten into the rhythm of the pickups. One minute we’re turning around at the end of University. The next we’re up at the circular driveway by Ridge and Noyes, dropping off passengers. The house next door is having a party. We’ve been here three times.
Everyone appreciates Dallas giving them rides. “I’ve gotten food before,” he says, as we wait outside Sargent. “I guess girls have baking parties or something. They’ll ask, ‘Do you want a cupcake or muffin?’”
By 10:15 p.m., no one is going home anymore. The library pickups dwindle. Partygoers out on the stereo try to wave Dallas down. His pickup at Sargent is a rowdy group of three. They each hold a fluorescent bottle of sports drink. They’re arguing about cheese. One claims that you can get a burger with cottage cheese at Steak ‘n Shake. The rest of the car scoffs. It’s her favorite kind of burger. The other two challenge her preference. There is a lull in the conversation just as one mutters, “He’s cute.” She didn’t mean for Dallas to hear. The other two laugh.
“I bet he’s feeling good about himself.”
“He’s feeling it right now.”
Dallas smiles. The girls press on.
“You should pick us up at The Keg later.”
“Come to the lacrosse house after work!”
They reach their destination and Dallas shrugs them off, but not without giving one his phone number first.
“What’s your name?” one asks as they pile out of the car.
“His name is Dallas!”
“No!” another girl answers angrily. “That’s where he’s from!”
We drive off. A block away, and she’s already texting him. Dallas grins.
“I should have asked what her name was.”