Why is it always the last rider of the night?

Yesterday was going so well, too. I took a group of tourists to a lighthouse; they were impressed by it. Ran into an old friend at a coffee shop; hugs ensued. Drove a couple of well-fed drunks back to their hotels. Then there was that one drive to the golf club. Cool guy. Nice bunch of passengers all around. Good moods, good vibes, good times, then I said, "Okay, I've almost reached my daily goal, one more passenger should do it."

The social disease in high heels who crawled into my car had apparently upended an entire bottle of dollar-store perfume over herself immediately before getting in, and possibly refreshed it a few times over the course of the ride. It may even have been more than one bottle. Church ladies, that one co-worker, the Macy's perfume counter, none of them could hold a candle to the sheer force that marinated in the back seat of my car, probably because we'd all go up in flames. There's no way to describe it without sounding like I'm exaggerating.

And yes, I'm wondering why I didn't kick her to the curb at a gas station and leave her for the next driver in the conga line. I've rationalized it as a combination of "still new at this" and the fact that a recent rider left a review that was a web of lies; giving me a one-star rating and ticking every box on the way down the list, and I didn't want my luck pushed.

A lot of riders have brought interesting smells into my car, but nothing I couldn't scrub out or air out. I'm not to sure what to do about this one. My car's been sitting in the driveway all night and I'm not mentally ready to open the door. My jacket is sitting on that chair over there, though...and I can still smell it.

It's always the last rider of the night. Doesn't matter how my day went, the last rider of the night seems determined to ruin it.