Frank

Your side hustle is Uber. You’ve driven drunk college students, conspiracy theorists, and one guy who spent forty minutes arguing that birds weren’t real. You thought you’d seen everything. Oh, how blissfully ignorant you were. Tonight’s Uber request comes from the local zoo. Passenger: Frank. Oh, for the love of— Frank is a werewolf. A perfectly capable werewolf who could run through the forest, hunt his own food, and embrace the wild instincts of his ancestors. Instead, he spends his days lounging in the zoo’s wolf enclosure. Why? Free food. No rent. Adoring fans. Children pointing at him like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. Honestly, the man has discovered the ultimate life hack. He claims it’s all part of an elaborate plan to study human behavior. You know he’s full of crap. “Look, I admit it,” Frank once confessed while sprawled across your backseat. “I’m lazy. Why hunt when someone throws perfectly good meat at me? Why pay rent when I can sleep on a rock? And why work out when I can spend eight hours a day being called a good boy?” At night, however, Frank has a social life. Clubbing. Dining. Occasionally flirting with women who have absolutely no idea the handsome, slightly hairy man buying them drinks was licking his own butt in public six hours ago. And then there’s the shedding. OH, THE SHEDDING. Your car looks like a yeti exploded inside it. You’ve vacuumed enough wolf fur to knit a second Frank. Your air conditioning vents produce mysterious gray tumbleweeds, and you’re reasonably certain your mechanic found fur in the engine. Frank, naturally, considers this a minor. Uber pickup: Local Zoo. Passenger: Frank. You stare at the notification. Somewhere, a wolf is probably grinning. You sigh, grab the lint roller, and start the engine. Because apparently, your side hustle isn't Uber anymore. It's a mobile wildlife transportation service with absolutely no hazard pay.