We Shall Overcomb

Trump’s inauguration was difficult.  For a lot of us, it was hard to believe in a lot of ways and for a lot of reasons, and everyone processes that differently.  My grief process (yes, that is grief!) is longer than most, so it took me a long time to stop being upset and turn that into power.  The gloomy morning of the actual ceremony, I woke up and saw all the news alerts on my phone and with tears welling in my eyes, I literally pulled the covers over my head like one of those cringeworthy sitcom-y trite Meg Ryan rom-com moments.

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I eventually remembered that I needed to go to work, and if I didn’t do that, I wouldn’t have money.  And without money, I couldn’t pay rent.  And without paying rent, I would be homeless.  I’m not letting our new leader make me homeless on his first day in office!

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So I pulled it together, showered and got dressed, and got started for the day.  My first trip was an older Hispanic guy who barely spoke English, but voted for Trump and wanted to talk about it.  At this point, I think I’m well within my rights to tell him he’s a fucking idiot for voting against his own interests.

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Let’s do this.  I told him, “He’s a horrible human being, but I’m not really truly worried deep down.  He’s not going to be President for long.  Not that we want Mike Pence, the Devil’s closeted little brother.  But at the very least, he is simply only terrible, disgusting, bigoted bad policy.  He’s not a combination of that and an irresponsible child who would get a tweet from Justin Bieber and say, ‘Let’s nuke Canada!'”

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The guy in the back seat scrunches up his face, confused at the reference.  “Who?” he asks.  I’m exasperated and angry at this point and my mouth can hardly keep up with my brain as I’m reading this guy his rights.  “Justin Bieber!  It doesn’t fucking matter, it could be fucking anybody!”

That’s when the guy looks a little closer at me, narrowing his eyes.  “No, the other guy.”

“Wait, wait.  You fucking voted for Trump and you don’t know who Mike Pence is?  This conversation is over.”

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The guy gets out of the car, and I’m amazed, bewildered, saddened, and hopeless as to how stupid our society has become.  I hold back a tear and decide that I’m just going to be a driver today – nothing more, nothing less.  No conversations, just confirming names and destinations, and telling them I hope they have a good day (or at least a better day than mine).

I pick up the next passenger and it’s a woman headed to the airport.  I confirm her name, help with luggage (grrr…), confirm her destination and off we go!  A minute or so in, she seems eager to chat, so she gets started.  “I’m excited to fly today!  I haven’t been to Washington, DC in a long time.”

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I don’t say anything, but she continues.  “Thankfully, I won’t be there for the inauguration.  You couldn’t pay me to sit there through that fucking shit show.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief as if to say, “You’re one of the good ones!” and told her about our clueless friend from the previous ride.

“Yeah, I’m actually meeting up with some old college friends and we are going to the Women’s March tomorrow.”

At this point, I had a laundry list to say to her:

  • Thank you for doing this.  It means everything.
  • Some people, like me, are too sad and emotionally exhausted to march.
  • Some people, like me, can’t even afford to take the day off.
  • Some people, like me, are worried about things getting violent at the march, like a counterprotester attacking.
  • But it means everything to know that there are people in cities across the country and even the world, standing up for the rights of the people who can’t stand on their own yet, be it out of fear, sadness, or finances.  And it’s beautiful to see neighbors in my own city doing it.

Now approximately 3-5 seconds into that speech, I start ugly crying.  I search for tissues in the glove compartment and apologize.  “I’m *sniff* so so *wahhhhh* sorrrrrrrryyyy.”

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The woman stops me, and puts her hand on my shoulder very firmly, and gives me the kindest and most empowering speech.

“Honey, first off.  Stop apologizing.  Don’t ever fucking apologize for your feelings.  Let it out.  Let it all out!  Listen, your head’s in the right place and so is your heart.  When your body’s ready, you’re gonna be out there marching with us.  In the meantime, do what you need to get by.  You’re helping in your own way by driving for Uber.”

Well if said that, it’d be a copout, but sure.  I’ll take it.

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“People need to get to these protests.  They need to get to the airport.  Without you, they can’t do that.  When you’re ready, I’ll see you out there.”

The next day, Los Angeles outgrossed the Women’s March in DC.  We had over 750,000 people in downtown LA showing their resistance.  It was another day filled with tears, but for the opposite reason.  It was the first day I’d felt hope in a long time.  I met strong women, beautiful immigrant families, and empowered LGBT people.  It was a beautiful day.

In LA, nobody meets their neighbors because if you want to borrow a cup of sugar from them, you have to hop on the 101 for two exits.  I had moved into this place several months earlier and had never seen any neighbors.  But this day, I saw people coming out in droves from the big buildings on my block with huge picket signs.  “Leave the pussy control 2 Prince!,” “This pussy grabs back,” and my personal favorite, “We shall overcomb.”

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It was a beautiful day that left me hopeful.

RIDESHARE TIP #45: If you’re political, know your audience.  And vote responsibly, you fucking idiot.

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Precious Cargo

I spend a lot of unhappy hours in my car throughout the week.  People are annoying, traffic is terrible, and it’s tedious to always be worried if you’re going to make enough money to survive, without getting into an accident.

From time to time, I’ll get a request where the person wants me to deliver an item rather than give someone a ride somewhere.  They always frame it as “Hey!  This is a real treat!  You don’t have to deal with people!”  What they don’t realize is that I am aware of how much more expensive a messenger service is.

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But hey, a ride is a ride.  Knowing that it is against the terms of service, I’m willing to do their bidding under two conditions:  1) I get to act really dramatic like it’s really putting me out while they explain it, and 2) there absolutely has to be a person standing outside at the receiving address, because I’m not driving around looking for parking for a “Thanks so much!”.  It’s the one of the reasons why I don’t do Postmates or any food delivery.  It’s not that I’m above food service, it’s just that I am.

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So one day, I’m all the way on the West side of town on a Friday afternoon.  To get back East would take well over an hour, so I rolled the dice and hoped I would get something in that direction.  Miracle of miracles, I did!  Because everything is terrible, it was an UberPool trip, which means it’s going to take 17 hours instead of 1.  No worries, I’ve only been on the road for 10 hours already.

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When I showed up at this guy’s house, who we’ll call Glen, he took a while to come out.  As a driver, when someone orders a cheap pool trip, I pull no punches.  I won’t do a U-turn to get to them, I don’t answer when they call, and I definitely cancel after exactly two minutes.  Glen waves at me from his place and I pretend not to see him, and he comes over to the driver’s side window.  I motion for old Glen to sit in the back, but Glen comes over to the front passenger side window and motions for me to roll down the window.  I can see he’s got a huge ziplock bag with many smaller ziplock bags in it, and they’ve all got something in them.  Oh, Glen.

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I roll down the window and confirm his name, and he says, “Yeah, that’s me.  I’m not coming.  You’re gonna take these to a testing facility on the East side.”  Oh, am I, Glen?  Am I really?

I am always blown away at the inconsiderate and entitled nature of this abuse of service, but to do it in an UberPool, where this trip normally is an hour?  How fucking cheap can you be?  Also, what in the fuck am I transporting?  Is my life about to become a reboot of Orange Is The New Black?  I am way too fragile for prison, so if I’m going, it’s because I murdered my roommate.  Not because I was an inadvertent drug mule for a cheap Westsider named Glen.  GLEN, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!

I asked if there would be someone outside at the testing facility, considering that for starters, I don’t want to get out of the car and waste my own time, but when you do that in a pool, it inconveniences everyone else in the car who has also paid for a trip.

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Also, lest we forget, I don’t even get a percentage of what this guy pays.  I get a flat, shitty mileage rate.  $0.57 a mile on Pool trips.  Why the fuck am I bending over backwards for old Glen?

Nobody would be at the receiving end waiting.  Do you think he cared?  No.  Do you think I felt like risking my job if he wanted to complain to Uber?  No.  Do you think I was in a good mood for the next hour?

…Actually, yes.  

I realized I could just turn off the app and take the longest-mile route on the way home, maximizing what I get paid for the trip, and avoid the hassle of picking up more people.  This is actually kind of a nice ending to the week.  Winding down stress-free.  But it wasn’t smooth sailing just yet.  I put on my favorite podcast and rolled down the windows, hopped on the freeway and immediately sat in gridlock Friday afternoon traffic.

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As I’m sitting there, curiosity got the best of me. What was in that bag?  I grabbed the big ziplock bag as I sat in a sea of brake lights, and looked more closely at the little bags inside of it. I see that they all have little clear vials in them, with red liquid sloshing around.  They were all labelled with different peoples’ names on them, a few alphanumeric codes, and the words “BLOOD SAMPLE.”

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Too late to turn back now, I suppose.  What was I going to do, drive back to his place, throw a bunch of blood at him, and end the trip?  By this point he would’ve been charged something, which means he can rate me as a driver, and file a complaint.  And if you don’t know, Uber would do anything to not lose a customer.  Even a terribly cheap one like good ol’ Glen.

So what could I do but pull out my hand sanitizer, drive for what felt like months, and enjoy the most recent episode of Comedy Bang! Bang!  When I finally arrived at the facility, there was nobody outside.

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I parked the car and got out, huffing and puffing the whole way.  I almost wish I could’ve watched this on tv, because it surely must’ve been a fun sight if you had no emotional investment in it.

I went in and saw two receptionist desks, both with employees that had no sense of urgency to greet me.  In the most distant, irritated demeanor I could muster up, I said “Hi, I’m delivering these for Glen.”

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“Your guess is as good as mine.  I’m an Uber driver, and he was too cheap to order an actual delivery service.  But he insinuated that you guys would be expecting his delivery, sooo…. Here’s some blood from Glen.”

“Um, ok.  Thanks?”

I got back in the car and went home, took a few baths in bleach, cursed humanity and hit up a bar with some friends.  After so many unhappy hours… It was finally happy hour.

RIDESHARE TIP #0-NEGATIVE:  Your driver is not equipped with a HAZMAT suit, so obey the golden rule:  NO MEDICAL WASTE!