It's Mine...My Precious...

9/1/18
I made pretty good money driving in a larger suburban area last weekend, so this weekend I tried it again. I headed out early to get some ice cream, meandered down there and got my evening coffee to see me through. I prefer a medium iced coffee with cream and Splenda. It sees me through the dark times as does Donna Summers.

retrieved September 2, 2018 from youtube.com

I have only been driving for Lyft, and now Uber, for about a month. It has taught me more about driving, finding my way, and reminded me about things I had forgotten about dealing with customers in my other life as a retail assistant manager.
Some things have become abundantly clear.
Let me weave this picture for you.
I picked up one of my riders at a mansion. Yes, a mansion. It was hard to find because it was not visible from the road. The rider's nephew walked down the drive describing the front driveway because the location pin was dropped a little further down the road in the app. He was a genial and attractive (I notice these things) man and we started chatting right away.
I pulled up the cobblestone drive and blurted out, "Oh my god, are we at Liam Neeson's house?" (Note: No. I have no idea where Liam Neeson lives. Qui Gon Jinn was just the first guy to pop into my mind.)
You see these kinds of houses on "The Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless": manicured lawns and hedges, columns, a foyer with a fifteen foot ceiling with a teardrop chandelier, and a white Mercedes parked in the drive. It dripped money. It oozed wealth and tax avoidance. All of a sudden, I felt very under dressed and under...automobiled? We'll go with that.
The nephew explained that he had been at this man's barbecue (what did they barbecue? kobe beef steaks?) and he hoped this man would invest in a project of his devising. He told me that the inside was even more amazing than the outside. I really wanted to see the inside of that house, even though after Dubai it would probably be a pale imitation of truly insane wealth. You can't compete with Dubai, Lord Moneybags.
The elderly lady whom we picked up at the top of the drive was very pleasant. Her nephew helped her in, and I turned carefully in this very narrow, cobble stoned driveway as the valets (yes, valets! hired just for that night!) looked on in horror as I drove on the grass. Hey, lackeys! Tell Lord Moneybags if he can afford this place, he could afford a wider driveway! The nephew assured me it was okay and encouraged me to go ahead and drive on the grass. My tires tiptoed over the grass as if they were crushing fresh dollar bills.
"I hope he still invests in your project after you told your Lyft driver to drive on his lawn,"I joked. We all got a good laugh...but I was kind of not joking. I hope he invests in that nice man's project.
The nephew and I swapped stories all the way to the city about our travels. He spent many years abroad, and his business often took him around the world. From his descriptions of his business habits, I can only assume this man makes twice what I do in a year if not more. I mean, if Lord Moneybags is the kind of investor he is after, yeah he probably does really well for himself!
He told me about Cyprus, a place I had heard so much about but have not managed to get there. It has a kind of Mediterranean romance about it.  I hope I do get there some day. He had a great sense of humor. We both had run ins with gypsies in our travels and lived to tell the tale. His aunt chimed in often, and we just had a really good time. I wondered briefly...nah, guys like him want jet setting eye candy, not sarcastic, witty, nerdy cat ladies.

I can dream.

 retrieved on September 1, 2018 from https://www.onlyexclusivetravel.co.uk/destination/greek-islands-cyprus

I dropped he and his aunt off at their location and we bid each other very pleasantly well. It was not lost upon me that this was one of the nicer neighborhoods in the city. Real estate is expensive there, and the brick houses are well maintained and quite lovely. I checked the app, and at that time in the city it was lighting up like Vegas. I was excited. I did not get to busy areas like this often and was hoping to get good rides and tips.
I did not have long to wait. Within a minute, I had another ride request only blocks away.
This ride was similar in that we had very animated conversation, but that is the only thing they had in common.
For the sake of my readers' ease and to eliminate confusion, I shall refer to my second rider as "B".
I picked up B only about five minutes away, but the change in neighborhood was clear. The houses got smaller, more unkempt, and in various states of disrepair albeit not too bad.
B made his way slowly to my car. He kind of ambled rather than walked. I had pulled as close to the curb as I could on such crowded streets. I verified his identity, and he slowly pulled himself into the car and got comfortable. I offered him water, made sure the car temperature was acceptable, and we got underway. It was going to be a long ride. B informed me that we were going to the north side of the city. I blinked a little, as that is probably the worst area of the city, but hey that was where the ride request went so off we go.
B was a very friendly, talkative man. It was not long before he started telling me about the daily health challenges he faces.
B has MS. He faces intense pain all day, every day. He lives in pain.
He goes to physical therapy, to see doctors, and has received very little in the way of solutions to his pain. His doctor recommends a visit to a neurosurgeon and a back brace. However, because of B's weight the surgery would be high risk with an 82% chance of B ending up in a wheelchair. To further complicate matters, B cannot exercise to lose the weight. He has done his best with diet changes and is doing the stretches as recommended by his physical therapist. I encouraged him to keep plugging away at it and hopefully that will reduce his risk.
He sounded so beat down, but expressed how appreciative he was of his nieces' help. They are his daily carers, both physically, emotionally, and financially. He could not say enough how much he loved them for their help. B also told me all of the things he misses, like cooking at family holidays. He can no longer even cook for himself. I only hope that one day he can do those things again.
It turns out B's biggest challenge is social security. His own doctor has stated that B is unable to stand for over a minute or two, cannot walk over a block, let alone hold down a job. The doctor who makes the recommendation for social security however says the exact opposite. He stated (according to B, he blatantly lied) on the paperwork to the court that B could stand up and sit down, dress himself, and walk several blocks to and from the bus stops. I could just feel B's frustration in his voice.
"Elena," he said on the verge of tears it sounded, "I don't know what to do. I worked all of my life and thank god I saved a little something so I have some savings. But what did I work all my life for? To get sick and lose all my savings to this? What can I do if the social security doctor is going to lie?"
I told him to get out to the polls in November, because the Republicans are going to further dismantle Social Security, Medicaid, and Medicare and make it near impossible for people to get help. He stated that he votes in every election, though it pains him to stand him in line at the polls.

Ever have those moments when you are just plum out of wisdom? Happened to me.

I could tell that B was just a wonderful, cuddly, warm guy. He was good natured and cared greatly for his family. In spite of his pain, he said he just kept at it every day trying to make himself better. It sucked. It really did. I wished I had some information, some strategy, just something that would help him out. I had nothin'.
Now, as we drove the neighborhoods got more and more rundown. Think of any movie ghetto you have ever seen. Except these are real. Graffiti, abandoned cars, crack houses, people loitering on corners. You get the idea. Now, you may think that these neighborhoods are full of  low income druggies, single mothers on welfare, and gangbangers. You're wrong. B, and a whole bunch of other good people who struggle, live there too. This is where I dropped B off.
B is a wonderful guy, and he bid me a cheerful goodnight. I stayed until he got to the doorway, and then I locked the doors and took off because the two guys on the stoop were eyeing my car and I in a way that made me...want to drive away very fast. Maybe I'm profiling. But maybe I'm not. I was so out of there and drove with my pepper spray in my hand watching all windows at red lights. I did not feel comfortable until I was on the expressway out of the city. Overreacted, you say? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
On the expressway, I turned the app to my earnings so I could rate B and the nice aunt and her  handsome nephew.
What? He was! Leave me alone.
 Having explained and described my riders in great detail, I'll just put this here: The aunt tipped me $1 for a forty five minute $20 ride. B, on his meager savings, tipped me $2 for an $11 ride twenty five minute away.
...
Maybe I was tired, but all of a sudden I was incensed.
I was pissed.
Don't get me wrong. The nephew and his aunt were wonderful, lovely, gracious people and the following rant has nothing to do with them. I think the $1 tip was a generation gap thing being that she was well over seventy and B was just fifty. I myself was taught to tip between 15-30% depending on the type and level of service. Tipping is inconsistent in ridesharing on the best of days. Heck, half the time people don't tip the drivers at all.
But something about that $1 tip just blew up in my face and highlighted a hot button issue that my man Bernie keeps shouting about. It just had not been so clear and real until right then.

He's like if Doc Brown from "Back to the Future" and Snow White had a baby.

 retrieved on September 2, 2018 from http://time.com/4272885/bernie-sanders-bird-podium/

It made me think of the wealth inequality in this country. The top 1% have the majority of the money, real estate, and best of everything money has to offer, while the rest of the country carries most of the crippling debt while their wages stagnate. Their kids go to the best colleges and have every opportunity wealth can buy, whereas the middle class incurs huge debt sending their kids to colleges to get degrees required by so many companies and end up with jobs that do not pay enough to pay back that debt in reasonable time. The best parts of our lives are spent with every decision revolving around how it affects the paying off of that college debt.
They keep taking more and more and give so little in return. They extort tax breaks from cities with the promise of jobs and adding the to local economy if the city will let them do business there practically for free. They got billions in tax breaks last year, and yet wages overall did not improve. Google it! (From reputable sources, of course.) The investors bought more stock and trickled that tax break down to the only place money trickles down to which is to their shareholders, not their workers.
How much do they want?
They sit at the tops of their shiny executive buildings Googling vacation houses, buying yachts, and building $10,000 chicken coops because that's the hot trend among the rich folk until they get bored and feed their chickens to their other exotic pets. I have had so many riders that make great money and yet tip paltry sums if they tip at all.
Need that fiver for the gold plating on your toilet seat, do you?
They sit on their piles of wealth like voracious, greedy dragons on their hordes, unwilling to part with a single damn coin or divvy out any part of the mountain of treasure they have stolen. More, more, more! We wants more! It's mine! My own...my precious...

Did anyone else just see some hobbits run past? Something about a ring...

retrieved on September 2, 2018 from https://giphy.com/gifs/the-lord-of-rings-return-king-gollum-ie8I61aEWnJCM

People like me, a teacher with a Master's degree and ten years teaching experience are forced to work until 4am driving for Lyft or Uber on weekends in order to pay off debt and build up any kind of savings. Teachers at my school tutor, wait tables, coach sports, sell Lululemon, and peddle fancy teeth whitening toothpaste because our salaries are not enough. This is on top of the many hours we put in additionally to our time at school. B is unable to work and is dependent on family while being denied the assistance from the system he has paid into with his taxes his entire life.
The current administration just denied federal workers a pay increase saying they just do not have the money. You would, you damn jackasses if you would make that 1% pay their fare share instead of handing them billions in tax breaks! My god! We'd be able to insure everyone in the country with the money they skip out on in taxes every year by dodging, extorting, or hiding money in the Cayman Islands or the Maldives! You complain that we have the highest corporate taxes of any country (not true!), when in fact due to state and city tax breaks so many corporations in fact pay little to no taxes at all.
I'm lookin' at you, Amazon!

Goddamn it.

I shall now get down off my soapbox.

I will not often bore you with a tired, elderberry wine soaked diatribe as I wax rhapsodical about the problems of our economy and the evils of the wealth gap. I merely had a frustrated, exhausted moment last night where I was reminded how real it is.

And how important it is that every single one of us make it to the polls in November.

For me.

For you.

For B.

What Is It With Me and Drunk Welsh Guys?

8/31/18
 I have finished my first week of school. My course load is heavy, and my one class is going to make my life very interesting. They haven't learned that I eat kids like them for lunch, but they will. Very soon. I had headed out to make a bit of cash since I have a long weekend for Labor Day. Long weekends= opportunities for extra money. I wasn't looking for an eventful evening, but on Lyft it is always a possibility.
It happened. I got my first creeper. The first request of the evening was farther out than I expected, but hey every night has to start somewhere.
The GPS took me out into an industrial park hidden out in dark corn fields. I pulled up to a distribution center to see twenty trucks lined up and curving out of sight down the road to make deliveries to this place. My rider was waiting by the side of the road. I verified his identity and he got in. We exchanged cordial greetings.
"I need ATM, you bring me there then back here and I give you ten dollars,"he said as he buckled in. His accent was very thick and made him hard to understand but I got the idea.
Wow, that's a big tip. Ok.
"Are you making a delivery?" I said as I tried to pull around a huge Mack truck jutting out into the roadway.
"Yes," he said distractedly. "They unload now, but I have no cash to pay. I need ATM. You take me, I get cash so I can pay."
"Ok, I'll get you there," I reassured him.
I checked the navigation and saw that we were only going a minute or two up the road to a big shopping center. Still, it was almost midnight. Everything there was closed. I hoped there was an exterior ATM in there he could access.
I pulled into the shopping center, and he began to ask me questions. "Is this downtown? This like downtown? This busy place?"
It was then that I figured he was not local, as this place was a well known fancy shmancy glorified outdoor mall unique only because it was located in the middle of nowhere. And it certainly looked like nowhere because all of the shops were closed, parking lots were empty, and only the street lights illuminated the place. It looked a bit zombie apocalypse-ish.
"Where is it? Maybe other side?" he asked. I could tell he was getting a bit desperate. "Is Wells Fargo?"
Okay, yes, I remembered there was a Wells Fargo somewhere in there. I pulled around the other side and glanced down the block. HA!
"There it is!" I triumphantly turned down the block and pulled up to the ATM. He jumped out, completed his transaction, and jumped back in.
This is where it turned a bit...weird.
I turned the car around and headed back out of the shopping center.
"You drive all night?" he asked.
I get that question a lot, so I answered, "No, I'll probably head home around two."
He was quiet for a second.
"You leave alone?"he ventured.
"Leave?" I was confused. Then, I realized he meant "live". He was asking if I lived alone. First, he asks when I get off work, then he asks if I live alone. He was now leaning in between the seats and looking at me. Moment of realization: I am alone in a dark car out in the middle of nowhere with a man who is asking when I get off work and if I live alone and he has just inched closer to me.
Ladies, you know that feeling. That feeling that you get when a man is hinting at a proposition, and the inkling that he might not take "no, thank you" for an answer.
Creeped.
Out.
"No," I quickly answered hoping I sounded natural. "I live with my husband."
I am a single-crazy-cat-lady-artist-teacher. I spun a tale of my husband who worked at a pharmaceutical company making good money but that we struggled a bit so I had to work extra hours driving. In mere seconds, I painted a picture of a dog loving couple who were happily married and that he was home waiting for me.
The rider listened, and then laughed and said "He like you make more money than him!"
We pulled back up to the distribution center, and the line of trucks was even longer. I had to drive up the wrong way with my caution lights on. As I neared the entrance, he asks me, "You have ten dollars? Machine only give me twenties."
"No," I replied. "Drivers get paid and tipped through the app most of the time. I don't carry cash."
"Through the app?" he was unbuckling his seat belt. "Ok."
So much for my ten dollar tip.
He got out, I said goodnight, and he walked down the line of trucks pulling into the center.
I blazed a trail away from there back to civilization.
I have never been scared when I driving, so this was a first. But as I drove away, I reflected on it. Was I actually creeped out by him, or just the idea that a man was propositioning me? It has been a really long time, though I have to admit it was not in a dark car in the middle of sprawling corn fields. Actually, I'm pretty sure this situation has never happened to me before. I have not dated anyone in years, and it had been even longer since a man seriously hit on me.The worst one was from a Welsh guy in Dubai who drunkenly leaned into me and said "Yer cute. You should come back ta my place an' make me dinner." Apparently, that was what he considered a legit chat up line. Drunk Welsh guys. Sheesh.

Which brings us to our next story of the night.

I drove back toward downtown. It was almost 1am, and usually I am home by midnight but the night had been slow so I wanted to make a bit more money. I parked by a bar and waited a few minutes. The request came in and it was only one minute away.
I pulled up to the bar, hit "arrive" and put my four ways on. I looked around for my rider.
A man standing in the middle of the lane in front of the bar's outdoor tables waved at me to pull up. Alright, you can't walk the ten feet to the car so I am not sitting in traffic as you get in. Fine.
I pulled up, put down the window, and verified his identity. He got into the front seat. Rather, he lurched into the front seat and flumped down. I started to pull away, and the warning sound beeped for him to buckle up. He said something unintelligible and started to fumble for the seatbelt, but then stopped, put the window down and leaned out to yell...something...didn't sound like English...at his friends.
"My team," he smiled at me as he put the window back up and fastened his seatbelt.
I flipped through the navigation to see where I was taking him.
"Itsa Best Western," he slurred as he peered at my phone. "I think."
I suppressed a giggle, "You're not sure?"
Oh, boy. This will be an adventure if he can't remember where he is staying. I pictured us wandering the city aimlessly checking every Best Western in a few miles' radius to find his lodging.
"Best Western," he said again, squinting his eyes at the phone. "One of those."
"There are lots of hotels around here, and more than one Best Western," I told him. "The one nearby is actually situated near a couple of hotels."
He eyed me in a drunken stupor.
"We'll find it," I reassured him with a smile, committing to whatever was going to happen as I began to follow the GPS.
His head went down, and as I drove I wondered if he had passed out. A minute later, his head popped up.
"They're my team," he added to his previous statement. "Those guys."
"Oh?" I encouraged him to elaborate even it if only meant he would not pass out in my car. "What sport?"
Turns out he is a soccer player, or football as it is called in Europe. I asked what team, and he said it was not yet official so he could not tell me. He looked out the window and was quiet for a minute.
"Ok, I'll tell ya," he turned back at me and grinned. "It's Leeds United."
"Oh, for England, then?" I was surprised. He did not sound English, and I had been trying to place his accent. Russian? Spanish? He was drunk, and heavily accented so I was having no luck.
"Yeah, and everyone tonight was so nice an' all tonight," he stumbled over his words a bit, "but they all was acting like I was English and talking to me like I was English. Am not. Am Welsh."
"That's why I can't understand a word you're saying!" fell out of my mouth before I could stop it. "Of course, you're Welsh! I've been to Wales, I should have caught that."
The Welsh are hard to understand when they are sober. All bets are off when they are drunk. And this guy being a footballer, it looked as if he had drunk his weight in beer as footballers in the UK do. Yeah, maybe it is a bit stereotypical but this guy was sure fitting the bill.
Luckily, he was too drunk to catch my faux pas, and said, "Yeah, Leeds United, is my passion. What I live for."
I said I knew very little about football, as I do not follow it though some of my students did. I told him I was a little familiar with Manchester United and Liverpool.
"Where?" he asked.
"Manchester," I repeated.
"Where?" he asked with a silly smile.
"Oh, c'mon," I laughed.
"Don't even talk about them," he said stubbornly.
I mentioned that one of my student's favorite players is Cristian Ronaldo, and he asked if the student was gay because Ronaldo is such a "pretty boy." I had forgotten how strong football loyalties run in the UK. I just left that alone. I can't hold my own in an argument about football. Especially with a drunk Welsh guy.
Well, I have a real live UK footballer in my car. Neat. At least I hoped it would stay neat and he wouldn't lose his dinner in my front passenger seat.
His head went down again, chin dropping to his chest. No snoring. Just quiet.
Quiet for a minute at least, so I could concentrate on driving. I stopped at the red light and flipped forward through the GPS again.
His head popped up.
"There's a red sign," he stated. He looked at me expectantly. He looked so serious, but with a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, there is," I looked back at him. I was trying not to laugh in his face, this Welsh Captain Obvious. He nodded and looked out the window.
He was fairly subdued the rest of the way, commenting about how it is so busy and noisy. He said Wales was like PA, very green though where he was from was quieter. I told him I had been to Wales, and agreed that PA was similar though noisier.
I pulled into the spot indicated on the navigation where several hotels squatted in the dark off the highway. We drove past an odd assortment of people loitering in the middle of the parking lot.
"What the !@#$?" he blustered.
He looked back at them, and began to look around, "It's one o' these, am sure...(unintelligible)...come have a beer."
Well, let's see if he's alert enough to find his hotel. I had not seen a Best Western, and had driven by two hotels already when I saw a Best Western sign in front of one of them.
"Alrigh, darlin' this is the one," he stated sounding somewhat confident, then not so much, "I think."
"Are you sure?" I asked. "I'll wait if you want to go in and make sure."
He kind of rolled his head over and looked at me, "Nah, I'm sure, love."
He reached out to shake my hand.
"Nice to meet you, darlin," he slurred a bit but seemed genuine. He opened the door and the interior light came on. He started to slide out and then looked back at me, as if seeing me for the first time.
He stuck out his hand again.
Okay. We already did this, but okay.
"Nice meeting you, darlin," he said again.
He slid out of the car, turned around, and held out his hand. Again.
I stifled a giggle.
"Have a good night, love," he said and he turned and looked out at the hotel, then turned back. "It's a thing, like we say 'darlin' and 'love' where I come from like...(unintelligible)."
"Yeah, I know, thank you and take care," I smiled at him. He closed the door. I let him get a few feet before letting out a chuckle.
Then, I got worried about him stumbling into the hotel and checked my rearview mirror, just in time to see him walking between my car and the car behind me. He yelled something at them, put his foot out and kicked their bumper before stumbling off. The guys in the car yelled something at him, but fortunately did not get out of their car to pursue him.
A Welsh-born football hooligan.
Strange things happen in the nexus of the universe where I live at 1am as the summer ends. I noticed some leaves falling on my car as I drove home.I closed my Lyft and Stride apps, rated my passengers, and checked my earnings.

And just has he had promised, the truck driver who desperately had needed an ATM at midnight had tipped me ten dollars. For a four dollar ride.