Lyft Story
January 1, 2019
It was New Year's Day (obviously indicative of the date above), and I was doing a little Lyft. I had received an email from Lyft a week or so prior stating that ride requests typically slow down around December 31st and January 1st, but I decided to cruise around in the hopes for a little more than a couple dollars. As long as I make a profit after gas expenses, and the profit happened to be worth the amount of time spent sitting in a car seat, I would be happy.
Anyway, I got a request a few minutes away. He was either my third or fourth ride that night; I can't remember. I drove the few minutes to the man's location to pick him up. He open the backdoor and got in.
As he settled into his seat I asked, "How's it going?"
"Good, good. Is that an accent I detect?" he asked me. I do not necessarily have an accent. Some words I just pronounce differently than others living in California—I guess.
I explained to him that maybe I did have a slight accent, that I lived in Alabama for the first four years of my life, and maybe some of those pronunciations from years ago have followed me through the years and across the country.
"I've been all over," he said, "so I'm pretty good at picking up on accents."
So, as I do with every rider who is open to conversation, I asked him about his travels, about his life. Of course, as always, I was respectful of boundaries and sensitivities.
He told me that he served in the military, and that he receives disability from an injury in combat. He said that he could live off that disability alone, but that he has a job in the oil industry and he loved it.
"I have to go to work tomorrow," he said. "I can't wait."
After a bit, I told him about my current endeavors of trying to get into two different areas of law enforcement, one of those being detentions.
"I worked in law enforcement for a while," he told me.
He said that he worked in detentions for a few years, and that he enjoyed it. But he also told me that years later he got addicted to drugs, and did some things he should not have done. And so he found himself in jail.
"I've seen jail from both sides," he said. "I've worn both blue and green."
Right before dropping him off, he said he has wanted to write a book about his life for years now, but that he does not know how to write well. He wishes to get his story out there to help veterans, those who have fallen on hard times, and people looking to come back from the setbacks and failures that weave throughout everyone's lives.
As I pulled into the driveway, I said, "Here we are."
"Thank you," he said.
"Thank you," I replied. I told him to be safe, and he thanked me once more. And then he walked up the driveway and into the open garage.
It was New Year's Day (obviously indicative of the date above), and I was doing a little Lyft. I had received an email from Lyft a week or so prior stating that ride requests typically slow down around December 31st and January 1st, but I decided to cruise around in the hopes for a little more than a couple dollars. As long as I make a profit after gas expenses, and the profit happened to be worth the amount of time spent sitting in a car seat, I would be happy.
Anyway, I got a request a few minutes away. He was either my third or fourth ride that night; I can't remember. I drove the few minutes to the man's location to pick him up. He open the backdoor and got in.
As he settled into his seat I asked, "How's it going?"
"Good, good. Is that an accent I detect?" he asked me. I do not necessarily have an accent. Some words I just pronounce differently than others living in California—I guess.
I explained to him that maybe I did have a slight accent, that I lived in Alabama for the first four years of my life, and maybe some of those pronunciations from years ago have followed me through the years and across the country.
"I've been all over," he said, "so I'm pretty good at picking up on accents."
So, as I do with every rider who is open to conversation, I asked him about his travels, about his life. Of course, as always, I was respectful of boundaries and sensitivities.
He told me that he served in the military, and that he receives disability from an injury in combat. He said that he could live off that disability alone, but that he has a job in the oil industry and he loved it.
"I have to go to work tomorrow," he said. "I can't wait."
After a bit, I told him about my current endeavors of trying to get into two different areas of law enforcement, one of those being detentions.
"I worked in law enforcement for a while," he told me.
He said that he worked in detentions for a few years, and that he enjoyed it. But he also told me that years later he got addicted to drugs, and did some things he should not have done. And so he found himself in jail.
"I've seen jail from both sides," he said. "I've worn both blue and green."
Right before dropping him off, he said he has wanted to write a book about his life for years now, but that he does not know how to write well. He wishes to get his story out there to help veterans, those who have fallen on hard times, and people looking to come back from the setbacks and failures that weave throughout everyone's lives.
As I pulled into the driveway, I said, "Here we are."
"Thank you," he said.
"Thank you," I replied. I told him to be safe, and he thanked me once more. And then he walked up the driveway and into the open garage.
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