Silent Running

The downsides of gig work are many, but the most obvious one is a lack of paid sick time. I tend to have a reasonable constitution and steady habits, so an illness has to be pretty potent to get me off the road. And ever since the pandemic, the idea of making someone else ill with whatever I've got has been a big, well, no.

So this weekend, I picked up a bug, bombed it with meds and felt good enough to work and not be contagious... but I've lost my voice. This isn't the first time that I've had this happen, due to a youth spent singing in rock bands, but it is new to this age of life, which involves rideshare.

There is nothing like the absence of an ability to make you focus on that ability, and you may be surprised by how much conversation happens in the course of a shift. If nothing else, the reflexive action of confirming name and address, as well as the presence of amenities or use of the trunk, is off the table... and if your passengers have a conversation that ties into your particular interests, or with obvious errors that you might be able to correct or inform, it's a kind of mild torture.

But for the most part, being forced to be silent as a driver is just the way this driver is choosing to do the work on this day, and some passengers won't even notice, especially if they are wearing headphones or on a phone conversation during the call. I suspect it's generally a negative practice for inspiring tipping, but small sample sizes do not inspire confidence.

Because the Rideshare Gods are funny, or depending on how you look at things, merciful... the shift that had the most Silent Running was, of course, during a good amount of surge price. Can't talk? Have fares that want to. Can talk? Have fares that don't. Leading to one of the last ones of the night, a multi-stop affair where I've got so much to say to the last passenger that, at the end of the ride, I'm furiously jotting down contact info on a post-it note.

Freedom of speech, folks. Pops up in the weirdest places.

The Command Performance

 I've been doing this for over 9 years and 40,000 rides now, and for the past few, I've really been making the effort to stay closer to home, even if it costs me a few bucks or takes me a little extra time. The chance of getting into some kind of automotive trouble spikes further away, whether it's a flat tire, missed signal, etc., etc., and I also enjoy being able to give local recommendations for food and such. If your rideshare driver is stressed, that can't be good for tips, either -- and my tips percentage has definitely gone up over the years.

The side effect of this is how, especially when your hours are relatively consistent (i.e., I usually work nights), you are going to run into the same customers from time to time. And when your ride is distinctive, or you insist on consistently quirky amenities, it gets memorable.

Which can be a little awkward, because, well, I've got a go to list of conversational tactics and topics that I'll hit, rather than risk driving while doing Serious Thinking. And as much as you might want me to stick to playing the hits... you probably actually, well, don't.

So, if you get in the car and recognize me, by all means, feel free to start a conversation. But give me something new to work with, because (spoiler alert)... I probably don't remember the last time I took you somewhere, given the, um, 40,000 rides.

Also, this. 

If I *do* remember everything we talked about the last time?

I might not have done so, with, shall we say, perfect kindness and charity...

Amuse-bouche bloglets

An amuse-bouche, for those of you who don't do the French, is a small bite of something tasty to tide you over until a real meal happens. Which also tends to happen when you work the hustle routinely; things that aren't a full story, but worthy of note on their own. Including, but not limited to... 

> There is no weather that will force Certain Women who attend Greek college events to wear a protective layer of clothing. On some level, you have to admire the commitment.

> There is also no weather that will keep Angry Old White Drunks from fighting in the streets of Trenton. I can only assume it had something to do with a halftime show being mostly in Spanish.

> A recant fare chose to purchase a ride for a guest, who they then gave the name of (g-word) (n-word), only without my web subtlety. The fare canceled the ride, which gave me the easiest $3.90 of the day, and presumably made the purchaser have to do it again. I'm not here to shame anyone for how they choose to spend their money, but, um...

> I picked up a Fredo, who did not (gravitas on) BREAK MY HEART. (If you don't get the reference, either I am too old, or you are too young, and maybe both.)

> I recently picked up a local college football player who was discussing his post-school options, most of which involved "the three-letter agencies." He was giving up his final year of eligibility, rather than risk his future earning power to repeated injury. Which made me think, well, if you actually are concerned about athletic achievement, I know of one three-letter agency you won't be applying to...

> There is a local chicken place in The Hood which is called "Super Pollo." It has a superhero chicken carrying a covered round plate, which presumably meanse his superpower is to kill and sell his friends and family for money. There is also a "Super Pollo 2". 

Whenever I drive past these places, my mind starts to imagine 

a) the rest of the Super Pollo Cinematic Universe, possibly with side order sidekicks

b) a Tupac-Bigge style rap battle between Super Pollo 1 and Super Pollo 2

c) having lucha libre wrestlers fight each other in Super Pollo 1 and Super Pollo 2 costumes, preferably on the sidewalk outside the restaurant

d) how, if I had All The Moneys In The World, all of this work would exist, and 

e) how it is probably for the best that I do not have All The Moneys In the World.

> Marketing slogan for a beer in the hood: "It Ain't Gonna Drink Itself." Well, the truth is important...

> Recent email from Uber: "Let's stop human trafficking, together". Which my suspicious mind read as a tacit admission that Uber's been up to some things, and is making a very big presumption on me...

When restaurant reviews take a turn

I try to work local to my home. It's easier on the wallet, kidneys, shock absorbers, etc. It also lets me trade off restaurant reviews with other locals, which tends to be (a) not very divisive as conversations go, (b) conducive to good learning, and (c) a good leading indicator in front of a tip.

I'm engaged in this with a recent passenger in a rougher neighborhood that's close to mine. I tell her how my favorite Chinese place is next to a car wash and will discount if you pay cash. She replies with how her favorite is... behind bulletproof glass.

This hustle reminds you to be grateful in, well, so many ways...

Tilt

I play poker, and there's a term that players use when someone is emotionally compromised and making bad decisions. We call it "going on tilt." 

When you are there, you might suspect you are, but your perceptions aren't level, and you fail Absent a great deal of statistically unlikely events, you are about to hand your chips over to someone else.

Recently, I've had personal experience with a loved one encountering a mental health episode. It's better now, and we are all grateful. 

But the sense of helplessness that one has when in the presence is palpable. For this person, the issue manifested as paranoid delusions, which were, of course, impossible to refute with words or logic. You just had to be patient, wait them out, and have faith that it was not the new (ab)normal. It was one of the worst periods of my life, and like any of these cycles, I responded the same. A general numbness and trudging but persistent work to distract myself.

So, that's the prologue. Now, the ride story.

The ping comes in late in the evening on a day where I haven't made my target. Uber has dangled a surge price to keep me on the road, which has now faded. So I either take the next ride, regardless of condition or terms, or I lose the surge. I'm taking the next one unless it's completely outlandish. The ping comes in, and it's local. OK.

The pick up is supposed to be at a local 7-11. I get to the store and there is only one car in the parking lot, which I am presuming is the employee's. I wait for five minutes, no one shows or replies to my text, and I can cancel for a small fee. I do and head for home. 

Two minutes later, the same name appears, but at an address. Oh... kay? Still have the surge price to chase, after all.

I roll up to the address, about five minutes from the 7-11. After a couple of minutes, the passenger makes his way to the car, and there's something... off... about him. He's a white guy probably in his 30s, tall, thin, dark clothing, and vibrating. Oh boy. He gets in the car, does not acknowledge my patter or the address confirmation (it's the 7-11), and off we go.

It is my standing practice to not make a lot of eye contact with passengers. There's no real reason for it, and if you are looking at your passenger, you aren't looking at the road. Over nine years, 39K+ rides, and relative safety and high tipping tells me this is a reasonable position to take. 

So I can't and won't see if he's on the phone or not when he says what he says, which is... conspiratorial. Paranoid. Profane. Political. And all said at a pace that reminds me of listening to podcasts at accelerated speed, and at a volume that I can't quite ignore. 

This is what real crazy looks like. Not theatric, not captivating, not a star turn from an actor with a meaty part, not well written or with memorable phrases. It's repetitive and upsetting and it makes you uneasy, because somewhere in the back of your primate brain you realize that everything about this person is wrong, and wrong might be contaigous. Or lead to unexpected outcomes.

Five minutes later, we're at the 7-11. He gets out and goes in and now I can't really trot out my excuse to not make eye contact, because there he is in the store. Through the glass I can see him vibrate, see his mouth move, but I can't see if there's anyone near him. This goes on for three minutes. I can't end the ride until five. I have no idea what he's doing, or why it's taking so long, or what is going to happen next. He leaves with a pack of cigarettes, gets into my car, and it's quieter for the five minutes back, but not quite quiet. At the drop, he leaves without incident. Still ranting.

Three stars or less means I never see him again, of course, and that seems like a no-brainer of a decision. The first rule of rideshare is get home safe, and this didn't feel that way at all. 

On the other hand... he paid surge price (and a cancel fee), he didn't make me wait longer than most fares, and on some level, I don't want people like him to never get fares, because that hardly seems like it will help his situation. There could be any number of good and understandable reasons for the way he is, and, well? I didn't 3-star my loved one when they had their rough stretch.

I think about it for too long, and it sticks in me and sparks this post. I eventually did give him three, if for no other reason than it stuck in my head long enough to curtail my earnings, and that's not a practice to support.

A college professor back in the day in my political science course once attributed the quote of "human rights are for countries that can afford them" to a dictator. I haven't been able to track which one (Fidel Castro?), and since dictators tend to come outside of English as a first language (that's what we in poker would call a tell, folks), I'm not sure it was ever really said that way. 

But the point applies. Compassion may also be for people who can afford it. Which doesn't really get my fare out of my head...