Story Time: Women Like That

Yay, America

I'm rolling out of San Jose when I get a ping for a shared ride. The pick up point is a motel, and in walk two women from Kazakhstan. (Or, at least, they tell me they are, and why would you lie about something like that?) I confirm their destination (the Dragon Gate in San Francisco), and we're on our way for the next hour or more, with weeknight traffic.

My passengers speak many languages, and English isn't in the first few of them, but we get along well enough. They are wildly curious about America and the Bay Area, and want to know where to eat, what to do, is Trump really crazy, and so on, and so on. They are also incredibly excited about being in the United States, having wanted to come here their whole lives.

In short, they are totally adorable, and talking to them is just the best. My own politics are left of America and moderate to the Bay Area, which means that in this time, it's easy for me to forget the good points about this country. But these charming young women are so excited to be here, and so endearing, I'm ready to change my mind about the whole place. We've got In N Out Burger! And the Embarcadero! And the Presidio! And great weather, and smart young people. Yay, America!

But, well, it's a shared ride. And there are Rideshare Gods, and the Rideshare Gods are generally funny. Which means that after about thirty minutes of driving, I get another ping from the app. Which isn't something that I can just ignore, Because Money, and because ride share drivers need to keep the acceptance rates up to stay in the system.

So I pull off 101 in San Mateo, and roll on up to my pick up point...

Aladdin Bail Bonds.

Oh, Lord. I don't pray often or much, but I'm praying... please don't be clients. Just work there. Or just use it as a landmark.

But, well, the Rideshare Gods are funny... and as I pick up to get my two new passengers (because Lyft sells every seatbelt, and considers my hatchback to seat four plus the driver, which is at least one too many but so be it), I tell them the same thing I've told the other four thousand plus passengers I've picked up.

Namely that there is water in the seatback pocket behind the driver, there are breath mints and cough drops in a handy little dish that they can have, and as a very small entry to a conversation if they want it, how's your day going?

One of my two newbies than says something I've never heard before, and hope never to hear again.

"Not so good. Just got out of jail."

I blink, try to ignore the vinyl record scratch moment that's playing in the eventual movie treatment of this experience, and try to roll with it. "Well. Thanks for sharing. Hey, we have guests to this country! They are from Kazakhstan, and they are looking for recommendations on what to do while they are in the area. I haven't lived here for most of my life, so where do you think they should go?"

Hint. Stop talking about jail. Good freaking Lord, who talks about jail to people they just met, let alone to someone who is going to carry you around in his own personal car? What kind of people do that? Oh, right, idiot criminals. That's the kind of thing that idiot criminals do...

But bless their hearts, they catch my hint. "Well, lotsa people like Chinatown, but I think you get more for your money in Japantown..."

Which is basically wrong, but what the hey, It's Not Jail. One of my original passengers looks sideways and contributes, "Are there... any places... ve should not go?"

Excellent question! Easily answered by a simple list of wherever these winners have been, honestly, but they don't take offense. "Well, some parts of Oakland are still kinda rough..."

And away we go, back up Highway 101 for about five to ten minutes of remarkably awkward conversation as I try to just focus on the road to make sure we can get these winners to where they are going to go, as they are getting out first. The destination turns out to be a really seedy motel near the airport, so there's really no need to ask why they were in jail earlier in the day, yes? Yes. But you gotta give it up for the work ethic, and for getting right back on the horse. So to speak.

I drove the winners off, bang a U-turn, and get back to 101 as quick as I can. The car is now quiet for an uncomfortably long period of time, and I'm missing the Yay America vibe... but I'm not quite sure how to get past the train wreck we just dropped off. "Well... that was... colorful?"

Which gets the tired little response of "Yes, ve haf women like that in our country too..."