I think he’s the first non-Latino, non-Black Lyft driver I’ve had in over a year. And he had the dubious honor of picking me up from my first ever visit to the ER, thanks to the unholy meeting of my left pinkie and a knife. No, I don’t want to talk about it.
Peter (not his real name) told me had moved with his wife from upstate New York. “My two kids are in college, so I do this so I have extra money when they come over, so we can go to the parks or something”, he says. He was proud of the fact that he had been on time, because the GPS in his app had been given him trouble.”I’m glad I could find you”, he tells me. Makes two of us, buddy.
And it didn’t stop there. He had to be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. He once took an old man from an airport to an appointment he had –even though he wasn’t active at the moment. He just couldn’t leave the old man to himself. He also helped another older gentleman adjust the GPS on his phone. It was impossible not to be touched from his stories. It also made me resentful about a couple of other drivers. One in particular.
On Christmas Eve 2022, the low here in Orlando was 28ºF. That’s -2.2ºC for the rest of the world. It was the coldest I ever been –and I hate the cold. So I left work around seven o’clock that day desperate to get home, not only to have Christmas dinner with the family, but to GTFO of the cold!
Problem was, it was seven o’clock on Christmas Eve. Not too many Lyft drivers on. And not too many willing to do a short trip. Seven –SEVEN– cancelled on me. No reason given –they got scheduled and suddenly “We’re finding you another driver”. (More on that in a minute.) Number eight finally seemed to be on his way. When he was two minutes away, he calls me. I miss the call because my supposedly touch-screen effective gloves did not work, so I have to take off the glove to call him. (Remember, two degrees Celsius below zero.) A Latino voice answers.
–Hi! I’m Juan, your rider.
–Sir, where are you?
I told him. I could start to feel my hand cracking from the cold. I hoped he would not take long.
–Sir, there’s an issue here. It tells me I’m picking up a woman. Are you scheduling for someone else?
–No, for myself. I had seen a glitch on the app, though. It’s Christmas Eve, after all, it must be flooded. But I assure you, my man, it’s me you’re picking up.
–Sir, I’m sorry, but this feels weird. I’m sorry but I’m going to have to cancel the ride.
I had been waiting for over an hour. My hand was starting to feel numb. I was exhausted, hungry, and homesick. He did NOT just say he was cancelling the damn ride. I immediately, with no shame, started begging.
—Hermano, I’m begging you not to do that. It’s just a glitch in the app. I’ve been stuck here for almost an hour. All I want to do is get home. Please don’t do this to me.
–I understand what you’re saying, bro, but I need to think about my own safety– he said for the first of at least five times. “Yo te entiendo lo que me dices, hermano, pero yo tengo que pensar en mi seguridad“, his Puertorrican accent getting thicker each time. –This is very weird, and I don’t feel safe.
I begged again. He refused, politely. I begged harder, on the verge of tears. He again declined, a little less politely. I begged one more time. He refused again with his stupid “Yo entiendo lo que me dices”, and my patience went up in a firey spew. I was well aware I was in my work uniform and people were close by, but the frostbite that finally showed up in my hand erased everything except the gutless asshole on the other side of the line and my own frustration.
I did not cuss him out, but my tone did. I said he was killing me and he was a miserable, inconsiderate soul and a poor human being. He huffed once demanding respect, and I shut him off saying that where’s my respect, of course you/re damn killing me, he was ditching me on Christmas Eve in the freezing cold after a ten-hour shift. “Don’t bother cancelling the ride, I’ll do it for you. Happy nothing. SIR”, I snarled. I hung up, but I saw he had already cancelled it. That made me even more furious; I was looking forward to putting my first one-star review, and I had been denied.
Not my proudest moment, but hey, I’m only human. I’m only sorry that I couldn’t cancel the ride and comment exactly how I felt, and that I couldn’t invite the guy who finally picked me up –Venezuelan like me– for dinner at our house, because he was all alone on Christmas Eve.
Goes to show, there’s all kinds. But damn, dude, wouldn’t you be a little more compassionate on Christmas Eve?!
My Mind in Letters 