It's been a long time since I have posted but here goes . . .
Man created the smart
phone. Now you have a decent portable compact computer at your fingertips. I got
this new Iphone 5c — it’s new for me but it is five or six phones behind. But
for a hundred and fifty bucks on eBay with a year warranty I’m finally entering
into the twenty-first century. Now a phone was more than a phone. Morgan, My
youngest son, helps me set it up, and after download the Uber and Waze apps I’m
good to go. I buy a cheap car-phone stand that attaches to your windshield at
the new Spring Hill Wal-Mart for about ten dollars plus tax and a two-way in – one-way
out adapter for my cigarette lighter. Morgan lets me borrow his Garmin GPS as a
backup. I still haven’t returned it. He says he uses Google maps or Waze on his
Iphone so I could keep it.
My first ping is
unremarkable. All I can remember is that I am a little nervous and I try to
concentrate on where I’m going while getting used to the Uber app. I’m a pretty
good driver when I have to be. I used to be reckless in my twenties and
thirties, but now I’m older and much more careful, especially with the
exponential growth of idiot drivers here. You practically have to be psychic to
avoid a wreck.
The first day ends without any major catastrophes; except
there was one time I make a wrong turn onto Interstate 24 West and had to
double back to the 40 East. The woman is stressed out about being late for a
job interview at Plus Park on Briley isn’t making it any easier. I finally get
her there at 8:35 only losing five minutes with that errant turn. She gets out
and closes the door an aggressive manner. I apologize and tell the old it’s my
first day line, even so, I know I am going to get a bad rating from her. When I
get home in the afternoon, I check my rating. I had three five stars, two four
stars, and a three star which averaged out to a 4.3. Now, you’d think that
would be a pretty good rating. If it were a hotel or a restaurant that would be
commendable, but not with Uber. I hear that if you fell below a four they can
lock you out.
I call my neighbors, Mark and Ashley, a couple with a
farm across the road. It’s where we get our eggs. Mark is a guitar player
originally from Indiana. He’s also a great photographer and graphic designer. He
helped set up both of my novels and even took the back cover photo. He also
sells ukuleles, classic watches, iron skillets and handcrafted wooden bowls on
Etsy. A real modern –say Renaissance man. He calls Ashley, a local girl from
old money, his farm wife. A gentle soul, she lets Mark walk all over her. He
drinks a lot of beer; at least he did at the time. Ashley agrees to letting me
Uber her to the grocery store and back. I tell her I will reimburse her but she
wouldn’t think of it. She gives me five stars. I now have a 4.43 rating. Good,
but not good enough. When Donna gets home I explain the situation. I ask if she
could let me Uber her for a couple of miles and give me five stars. She says we
could use some stuff at Kroger after the traffic dies down. I tell her about taking
Ashley already. She laughs. I download the Uber app on her phone and show her
how to use it. She’s worse than me with computers. After getting home from
Kroger at around eight-thirty and she had ended the ride, and five-star later I
was now a 4.5. That’s enough for one night. The ride costs us seven or eight
backs, but it was worth it to sleep tonight with peace of mind. I find out
later that Uber waits until you have completed one hundred rides before they
take the ratings seriously. That’s good to know.
The first ride that I would consider memorable was on the
Friday morning of my second week. I receive a ping for a Ben at one of the
older subdivision in Spring Hill. I wait in from the address on the app, and it
is taking a long time for Ben to show. Eight minutes later a tall young man in
his late teens or early twenties struggles to make his way down his driveway. I
think there might be something wrong with him so I get out of my car and help
him into the front passenger seat. I look at the Uber app and his address has
disappears from my phone.
“Ben, right?”
“Yes.”
“It looks like you cancelled the ride.”
“What?”
“It’s gone from the app. Maybe it was some kind of
glitch. Why don’t you try again?”
He takes out his phone
from his jacket pocket and holds it up, I’m not exaggerating, two inches from
his left eye and tries to log on to Uber. He’s having a lot of trouble. I ask
him if he needs any help but he says he’s got it. His phone pings. Mine
doesn’t.
“It looks like you got a driver, but it isn’t me.” A
minute later another Uber driver in a black Toyota Camry pulls up. I get out of
my car and try to explain to the Uber driver that I had this ride. They always
ping the closest driver, and my car couldn’t be any closer; he was logging on
from inside my car. The Camry driver, a young man wearing a turban drives off
in a cloud of dust. He’s pissed off.
“Where you going, anyway?” I ask Ben.
“Down by the Opryland Hotel. They’re shooting an episode
of Nashville, and I signed on as an
extra.”
“Cool. Try requesting a ride again.” The other rider must
have cancelled enabling him to hit the request a ride button again. This time
my phone pings. It comes up Music Valley Road, right by the Fiddler’s Inn. It’s
a good thirty-five miles which will net me thirty or more dollars. I’m happy
we‘d sorted things out, but I feel bad for the Uber driver in the Camry. Ben
turns his head to the left as far as it would rotate and looks at me with his
right eye. “You’re James right?”
“You got it. There’s gonna be a lot of traffic and it may
take an hour to get there? Are you okay with that?”
“As long as we get there by nine.”
“I’ll do my best.” I knew there was something wrong with
his vision but I thought it could have been a temporary thing so I ask him,
“Don’t you have a car?”
“I don’t drive. As you may have noticed my vision isn’t
so good. I’m blind in my left eye.”
“Oh, I’m sorry man.”
“I can see well out of my right eye but my left is toast.
It called retinitis pigmentosa. It’s like tunnel vision. I have no peripheral
vision on my left side. They do make special mirrors, but they’re really
expensive. I’d rather take an Uber.”
“Isn’t there some kind of operation they can do to fix it?”
“They can, but my insurance won’t cover it. It would cost
half-a-million dollars. My parents can’t afford that. Maybe someday.”
I think if that were my kid I would beg, borrow or
steal to get the money to pay for an operation. I don't know all the facts,
though. You can never really judge other people’s situation. Every story has
its own story.
“I was an extra in LA a long time ago and I did a stint
at the old prison in here West Nashville near Centennial Boulevard. It’s was
for that Redford movie, The Last Castle.
I had a blast,” I say. “How did you get this gig?”
“I joined this agency here. They got me three days on
this show. It’s my first day today.”
The traffic is at its usual crawl going up the one lane
road on Hwy 31 at 8:45, but it begins to thin out once we make it past the
light at Thompson Station Road. After another two miles we’re on the 840 east
and two miles after that, the 65 north. The traffic is doable moving about
thirty-five to forty miles per hour. After living in LA this kind of traffic is
a breeze.
“So Ben, do you go to school?”
“Nah, I graduated high school a year ago and I’ve been,
you know, just hanging out trying to figure out what’s next. I was thinking
about going to some kind of trade school. Diesel truck mechanic or something. I
just don’t know how I could afford it with all the Ubers twice a day.”
I didn’t want to bring up his parents helping him again;
I knew that was a sore spot with Ben. “Have you thought about going to
community college? They have a great one, Columbia Community College here in
Franklin. It’s dead cheap.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You could go for two years and by then you may figure
out what you want to do. If it’s a mechanic, then you could do that after. You
know what I mean? The first two years of college isn’t anything more than
general study anyway.”
“That’s right. I heard some of my friends talk about
Columbia, they really seem to like it.”
“There you go. Maybe one of your friends could carpool
with you or help with an Uber. It’s a thought, anyway.”
“I’ll talk it over with my parents. But I don’t think
they’ll go for it.”
“Why not?” I didn’t mean to pry, but these parents of him
were beginning to piss me off. Ben was an intelligent, good looking kid. Just
because he had a handicap doesn’t mean they should treat him like an invalid.
“I don’t mean to pry, but do your parents own that house In Spring Hill?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You know interest rates are the lowest they’ve been in
years. They could maybe refinance and use some of that money to send you to
school. It’s just a thought.” He got real quiet after that. I hoped I hadn’t
touched on a nerve. “Listen, Ben, I’m sorry if I got out of line but I really
like you and I think you could have a great future if you give yourself a
chance. Hey, if you need someone to talk to about this or anything else, give
me a call. I’ll give you my number when we get there. Okay?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
Exiting Briley Parkway we make a right on Music Valley
Road. I can see a crowd of young people dressed in Nashville hipster garb
standing in front of a makeshift nightclub. I pull into a parking space and put
the car in park. I hand Ben one of my business card I keep in my tip hat with a
printed out sign reading—I tip my hat to
you for the gratuity. I thought that was pretty clever when I printed it
out on my computer and tacked it on with double sided duct tape the week
before. I get out of the car and help Ben with his stuff. It was nine o’clock
exactly.
“Looks like it’s just getting started. Have a good one,
Ben, and remember if you feel like talking, give me a call. If you get the
voice mail leave a message. I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks again, James. I will.”
I had an urge to check out the set and see if I could
sign on as an extra but I didn’t want to deal with all the red tape I would
probably have to go through. Just not worth it, besides, I could make more
money in half the time with Uber. Still, it could have been fun. I watch Ben
walk toward the crowd and, after a minute or so, he enters the building. I hope
the kid calls. It seems like he needs some guidance, an older voice to talk
with. If nothing else, someone to listen to him. I didn’t think his parents did
much of that. Ben never called. Not yet anyway.
