A little bit of everything
“Hey man, can I clean your windshield?” The enthusiastic young man approached my car from the left side with a big smile. The all-too-familiar city scene. Squeegee in one hand and a spray bottle in the other.
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I sensed there was some nasty stuff going down as I watched them leave the building and walk toward the street.
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We pulled up to a stoplight, and we were quickly approached by a young “Squeegee Person” holding a spray bottle and windshield squeegee tool. Typically, I decline their windshield cleaning and simply hand these guys some money because I respect their hustle. “Here you go.” I handed him $5. “I appreciate your drive and hustle.” He grabbed the money and said, “God bless you, man. Appreciate you.”
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Recently, my rideshare journey involved passenger-initiated conversations about current government job cuts. As a rule, I try to offer an empathetic “good listener” posture when it comes to politics while on the rideshare platform.
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He got out of the vehicle and closed out the ride with one more final fist pound on the roof of my car. I gave him a generous rating of 3 out of 5 Stars. Poor Attitude.
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She was like a page out of Woodstock in 1969, giving me the Peace Sign as I pulled up.
I could hear small bells on her loose-fitting bell bottoms tinkling as she entered the car.
Flashback. The psychedelic pop refrain of “The Rain, The Park, and Other Things,” a 1960’s song by The Cowsills, rushed through my mind. “I Love the Flower Girl”
“What are you doing out in a mess like this? I’m amazed you’re here. Thanks for coming!”
She shouted these words to me while opening the rear door as if the dark morning and heavy snowfall were audibly as loud as their overpowering visual presence.
“Yeah, long ago the light bulb went off in my mind that this thing called Rideshare might as well be named Rescuing in many cases. Sometimes literal rescues, and sometimes figurative rescues.”
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“Would you mind slowing down a bit?”
The woman asked me in almost a begging voice.
I moved to the right lane and slowed down to around 5 miles under the speed limit.
I smiled at passengers flying by on my left.
“There it is. My adversary.”
Her right hand extended into the front seat with her index finger pointing at the four-mile bridge on the horizon.
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I pulled up to the front of the house in a suburban neighborhood outside the city. The person was heading to a party in the city, and from my first impression, I would say the costume was a contender for the top prize.
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“Don’t do that, the driver won’t like it,” the young woman lightly commented to the two children in the back seat.
Immediately my thoughts ran wild.
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