As I write this the guys who live in the house next door, probably ten of them it feels like, are "jamming out" on drums and I can smell the weed wafting in from their open windows. I thought I had finally lucked out and landed a place not next to a musician. Being a musician you would think I would be immune me to the incessant pounding of an amateur drummer against my thin walls. Nope.
I can remember the last place I lived in Nashville...the thump tha thump tha thump of a bass at two am every night. I turn my headphones up high now to drown it out .
Anyway. Today I drove on impulse. Cassie has started a little two day a week daycare so I can write music and work. Dropping her off for the first time was on the most heart wrenching experiences of my life and I ended up going back a half an hour later because I couldn't bear the thought of her crying, and had been crying myself. We'd been together, non stop, just the two of us, for almost two years now. Going to the museum. The park. Playing at home. When I got there, I held her tight. Her big sky blue eyes so happy to see me. She snuggled against my neck. From then on, I was determined to make Ross do the drop off. He thinks daycare will be good for her---and for me. For socialization too. So she can make some little friends. I do too. And honestly, my career's been on the backburner for a while now. So today Ross drove her and said she did great. I miss the little gal, but she's starting to love the place. She does the little baby sign for "friends" whenever we pull up in the drive-way.
I grabbed a decaf coffee from the Starbucks drive-thru, decaf because because I got used to it while breastfeeding. I got a bagel too for a grand total of $3.00 ( Ross and I are having a challenge of who can spend less than $100 in two weeks. It's hard). I decided to turn my Uber app on.
Blink blink blink. I'd caught a fish. It was urgent. It was close. Right around the corner.
I got stopped at a light but I buzzed through it as soon as it changed.
I pulled onto Washington. Uh oh. This was the sketchy area. An area I typically like to avoid. There were always gun shots and police cars zooming around down here. It was the latin quarter. Amazing tacos. But a lot of crime.
Whoever I was picking up was named Dani so I didn't know if it would be a guy or a girl.
I pulled up to an address where two large men were bending over a broken down car, both of them smoking, covered in car oil.
Please don't be my ride, I thought.
I called the number.
"Hi. I'm here," said a voice quickly.
"Oh. On the corner? Ok I see you. I'm coming."
Ok. It was a girl. My body instantly relaxed more.
She was wearing a 70s looking sunhat and a flowey shirt.
As soon as she got in, I tried to make small talk.
" Let me guess. Are you a stylist or a designer?"
She mumbled pretty quickly so I never quite caught what she said.
But I had the suspicion it wasn't going to be a chatty ride.
" Do you have Waze?" she asked.
" No, but if you have it you can tell me where to go and I'll follow it."
"Ok." She said. " Go straight here."
We went straight and hit construction.
"Oh. That's weird. Um. Just turn left here to get us to Mountain and then right on Lincoln."
"Ok. Got it." I said. " So where you from?"
" New York." She said.
" Oh cool. I lived there for about five years."
She was staring at her phone. She didn't care where I had lived. I had been resisting it, but I realized now I would have to resign myself to a long, silent ride. My least favorite kind.
When we reached the highway she said, " are you able to get over to California? I know it's a lot of lanes."
With a whole new confidence I said, " Oh I got it."
With the confidence of a mother who's gotten over those same lanes day after day with her baby in the back car seat, I easily glided over lane by lane until we had reached California.
"Ok and then when you get up to California, take a right."
"You trying to get to the 110?" I asked.
"Ya," she said and went back looking at her phone.
I felt like a real bad ass, a real pro. I knew my way around. I knew where she wanted to go even before she said it. I freakin' knew the way to the 110. Who was I?
Did I remind her of a New York Cabi? I remembered my many rides with cabis in New York. I was young and chatty and naive and got away with many a free ride. I changed clothes in the back of cabs. Made out in the back of cabs. Bit my nails in the back of cabs on the way to gigs, auditions, or dates.
All I could feel was the thick silence in the car now. I looked in the rearview mirror and could only see the lower half of her face. Her mouth reminded me of Carly Simon's full lips and coloring. Who was this woman?
And what did she think of me? The whole car was swirming with imagined judgments flying at me like little paper airplanes.
She must be thinking that if I was successful at anything why would I be driving uber. How many times had I assumed the same thing about my cab drivers? Unfortunate souls who had been doctors or lawyers in their own countries, in their past lives, and now in America, being a cabi was the best they could do.
I thought of the wanna be actors and musicians who wanted to show me their stuff when I had taken uber rides. It's so easy to sit smug in the back seat, in anonymity. You could be anyone. A millionaire. But the driver will never know. Me, however? I am the driver. I am your means to an end. Your point a to point b. Your servant for ten minutes.
She would never know about the moments lost in magic, the nights of rapture where men got down on their knees and professed their love to me. The midnights under stars dressed in ballgowns. The moments standing before a microphone in Paris, sweat dripping down the back of my neck before the show would start. She would never see me in that Ralph Lauren Dress at Paris Fashion Week where I glowed, and the cameras swirled around us. She would never know. She would never care. Was I failure? If you have to explain your triumphs, does that mean you have indeed failed? I wondered but tried to not let it depress me.
For now, I was the "happy-go-lucky" uber drive who had left the car seat in the car so this Carly Simon look-a-like had had to go around to the left drivers side of the car, annoyed.
When we reached the fashion district, I wasn't surprised.
" Oh so you are a stylist," I said.
"Well. Yea. Kind of. I'm on the business side for a stylist though, "
"See. Only stylists and people in fashion dress that cool."
I noticed other women walking down the street wearing the same sort of hat she was, the same sort of flowey shirt.
" You can drop me off near the red umbrellas."
"I don't see them."
"Oh. They were here yesterday. Sorry. This is fine."
And Carly Simon was gone just as a Taylor Swift song was ending. She probably thought the song was about her.
I was planning on going home when my phone immediately lit up.
Where the heck was I?
Lucy needed a ride. Whoever Lucy was.
I pulled up to her building and put my hazards on cause there was nowhere to park.
"Omw ty" said her text.
From the text alone I assumed she was young, or at least my age.
Out came a hip looking Hispanic girl with a backpack and lots of gear, thick black glasses and a beanie.
She noticed the car seat and got in the front seat after dumping her stuff in the back.
"Hey, how are you?" she asked.
She was at least friendly, but she seemed distracted.
"Filmmaker?" I asked.
"Actually, well kinda, yea. Creative director. But today I'm actually gonna be in a music video. My friend asked me too. Me and some other girls. We started this creative collaborative. We put on events and have djs and stuff."
And just like that, just like a dork, I told her
"Oh no way! I'm a musician! A songwriter!"
And before I knew it, I was being "that" uber driver I swore I'd never be, playing her a song from my cd. And then I missed an exit and felt like a real idiot.
"Does this look familiar?" I asked, trying to play it cool. " This gps...uhg"
"Umm...not really. But I think we're close."
When I finally got her there I was relieved.
She gave me her instagram. I looked it up. It was all pictures of her in clubs and in Cuba. Not many followers.
Now I was really ready to go home and work.
I went to turn the app off, but somehow at exactly the same time the phone lit up and somehow trying to swipe it off made me reply yes automatically.
So before I knew it, I was onto my third and final ride of the morning.
It was a Mexican woman. She could have been a grandmother. She didn't speak any English. She had her young daughter with her. Or at least she looked young but turns out she was 23.
She giggled a lot and didn't speak much English either.
They had many, many bags. I had to help cram them all in.
The old woman smelled of rose petals and mothballs. It was a very overwhelming scent.
"Where are you going? The aiport?" I asked
" No. Bus station," said the young girl smiling.
"Oh cool. Where to?" I asked.
"Tijuana."
"Tijuana?! Wow!" I said.
"What time is the bus?" the grandmother said in Spanish. It was close enough to French that I understood it.
"10:30" said the daughter.
The clock read 10:23. We were still 11 minutes away.
"Oh geez. Idk if we're gonna make it," I said, worried.
"That's ok!" she said laughing. I was confused by her nonchalance but didn't push the issue. I kept driving them, listening to them whisper in Spanish. I was certain the grandma was saying my car was too full or that I had been taking too long. The only thing more painful than a long silent ride is a ride where they're speaking a language you don't understand. Like when you're at a nail salon and you're just sure they're saying " ew look at this chubby Americans feet".
I dropped them off by El Pollo Loco and wished them luck.
Hope they made the bus.
Uber Diaries: January 23, 2017: The Women's March.
When I first turned on my phone, sitting in the driveway of our empty little cottage, it lit up. Three minutes away. Right around the corner. Someone needed a ride and I was the lucky winner.
I wove around the trees and sidewalks of Pasadena and got turned around once or twice. I passed some construction workers and a construction site, squeezing my eyes looking for the address.
Finally, a group of four ragged looking post-college aged kids (...can I call them kids?) stumbled out of the mansion. One was Asian. Two looked Hispanic. I couldn't place the other one. They seemed to be moving towards me like a raincloud. All of them were dressed in gray or black. And when they got in, they smelled like marijuana and hang-over.
"Wild night?" I asked.
They made some inside jokes between themselves. Were they old friends?
"We've known each other too long," said the guy in the back. He seemed to be the leader of the pack or at least the talker. In between him and the other guy was a pretty, moody looking woman with dark hair and a nose ring. She didn't say anything.
Who was sleeping with who I wondered?
The Asian girl in the front with the long ponytail was trying hard to get in on the conversation with them.
"So are you all from here?" I asked.
"Born and raised," said the talker.
"I'm trying to figure out the best school to send my kid to. Any thoughts?"
There was a group chuckle.
"Well don't send them to Blair," he said. " I had a college professor tell me, no one from Blair amounts to anything."
"Well you're in college. So that's something."
"No I'm not. I was just talking to him."
"Oh." I said.
The girl up front laughed.
I wondered how they managed to live in such a huge house. Who's house was it? What did their parents do?
I wanted to ask more questions but we'd already arrived downtown.
They hopped out at a parking garage.
I sat for five minutes outside when my phone lit up again.
Right around the corner. Nice.
I pulled up right passed the metro, which was jam packed. People had signs.
What was going on? Was it Gay Pride? Had I missed something?
I couldn't find the girl so I called her.
"Hi! Hi! Were over here!"
Suddenly I saw a pale mousey brunette in a blue sweater waving enthusiastically at me.
She hopped into the front while her two friends piled into the back.
One was a rather mousey brunette female and the other was a large, robust, orange haired, orange bearded giant man.
"Well hello!" I said. "You seem excited!"
"Hell ya! We're headed to the Women's March! The Metros weren't even running anymore it was so packed!"
"OH! Is that what this is? The Women's March?" I looked at the guy in the backseat.
"My friend Ian was talking about this. So...I guess guys can walk in the march?" I asked.
"Yes. It's to represent any minority without a voice. Women. Gays. Trans. Immigrants."
He went on a very eloquent spiel about it all. I was surprised they weren't the organizers of the event.
"Wow! Wow! WOW!" I said. " I wish I was walking in it."
"You're doing your part! You're getting us there!" The girl up front said.
"Ok good, that makes me feel better," I said.
I wasn't sure where else to go with this strand of the conversation so I asked them where they were from.
"I'm from Pasadena," said the girl in the back.
"Me too," said redhead.
"And you?" I asked the girl up front. " Washington, D.C."
"Ah! The political hub of it all!" I said.
"Yes. There's a huge march going on up there, too. Also in New York. All over the world. It's in response to Trump's inauguration."
"Incredible. Well I know LA will be passionate today."
Suddenly the red head was on his cell phone and the girl up front was texting.
" So you're from Pasadena." I chatted with mousey girl. "Where did you go to school? What schools do you recommend? I have a toddler."
"Oh. Yea. Yea I went to ( I can't remember what she said). I'm a vocal jazz teacher now."
"Oh neat! I was...in a jazz band in Paris for a few years."
"That's amazing!" she said. " How romantic"
"Yea it was." I started day dreaming out loud. " Wine. Music. Sleeping in..." I gazed out the window.
It all sounded great today.
"But LA is awesome too. I mean...the weather."
"Yea," they all agreed.
"So are you all teachers?"
" I am," Said the redhead, now off the phone.
" Oh neat! Where do you teach?" I asked.
" A magnet school in the city. Actually both my kids go there."
"And. How is it?"
"It's a blue ribbon school."
"Oh that's awesome. Actually, we have a school that says it has a blue ribbon award right around the corner from us. How...accurate are those ribbons?" I asked.
"They're pretty accurate. Means the test scores are good. Means they are making progress."
" Yea. Seems like there are so many schools in my area that are good. But they're so expensive," I said.
" Yea. Well if all those rich people would stop pouring their money into private schools and actually pour them into their public school and stop complaining about the public schools, the public schools would be awesome...."
He was getting pretty passionate about.
"What about you?" I asked the girl up front when the red head got back on the phone.
"I'm studying to be a psychologist."
"Ah. That's interesting." I said. "What made you want to do that?"
"I've always loved...stories. I...was studying writing. And I realized....I liked the stories. And one of my friends had kind of a mental breakdown in college. Found out he was bipolar so...."
Suddenly the redheaded woman in the back let out a yelp.
" Omg, Omg. My crown just fell out," She held up her crown. Ew. I was grossed out but tried not to show it.
"Omg!" she said again.
"Oh wow. Can you put it back on?" said the red headed man.
Her friends didn't seem to care. They kind of seemed to pretend to care for a minute but then they were over it. Clearly they were excited about the march and didn't want this dampering the occasion.
"I can't get it back on. Damnit," She got on the phone with her dentist.
Suddenly the stream of traffic came to an immediate halt forcing me to press on the brake hard.
The girl in the back flew forward a bit and dropped the phone. She hadn't been wearing her seatbelt.
She picked it back up, looking annoyed.
"So sorry," I said. " Traffic just totally stopped."
" Yea sorry," she said to the dentist, " I almost just fell!" She gave me a little glare. Poor thing.
The highway was totally jam packed up to our exit. Gps was glitching out.
"This doesn't seem like the way," said red headed man.
Many of the roads were blocked off.
" I need to stop at a CVS and get an emergency dental kit guys," said the redheaded woman, clearly pissed off.
I exited.
"Hey...just try to get us to Hill. Keep going straight. Get us as close as you can," said bearded man.
That's when I saw the flood of humans carrying signs. A little girl wearing pink on her dad's shoulders holding up a poster in both hands that said " My Voice Counts". Men were carrying flags. Hoards of women were yelling, clasped hands in the air, chanting something. Young hipsters. Older generations. People off all different ethnicities. All walking...all marching the march. The roads were blocked off. It was exciting and amazing chaos.
The three of them thanked me and jumped out near chipotle. They put on their signs. The three of them. The three amigos. The three musquateers.
I parked nearby and got out. And I walked. For me. For my mom. For my grandma. For my daughter. I marched. Because every woman deserves a crown.