Occasionally, Uber provides a message to go with their request for service. The message warns us that the people paying for the ride can monitor our every move. This usually means that a charity, a doctor’s office, or a hospital is footing the bill.
Last Saturday, I got four of these in a row. I must be on a list. Technically, I received five of these. My first rider’s name was “general.” I picked him up twice that day. Since his name wasn’t capitalized, I wasn’t sure if it was a “generic” passenger or a show of modesty.
I immediately liked “general.” “Is general your real name?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “My parents gave that to me.”
I loved his attitude. He was the type that makes you smile, a positive-attitude fellow. He was seventy. Our age was similar (I’m 69), and our outlook on life was a common factor. After a few minutes into our conversation, I realized our circumstances were drastically different.
You would never guess it from his demeanor, but “general” had all kinds of health problems and was doing everything he could to defeat other life challenges. He did not let it get him down.
My next rider was a mother with a young boy. Within five seconds, I realized I would not want to be her opponent in a battle.
“I’ve had all I’m gonna take from those apartment people. Nobody should have to live in a building with as many problems as we’ve got! I got electrical problems so bad; I burnt up my new dryer just because of bad wiring.”
During the short breaks in her “presentation,” I tried to show my support.
“I hope everything works out for you soon,” I said.
“Well, it’s gonna work out, or they will be sorry. They ain’t never messed with anybody like me. They said it would take at least a week to come in and replace the wiring. All I know is they need to get me another place to live during that time.”
Sometimes, you just stare at the Uber map and watch the distance and time of arrival approach. I said my goodbyes and wished her the best. Her demeanor totally changed as she left the car.
“Thanks for the ride.” She said. “Have a nice day!”
Next was a trip to a rehab center. The gentleman came flying down a sloped sidewalk toward my car.
“Are we bringing the wheelchair with us?” I asked.
“Nah, they’ll get it later. Leave it there!”
“Richard” slowly made his way into my back seat.
“So, what’s your name?” he asked.
Richard is one of those people who loves to say your name in almost every sentence. He told me he had been through several battles all week with his health insurance, the government, and the bureaucracy. The insurance company turned him down for the medications he’s been receiving for several months.
“Would you mind doing me a favor on our way?” he asks. “I need a pack of cigarettes.”
It was on the way, so I stopped while he struggled to go inside.
“Tommy, I really appreciate your help! I’m gonna give you five stars and maybe a tip, if I can! By the way, this restaurant you’re taking me to is fantastic. If you ever get a chance to eat there, Tommy, you should!”
We arrived a few minutes later at an all-you-can-eat Asian-American establishment. He struggled to exit my car.
“Tommy, I’m trying to decide whether to sit out front and have a cigarette before I go in or after. What do you think?”
My answer? “I hope everything works out well with your insurance. Have a great day!”
Ding! There he is again! “general” needs another ride.
“Turns out the place you took me didn’t have what I needed. But I get another chance to ride with you!” he exclaimed.
You gotta love this guy.
One more ride for the day. Again, Uber warned me that the organization providing the ride may monitor my performance. The rider may also need assistance.
I saw him outside the grocery store waiting with one of those electric shopping carts. He has some obvious physical challenges. He’s a veteran. He’s tired and describes some of the tough times he’s faced during the last several years.
We reached his apartment, and I grabbed all of his groceries. I waited for him at the door.
“Would you like me to bring your bags inside?” I asked. He finally makes it to the door.
“Go ahead and put the bags inside. The door’s unlocked.” He spoke. ”Just put them on the left.”
I was shocked when I opened the door. There was no furniture. He had only a few full trash bags and a few random objects in the room.
“Last time I went to the hospital, someone broke in and took all my furniture.”
I had a hard time sleeping that night. We’re beginning a new year in a country that’s supposed to be the most advanced ever. Not yet. He hasn’t given up. He has a few friends, but they’re challenged also.
I’m rejoining two groups this week that are dedicated to helping those in need. One group offers prayers; the other offers action. We need both.
God Bless,
Tommy
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